Donovan sat still while his slow-working brain tried to cope with this unexpected situation.
“You don’t call that proof, do you?” he said finally, glaring at Duncan.
Duncan refused to be intimidated. He knew if Donovan had made the discovery himself he would be crowing his head off.
“The guy is scared stiff; the description matches and he grows roses,” he said quietly. “It’s enough for me to dig further. I want to know what make of car he runs. If it’s a green Lincoln I know I won’t have to look further for the guy we want.”
“If he runs a green Lincoln then he is our guy,” Donovan said, shrugging, “but I’ll bet he doesn’t run one.”
Duncan shoved back his chair and stood up.
“Shall we go and find out?”
“May as well,” Donovan said grudgingly.
Twenty minutes later, Duncan pulled up some hundred yards from Ken’s bungalow.
“Do we walk?” he asked. “No point in warning him we’re on to him.”