Chapter 8The Evil That Men Do
William Nugent sat at his desk, his head supported by both hands, for once feeling every one of his sixty-three years. He looked with sadness at the preliminary autopsy report that lay in front of him, front and centre on his desk, and sighed in sadness.
He looked up as a knock on his door was followed by the entrance of his assistant, Francis Lees. Lees bore a tray holding two mugs of hot coffee, and a packet of custard creams, and as usual, after entering the office he used his backside to push the door shut. Only then did he notice his boss's sitting posture.
“Is everything alright?” Lees asked, knowing by Nugent's appearance that everything was damn well not alright.
“Ah, Francis, I think to myself, that I'm getting too old to be doing this job. I thou
