27
Martins was on her way back from seeing Glen Wright when her phone rang. Her immediate thought was that something new and bad had happened.
“Martins,” she said once she had turned off the main road and found a safe place to park.
“Ma’am, it’s Reid.”
“What’s happened?” Martins was sure, from the tone of Reid’s voice, that she was right, and it was bad news.
“I’m at Andrew Westenra’s,” Reid said. “He’s one of Kieran Wright’s friends, I came here to talk to him about Wright, but it seems as though Wright got here first.”
Martins felt her heart sink into her stomach. “What’s the address?” she asked. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she said once she had it.
It took about thirty-five minutes for Martins to reach her destination, and when she did she found that the street outside the
