A Prayer for the Dying. Jack Higgins
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‘And you still refuse to come?’
‘There wouldn’t be any point.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I can’t help you.’
For a moment, Miller genuinely thought he was going out of his mind. This couldn’t be happening. It just didn’t make any kind of sense, and then he was struck by a sudden, dreadful suspicion.
‘Has Meehan been getting at you in some way?’
‘Meehan?’ Father da Costa said, his genuine bewilderment so perfectly obvious that Miller immediately dropped the whole idea.
‘I could have you brought in formally, Father, as a material witness.’
‘You can take a horse to water but you can’t make him drink, Superintendent.’
‘I can have a damn good try,’ Miller told him grimly. He walked to the door and opened it. ‘Don’t make me take you in formally, sir. I’d rather not but I will if I have to.’
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