Hamlyn locked the door of the cheap motel room behind him, opened the windows to let in fresh air and closed the curtains. He’d ditched his mobile and was running on cash, if he was careful it’d be a day or two before he’d have to leave an electronic signature again.
Degas was dead. Neatly, discretely and Hamlyn was probably the only person who thought it might be murder. The last of Russell’s people who might have had some useful information, gone.
Hamlyn turned on the news but stared at the wall above the set instead of watching it, trying to think. If this had been a movie or a book it would have ended months ago, the night Russell died or a few days later when they’d buried Coburn, but now it seemed that someone was tidying up loose ends. Hamlyn’s allies who’d had anything to do with the Russell matter were all gone. Russell’s people had been picked off too. Hamlyn couldn’t believe that everything that happened was a coincidence, but he had no proof. Nothing to even link the deaths together except for the Russell business and Headquarters wasn’t prepared to open that book again.
Without a lead all he could do was keep his own security up and watch for whoever would come after him.
“-single vehicle accident. The driver was found dead in the car-.“ That was so much like the deaths that had dogged Hamlyn in the last few weeks that the words drew his attention to screen. “The deceased has been identified as Robert Vaughn.” The name meant nothing to Hamlyn, but the face did. The dead man was someone he knew by sight, someone he’d seen dozens, maybe hundreds of times. Almost every time he’d used the Headquarters' car park.