A Murder, Of Sorts
“I’m a what!”
For a man who had captured numerous stalkers, cracked various mysteries and rescued the entire Sussex Archery Club from gruesome deaths, Rafferty looked thoroughly baffled.
“A liability Mr Pryce.”
With that, Derren Spence lay an official looking document squarely on the desk in front of the Agency’s soon-to-be former star agent.
“Mr Pryce, do you really think your situation would go unnoticed? That was a rather poisonous letter from your -”
He checked his notes.
Realising that his slumped body language was doing no favours for his respectability, Rafferty drew himself up in his swivel-chair.
“That matter is in hand. Ismerelda’s a feisty one, but trust that I have everything under control.”
“No, Mr Pryce. I’m afraid your position has been compromised. You cannot go home, and you cannot stay here."
A tense silence preceded the quiet click of the intercom button.
“Cancel my appointments.”
Spence stood, a smile playing across his lips.
“Goodbye Rafferty… Old chum.”