The small filing room just off his office held what, behind its concealing curtain, looked like a rack of clothes. Were Dryden's finances in an even worse state than they'd thought for him to be reduced to camping out in his office? As Rafferty studied Dryden, he thought they might be. The well-groomed property developer no longer looked quite so glossy and well-cared-for. He had a scab from a healed shaving cut on one of his chins and the professional manicure of his fingernails had a ragged, just-chewed look. Although he was intelligent enough to give them a polite welcome there was a tight-wound air to him. It was clear Dryden was a man on the edge; his business empire tottering, his shaky finances made shakier by the possible depredations of a blackmailing Isobel. Now he was also a suspect in a double murder enquiry. Any one of these things could be enough to send a man over that edge, but the three together might make a person dangerously unpredictable, especially if they had already killed and killed again.
