Chapter 15
Mr. Dale Atwood. The envelope looked important and official and he panicked for a moment as he wondered who could possibly have a reason to write to him. There was a temptation to throw it away without opening, and in the past he had done that with letters from the banks and building societies and credit companies, but he turned the envelope over with a trembling hand and read the return address. Continue reading
The dim light in the alleyway pooled down onto the huddled figure. Late at night, in this less salubrious area of London, there were few late-night revellers. Not even an insomniac dog-walker. But the man had been spotted nonetheless. It was dealt with in the usual efficient manner. Photographs, forensic evidence, SOCO’s. Processed, collated, labelled. Then the body removed to the central morgue for the next step. Formal identification and cause of death. Continue reading