Part 3: the last piece
… continued from here:
‘I was thinking.’
Sol has his back to me, looking out his office window and smoking cigar number three. Cuban. I can read the label on the side of the box he took from an ivory inlaid, brass-clasped container on his mahogany desk. Writers do this, hoover up details.
‘Keane who isn’t Keane has a guy wanting to kill him for any one of two reasons, right?’
‘But what about the guy running the show from the phoney end. If he knows the spy boss has cottoned on, I mean, what’s he to do?’
This is getting better.
‘You mean which one of them had him killed?’
Sol takes a long, slow toke, holds the smoke in then streams it out of both nostrils.
‘That’s the easy bit.’
‘You never have to worry about fitting the last piece in a puzzle.’
to be continued ..