g*n OIL, BACON AND BLEACH
Ash lathered her hands with sanitiser, grimacing because despite the antiseptic scent and the soothing action, the reek of murder clung on. An illusion, as was the insect crawl tickling her skin, and neither would stop her doing her job. But it drove her crazy that she couldn’t break the chronic habit.
This time, it’d been sparked by an image on her computer screen: a black steel fence swathed in flowers and pictures. Her eyes returned to a collage of names and love hearts that surrounded a naïve drawing of a female with blonde curls. And as before, her gaze locked on the five words in the centre, scrawled in a rainbow of coloured crayon: ‘We MISS YOU Miss Binchey.’
A voice came from behind, startling Ash. ‘Fourth day in a row.’
She twisted around as the libra
