“The Patterson Group?” Michael suggested.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
Michael half expected to hear a roar coming from the other room if Isabel was listening, and he was sure she was. She had to be furious.
“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” Ferris asked.
He was just now figuring it out? Michael slowly nodded.
“Yes, you are,” Sinclair said.
Ferris looked as though he was going to cry. “If MacCarthy was still around he’d get me out of this mess. He’d tell you I was just delivering information.”
“What do you mean, if he was still around? Where did he go?” Sinclair asked.
“He died, two or three days ago. I don’t know exactly when. I had just gotten back from Boston and I was at the pub when I heard. Everyone was talking about it. They said his heart just gave out. It was a shock, though some people said they weren’t surprised. He was a glutton for women and whiskey.”
MacCarthy had been the next to be hauled in for interrogation. With enough pressure, they’d hopefully have gotten the lawyer to give up the name of his client. Sinclair couldn’t hide his disappointment. He was now going to have to figure out another way to hunt down the man who wrote the instructions or, as Michael called it, the kill order.
“You know, Inspector, the more I think about it, the more convinced I become that I didn’t do anything wrong.” Ferris sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. His smug confidence had returned. “I didn’t break any laws. I was just the messenger. I think, with a good solicitor, I’ll be let go.”
Michael couldn’t listen to another word. He had had enough. He quietly got up and left the room.