“The secret to murder”, said Harry, “is not in the execution but in dam good planning.”
Dan nodded.
“Any idiot can kill someone but it takes someone with talent my boy to get away with it”.
Dan listened and tried to hide the smile, which tugged at the corners of his mouth. Harry was an old boy; wrinkled as prunes, doused in carbolic soap you could smell fifty miles away down wind, and as knowledgeable as your granddad when it came to Ipods.
“Capuche?”
He also thought he was half Italian.
“So what got you in here then Harry?”
“Murder”