CHAPTER 14

A man out walking his dog on his way to the paper shop on Sunday morning was the first to see Eric’s body. It lay on the grass to the side of the drive that led to the front door of one of the most prestigious homes in the town. He phoned for the police and ambulance although he was pretty certain he should have rung the undertakers. This guy was dead. There was a good deal of blood and odd splashes trailed off back towards the centre of town, leaving a nice set of trainer prints.

“Very handy for the cops,” Dennis Newman said to the dog “a pity they won’t string the bastard up. I expect he was smacked on the back of his legs when he was six and that’ll be enough to get him into an open prison with a television. World’s gone to hell in a h...

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