Chapter Three
I’d managed to get Travis Connolly to speak to me for nearly an hour but he’d told me absolutely nothing about himself—zilch, nada, bugger all. Oh, he probably thought he had because he’d gone into minute detail about his accident, the speed of both cars involved, the length of the skid marks, the safety spec on the new Volvo he’d been driving. And then there’d been the whole spiel about the insurance and the witness statements and the decision to buy another Volvo because he’d been so impressed with its performance. After that came the medical list—the X-rays, the analgesia and anti-inflammatory, right down to the doses he’d been taking and how he’d titrated them down to needing nothing now he’d healed.
Yes, there was no doubt in my mind that if Travis were asked he’d say
