It was just after midnight when Mary Jerome, Francon, Paula and myself filed into Brandon’s office. Muffin, red-faced and thoughtful, brought up the rear.
Brandon sat behind his desk and glared at us as we came in. He wasn’t looking his usual immaculate self. Mifflin had hauled him out of bed to hear me repeat my story.
‘Well, sit down,’ Brandon growled, waving his hand to the half-circle of chairs lined up before his desk. He swung around to glare at Mifflin. ‘What did you get?’
‘Two truck loads of reefers and sixteen corpses,’ Muffin told him.
‘Barratt’s dead. Only one member of the gang was alive when we got there, and he’s talked. But it’s Malloy’s story. Do you want him to tell it?’
Brandon favoured me with a heavy scowl as be opened a drawer and took out a cigar box. He selected a cigar without offering the box to anyone and sat back.
‘That’s what he’s here for,’ he said, pointed a fat finger at Mary Jerome and asked, ‘Who’s this?’
‘Lee Dedrick’s wife,’ I told him.
He started, stared at me.
‘Who?’