Ross Sloane sat in his study with a glass of whiskey and an open file on the desk in front of him. The file was the private case file he’d opened thirty years ago, when the detectives had given up and put the disappearance of Jane Edwards and Andrew White into their too hard basket. The whiskey was from the bottle of Bushmills Black Bush that Mary had bought him for Christmas.
He’d had his suspicions about John Grant, Paul Maitland, and George Young right from the start but hadn’t been able to break the story they’d concocted and stood by for thirty years.
He’d followed the recent case through the media after Bob Davenport had told him about the skeletal remains of Edwards and White being found buried in Red Banks Conservation Park. That was one place he hadn’t searched. At the time, he’
