Chapter Thirteen
The plastic folder snapped on the table, and the chair screeched when Callan pulled it back. He steepled his fingers and gave the other man a long look. ‘Mr Matthew Macgregor.’
Perspiration beaded on the man’s forehead and upper lip, thanks to the stuffy room. ‘Edgar – it’s Matthew Edgar.’
Callan tilted his head. ‘Why the name change?’
The man narrowed his eyes until they were mere slits. He’d used this trick on Blaine a few times – Callan had heard the tales. ‘I can do whatever the hell I want.’
‘Including murdering yer son?’
Edgar banged his hands on the table and spat. ‘How. Dare. Ye! I would never kill my lad.’
Callan furrowed his brows. ‘Why?’
Clasping his hands together as if in prayer, he shook his head. ‘Every father and son have their spats. They don’t end
