anyone.’ Dulcie couldn’t believe she was defending herself. ‘I went to tell the police what I’d seen. And, yeah, I recognized Dimitri from the photo. But I never said he was the man I’d seen. I don’t understand it.’ ‘Who uses the phrase “rat out,” anyway?’ Trista focused on the etymology. Lloyd sat opposite Dulcie, his attention rapt. Twenty minutes after the strange call, Dulcie felt angry rather than frightened. But his suggestion that they leave the office for some air and a snack had been welcomed anyway. Trista had seen them on their way into the Square and was now clearing away their empty plates to place another, with three more chocolate chip cookies, on the café table. ‘It sounds like something from one of Dimitri’s stupid books,’ Trista added. Dulcie couldn’t disagree. ‘I think you should call the cops,’ Lloyd said. ‘After all, they got you into this.’ ‘No.’ Dulcie was firm. ‘No way. I don’t need any more of this.’ ‘Wait, catch me up here?’ Trista broke off a piece of one cookie to dunk in her mug.
