HENRY, THE LANDLORD of The Troubadour, was welcoming. He was a big man, though light on his feet. He ran an orderly pub and there was rarely any trouble. Rafferty hadn’t seen him since he had opportunity to seek his help on a previous case. One of Elmhurst’s few gay pubs, Rafferty didn’t frequent The Troubadour ordinarily, but that wasn’t important. He had always found the landlord accommodating, and so it proved today.
‘Hello there.’ One thing about Henry, he was always discreet and never used his police rank when he greeted Rafferty. ‘Long time, no see. How are you hanging? What’ll you have?’
Rafferty grinned. ‘l was hanging just fine last time I looked, Henry, but thanks for asking. I’ll have a pint of Adnams’ bitter, and as Dafyd here’s driving, he’ll probably have a coffee.’
Llewel
