Chapter Thirty-Eight
“You had yourself quite a busy evening.”
Lee looked up from her hospital bed. He was a short man, standing in the doorway, quite rotund and wearing a nice suit that had been wrinkled from sitting in a car seat. He held a dozen carnations in his hand.
“How are you feeling,” he added while moving to her bedside. “They said we could have a chat.”
“Like I’ve been drinking gasoline, thanks,” Lee answered his question. She watched as he stuffed the flowers into her water jug and ruffled them like the head of a ten-year-old. “You’re not the florist.”
He chuckled and looked down into her bloodshot eyes. “Detective Allan Jones; with a couple of questions if you feel up for it.”
“The Welshman.”
“Yes. I know you’ve been talking to Curtis.”
“And it was you who had the squa
