Chapter Seven
WHEN HE REACHED HIS flat several hours later that Saturday evening, Rafferty, feeling peckish again and fancying some supper, scrabbled around in his freezer for some minutes, fighting his way past accumulated ice, before excavating a beef casserole ready-meal that was past its sell-by date. He shrugged, put it in the microwave, poured himself a glass of Jameson’s and, once he’d finished his dinner – straight out of the container, and put the cutlery in the dishwasher – he set to thinking.
Spurred on by the excuse he’d supplied DI Tom Kendall for his interest in the warehouse thefts, he began to wonder if it was a coincidence that Keith Sutherland had been a partner in a wholesale electrical company. Or was there some connection between the warehouse thefts and Sutherland'
