TWENTY-SIX
Paul Lewis’ phone started to vibrate on his desk as he typed out an email. His eyes darted to the phone, a sinking feeling settling over him when he saw Hugh Andrews’ name flash in front of him. He let it ring, not wanting to speak to the man from Belbroughton. What can I tell him? We know nothing, apart from unconfirmed sightings of an unidentified object. The phone fell silent, Lewis breathing a sigh of relief as silence descended over the office. It was short-lived; the black gadget beeping twice, signalling an answerphone message. Fearing the worst, Paul dialled the number to retrieve the message, hitting the speakerphone icon on the glass screen.
“Mr Lewis. It’s Mr Andrews. I’ve just discovered something very interesting. I really hope you’ve not been lying to me, and the
