“It’s your husband, Mrs Connor.”
“Rab?” Mrs Connor’s head snapped up. “What’s that blaggard been up to now?”
“He’s dead, I’m afraid.”
“Dead?” Mrs Connor’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I spoke to him just the other day. How did he die?”
Watters took a deep breath. “We believe somebody murdered him.”
Mrs Connor’s eyes widened slightly. “He won’t come back?”
“No, Mrs Connor, he won’t come back.”
Mrs Connor leaned back in her chair. “Well, thank God for that. Who murdered him, Sergeant? Tell me so I can shake his hand.”
“We wondered if it was you,” Watters said quietly.
“No,” Mrs Connor shook her head, “although I’ve thought about it. Rab Connor’s not worth swinging for.”
“You were one of the last people to see him,” Watters pointed out, “and it seems evident that you didn’t enjoy th
