The phone in George’s suite rang and rang, but there was no answer.
It was one o’clock in the morning. Hardly a civilised time to be calling someone, but Jane had known George to take calls far later than this from the UK. He’d told her he was a borderline insomniac. Perhaps he had turned down the volume on the phone’s ringer in order to try to get some sleep. Not like George, but possible.
Despite the hard line she’d taken with Alex, she felt terrible about what had happened to Lisa Novak. Still dressed, and fortified by a half-bottle of white from the minibar in her hotel room, she had resolved to tell all she knew to George, and to hear, from him, just what was in the package that Iain MacGregor had entrusted to her.
She could no longer afford to give him the benefit of the doubt, no
