"Your wife's a little late isn't she, Dave?

She usually goes on these business trips with you, Dave. Why didn't she go this time?"

"You'd better stop making like a detective, Julian, and tell me what this is all about. In words of one syllable.”

Julian Smith reached into a pocket and brought out some- thing wrapped in a white cloth. 

"This is your gun, Dave.” "For God's sake, Julian. 

How did you get hold of my gun? 

And what's it got to do with this man Cox, whoever he is? 

What are you trying to tell me?"

“That it killed him,” Smith said.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry, Dave. We've got a pickup on your wife.”