DS MARY CARMODY WAS waiting in her car a few houses up from No 12 when Rafferty arrived. Carmody got out of her car and approached him.
‘I checked the daughter’s name and street number,’ she told him. ‘According to the neighbours, she’s still calling herself Mrs Ogilvie. The current live-in boyfriend’s called Darryl Jesmond. They’re squatting at No 12, I gather.’ She nodded at a rusty blue Rover that was parked haphazardly about eighteen inches from the kerb. ‘The neighbour told me that vehicle belongs to Jane Ogilvie, so it’s likely she’s at home.’
Rafferty nodded. The careless parking in the narrow street of mean Victorian terraces added to the sum total he had gathered of Jane Ogilvie's character. So far all of it was negative. But as he wouldn't like his own character to be assassina
