It was three in the morning. Harry stood on the steps outside the police station and watched the light but steady rainfall. No jacket, raincoat or umbrella meant that he was going to get wet.
And it was a long walk back to the car.
He thought about calling a taxi but discovered he had no money. So what else could go wrong?
While he was considering his options, a stretch limousine pulled up beside the curb and the driver’s window lowered. The man looked like s chauffeur.
“Get in the back. Someone would like to have a word.”
I opened the door and looked in. Al’s wife, Jennifer, not a hair out of place, and dressed for a night on the town. This time she was alone, there was no sign of her previous passenger.
“We need to talk,” she said.
Indeed we did. I climbed in and sat next to her. The car pulled away from the curb and started heading back towards the car park where I'd left my car.
“I have a few questions I need some answers, Mrs. Jones.”
She frowned. “Don't use that name again. Call me Jennifer.”
It was as if she knew her husband was dead, but it was not the first question on my list.
“Do you have a daughter?”
I could see her expression change to one of annoyance, or was it grief. “Once, not anymore.”
“Was her name Cathy?”
She looked surprised. “Yes.”
“Then I think she’s still alive.”