Chapter Eight
IT SEEMED SMYTHE HAD had second thoughts about his lies, for when they got back to the hospital, they found a note pushed under the outside door to their office. But arresting Smythe, even if he was the murderer, wasn't a prospect likely to fill Rafferty with triumph. If he had been a hunting man, Smythe was the kind of catch he'd have left for the dogs. Still, he reflected, as he picked up the internal phone and dialled Smythe's number, it would be a relief to get his first murder case wrapped up. But there was no reply. 'Probably sitting up there in his office wetting himself,' Rafferty said. 'Let's go and see.'
Smythe's first floor office was small and rather cramped. The walls housed a display of achievements; his medical qualifications, and pictures of him at various s
