Chapter Fourteen
DRYDEN’S OFFICE LOOKED as if he had been squatting in it; a sleeping bag had been rolled up and stashed behind a cushion on the settee, but it was still clearly visible. The small filing room just off his office held what, behind its concealing curtain, looked like a rack of clothes. Were Dryden’s finances in an even worse state than they’d thought for him to be reduced to camping out in his office?
As Rafferty studied Dryden, he thought they might be. The well-groomed property developer no longer looked quite so glossy and well-cared-for. He had a scab from a healed shaving cut on one of his chins and the professional manicure of his fingernails had a ragged, just-chewed look.
Although he was intelligent enough to give them a polite welcome there was a tight-wound air
