CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sadie eyed the front of Westwood’s mansion, now mostly dark except for one lit up window on the fourth floor. His Jaguar was parked conspicuously in the front drive. He was home, but was he alone?
She wasn’t sure why she had put herself on unofficial stakeout on Westwood, but after driving around the city for a while she had concluded that there wasn’t a lot else that she could do. She had the victim’s files next to her on the seat, and she had already gone over them three times, cursing each time when she discovered no new lead. No seemingly innocuous snippet of information that could unlock the whole case.
What if Westwood had another victim in there?
She was trying to concoct a valid reason to knock on his door that wouldn’t be construed as police harassment when he
