‘And I can’t wait till I’m old enough to retire.’ He leaned against the corridor wall outside Andy’s room. He’d ushered us all out, though Andy plainly wanted me to stay, and he was supposed to be going back in to support the inspector. But he was clearly in no rush. His face was longer, more lugubrious and Eyoreish than ever: even the leather patches on his elbows were coming unstitched. ‘When’ll Chris be back from Bramshill?’ I asked. ‘Not long, now, surely?’ ‘Another couple of weeks,’ said Ian, ignoring the clear implication that Chris and I must be in one of our off-periods. ‘And they’ll be after chaining him to a desk. Not supposed to run around getting their hands dirty any more, these Senior Officers.’ He snorted over the capital letters. I tutted. From within the room a voice summoned him; he raised depressed eyebrows, shrugged, and turned away. ‘I ought to be in there with him,’ I said. ‘Andy. He’s my cousin.’ ‘I remember,’ he said, with forbearance.
What do You think about Dying For Millions (2014)?
