“‘What the...?’ Michael felt around until he found his mobile lying next to him on the pillow. He’d left it there in case Poppy called. He grabbed the phone and bolted upright. ‘Yeah?’ ‘Is that Michael Quinn?’ a voice asked. Deep, local. And definitely not Poppy. He swallowed the bitter taste at the back of his throat. ‘Yeah, who’s that?’ ‘This is Detective Constable Johnson, Cumbria police. You’re a registered participant at the John Barleycorn Festival, is that right?’ Michael shoved h...is knuckles into his eye. ‘No... I mean, yeah. Yeah, I am.’ ‘We’re asking all participants to gather in the main marquee at eight a.m.’ ‘What? Why?’ ‘It’ll be explained when you get here.’ ‘But it’s my girlfriend’s birthday today. I’m supposed to be helping with her party.’ ‘Then I suggest you get here as soon as you can, so you can be interviewed and get back to your party preparations.’ The line fell dead.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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