The Frailty of Flesh Read Online Free PDF Page A

out of his pocket and dialed the number for the lawyer.
    Out of the office. He left a message saying he was returning Byron Smythe’s call, and hung up. Then he dialed information.
    “I’m looking for a number for Ted Bicknell. B-I-C-K-N-E-L-L.”
    “Which city?” the operator asked.
    “Can you check the whole province?”
    A sigh, followed by the clack-clack sound of keystrokes. “I’m sorry. No listing for a Ted Bicknell. And before you ask, no T. Bicknell either. I checked.”
    “In the entire province?” Craig asked.
    The exhaled breath sounded less like a sigh and more like a huff this time. “I said I checked. If you have another name you’d like me to try…”
    “No. Thanks.” Craig hung up partway through the “Have a nice day” spiel. There were a few options. Ted Bicknell could be in BC, but just use a cell phone. He could have moved somewhere warm, or had family elsewhere in Canada and moved out of the province.
    For all Craig knew, Bicknell had passed away and was permanently unreachable. Did it really matter? Odds were, Donny Lockridge’s dirtbag lawyer was calling him as a last resort, for the same reason Lisa Harrington had. Because Smythe couldn’t track down Ted Bicknell either and some lazy RCMP officer had directed him to Craig when he asked for Steve Daly.
    Not lazy, Craig. That’s not politically correct. You mean unmotivated.
    But why would Lockridge’s lawyer want to talk to the arresting officers after all this time? Craig had nothing to do with the case. His only tie to Lockridge was through his dad.
    The cell phone buzzed and lit up. Craig flipped it open.
    “Craig Nolan.”
    “Constable Craig Nolan?”
    He didn’t recognize the voice. “That’s right.”
    “This is Emma Fenton, with the Vancouver Sun. I’m doing an article on Hope Harrington’s mu—”
    “No comment.”
    “Mr. Nolan, you haven’t even heard—”
    “I didn’t work that case, and I have no idea why you’re calling me.”
    “Alison Daly.”
    The name was blurted out in a rush, presumably as a way to keep him from hanging up. If that was Emma Fenton’s intention, she succeeded.
    “Mr. Nolan, it was Alison Daly who gave me your phone number.”
    The reporter paused. Craig could only assume she was hoping he’d say something, show some sign of curiosity, but instead he gripped the headrest of the front passenger seat with his free hand and bit his lip.
    “I was hoping we could speak in person,” she said.
    Craig closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened his eyes he still felt the skin on the back of his neck burn. “If you have a question, ask.”
    He heard her draw a breath. “Fine. There’s a rumor of legal action over the wrongful conviction of Donny Lockridge for the murder of Hope Harrington ten years ago.”
    And what does that have to do with me? Things were starting to make sense. Lockridge’s lawyer, now a reporter…Had Lisa Harrington known something more before they met? Why hadn’t she said something?
    “Mr. Nolan?”
    He rubbed his brow with his thumb and forefinger. “That wasn’t a question, Ms. Fenton.”
    “Emma.” She paused, but he didn’t respond, so she continued. “Really, Mr. Nolan, I’m just trying to get to the truth. We could meet for lunch, on the newspaper’s dime. All I want to do is get the facts straight.”
    Craig glanced at his watch. 11:28 A.M. “I’ve already eaten.” A lie, but there was no way in hell he was meeting her, or saying anything until he knew what was going on.
    “Coffee then.”
    “Ms. Fenton—”
    “Emma.”
    “Look…I have no comment. I didn’t work this case. I have no knowledge of any legal action.”
    “So you deny being contacted by Donny Lockridge’s lawyer?”
    Craig swore beneath his breath. Who could have told this reporter that Byron Smythe had tried to contact him? He hadn’t even known about that himself until less than half an hour ago.
    “I have no comment.”
    This time he lowered the phone and