It was inscribed, “Mrs M. Jones, Assistant Detective”, followed by my telephone number (yes, my public call box telephone number!), and “c/o” ...er posh hotel address.“How?” I asked, marvelling how she could have this produced in time.“Oh, the concierge at the hotel can get almost anything done for you overnight. Anything at all, no questions asked.” She smiled sweetly, and rather innocently, which was completely convincing, even though she was still using that young middle-class English accent. She had no idea, of course, that no amount of scandal could persuade Harry to pass up the deal he was getting on Mark's car lot, to pass up the opportunity of selling that choice bit of real estate to the city for triple what it was going to cost him.Lynn turned to Harry, and found him sitting by the wheel, his eyes upon her. He smiled gently at her, and she took this as an invitation to rid herself of the worry that had threatened to drive her crazy the last 12 hours. Surely this kind man. More

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