Hard Case by Elizabeth Lapthorne Page B

Troy. We both appreciate the time you’ve given to us.”
    “Not at all, I only wish I could give you more. Steve old boy, how are things?”
    “Doing fine, thanks, Key. You’ve certainly done well.”
    “Don’t be fooled by this man, Troy,” Keyton said with mock seriousness, waggling a finger at Steve. “You can go along for hours, days, and think he’s a mild-mannered, quiet and sturdy man, completely unprepossessing. Then the shit hits the fan and bam! Most punishing left hook I’ve ever witnessed. I’ve seen him drop bullies more than twice his size without breaking a sweat.”
    “I’m not remotely in that kind of shape anymore,” Steve insisted.
    Keyton made a rude sound and ignored the protest.
    “I won’t pretend we were the closest of chums,” Keyton continued, “but I’ll never forget when we got into a skirmish with a rival school—a dozen or so of us, after a particularly vicious footy match. Fists flying everywhere, the enthusiasm and hot-blooded rage of youth, you know. Steve here remained calm and in control. Got the younger boys out of the mix then proceeded to mill down grown men with a few short, well-placed jabs. Best bloody thing I’ve ever seen.”
    Troy glanced at Steve, a smile hovering on his lips. Steve appeared faintly uncomfortable, clearly having not expected Keyton to recall him, let alone wax lyrical over his exploits in their misspent youth.
    Troy was amused.
    “But I’m wasting precious time, I suppose,” Keyton sighed. “That’s the bloody problem with politics, gentlemen. So much talking, but only five percent of it really means anything. Would either of you care for a drink?”
    Both Troy and Steven declined. Keyton waved them to couches set up in a corner of the office, clearly a more relaxed, informal sitting area. They all took their seats and Keyton leaned forward, his attention focused on Troy.
    “Right then. What can I do for you?”
    “We’re trying to discover why this man appears to want you killed,” Troy dug into his pocket, pulled out his phone and brought up the picture of James. “I believe this man, James, is behind the threats to you, but we have no real understanding of why. Do you recognize him?”
    Keyton took Troy’s phone and studied the picture carefully. Troy surveyed Keyton, attentive to the man’s entire demeanor. There was no flicker of recognition in his eye, no tightening of his jaw, no tensing of his muscles. When Keyton lifted his head to catch his gaze, his face were clear of deception.
    “No, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this man,” Keyton said. “Should I recognize him?”
    “There’s a second one if you flick over to it, a closer image of his face.”
    Keyton obligingly swapped to the other picture and studied it with as much focus as the previous one. Still, when he claimed no knowledge of James, Troy was forced to believe him—either that or Keyton was a master of deception and had been expecting this, able to control any impulse to give himself away.
    When Keyton handed the phone back Troy pocketed it, trying to hide his disappointment.
    “I’m also seriously looking into the possibility this might hark back to your school days,” Troy continued. “There are an awful lot of connections in this case that go back to that time. Can you think of anyone who might have reason to hold a grudge? Did you step on someone’s feet from those days when you started in this career? Or possibly break some girl’s heart? If you could give me an idea of who might feel they have a score to settle with you—or wish to see you dead—I can discreetly look into other avenues.”
    “I’ve no claims to sainthood, nor was I a monk throughout my youth,” Keyton shook his head. “But I’ve been a happily married man for many years now. Judy and I have two small children, we’re blissfully settled together and I’m not one to ruin what I’ve created for myself on the chance the grass might be greener somewhere else. You’re