‘And money grows on trees and the fairies actually exist,’ the chief constable snapped.
Sant felt like strangling the Old Man. That would see to his bad breath. He exited the boardroom before the homicidal feeling became a reality, glancing back through the polished glass door to offer Hardaker silent sympathy. The Chiefman was a diplomat and deserved a medal for that attribute alone. There were pricks like Gilligan above him and too many below to fill out forms for. The worst of all possible worlds. But that was Hardaker’s lot. There weren’t enough diplomats among rank and file, and Sant would never be one.
* * *
He decided to grab a quick lunch at home, mainly because he was curious to know if Holdsworth was inside. Perhaps she hadn’t woken yet. As he unlocked the door of his flat, he
