Or maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. Neither of them would have known it was to be their last conversation.
Quinn reached for the whisky and tried to drink away his sorrow. It was after midnight when he gave up, set the half-empty bottle aside, and went to bed.
He held up his phone in the darkness, listened to the message once more. There was something about it, but he couldn’t say what, his thoughts clouded by drink. Worry pushed at the edges of his mind, niggled at him. So, he listened again and again.
Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put a finger on it.
You’re off your heid, man.
He set the phone aside and drifted into a restless sleep.
3
Elizabeth had just hit her snooze button when her cell rang. She fumbled for it in the dark, saw that it was Quinn.
She answered. “It’s six in the morning here, you know.”
“I need your help.”
The tone of his voice made Elizabeth sit up. “Are you okay?”
“Aye, I’m well, but there’s somethin’ goin’ on here. I cannae say whit just yet, but it disnae add up.”
Elizabeth could tell he was upset because his accent always got thicker when he was under stress. She was about to ask him what he meant, but there was no point in discussing anything until she’d had at least one cup of coffee. “Can you call me back in a half hour? If you want me to think, I need a shower and some caffeine.”
“Aye. Talk to you then.”
Elizabeth turned off her alarm, took a hot shower, and went to the kitchen to make coffee, still in her bathrobe, her hair damp. She’d just finished her first cup when her phone rang again. Quinn was right on time.
“Hey.” She grabbed a notebook and a pen. “Okay, start from the beginning.”
While he explained, she took notes. His friend, Jack, had been found dead in an alley. He’d been wearing body armor, but the killer had slashed his throat. There were no bruises, lacerations, or other signs of a physical altercation on the body. The murder had taken place at about three in the morning. Someone, ostensibly the killer, had taken Jack’s work and personal cell phones, watch, and wallet, but had left his car. No one knew why Jack had gone into that alley. He’d left his job working as security for a member of the Scottish Parliament three hours earlier, so he hadn’t been on duty.
“Police have been askin’ his wife, Ava, whether he had a history of usin’ or sellin’ drugs, but Jack Murray would never do that.”
Elizabeth could understand why investigators had moved in that direction. People didn’t drive into back alleys for the scenery. “How can I help?”
“Last night, I had a feelin’ that somethin’ wisnae right, but I’d had a wee swally of whisky, and I couldnae make sense of it.”
Meaning that he’d been drunk—again.
Quinn went on. “But this mornin’, it struck me. Ava told me that Jack had lost his personal mobile a few weeks back while on the job and that the killer stole the new one. But when Jack called me a few days afore he was murdered, he called on his old personal phone, the one Ava thinks he lost a few weeks ago.”
“Are you sure?”
“Aye. There’s no mistake. Ava said the new mobile came wi’ a new number. He called me from the old number.”
Okay, thatwasstrange.
“So, he lied to his wife.” That certainly wouldn’t lessen police suspicions. Secret cell phones were exactly the thing you’d expect to find associated with selling drugs. “I know he was your best friend, but it’s possible that he’s changed. Maybe he had problems with post-traumatic stress or—”
“I cannae believe it. If you had known Jack… I need to find that mobile.”
“What makes you think the police don’t already have it? I don’t know the laws in Scotland, but I’m sure investigators are able to access the phone records of homicide victims. Wherever that phone is, they’ll be able to track it.”
“I need to find it first.”
“Quinn, I know you want to help Jack, but if you were to find that phone and keep it to stop police from uncovering ties to drug dealing, you’d be guilty of obstruction or interfering with a police investigation.”