How he’d got back into the cottage, locked the front door, and climbed into his own bed was anyone’s guess. But when Vince had woken not long after dawn, he was warm and had only a vague memory of lying in the paddock.
‘Idiot.’ His hands hurt.
Showered and dressed, he went outside and fed the pony. The bottle of scotch was empty, the remaining contents spilling out when he’d dropped it. Probably just as well. With a bit of luck Melanie would be home today and he wasn’t about to repeat his actions of the previous night with her in the house.
Over coffee and toast, thankfully not burnt, he listened to the news.
Police continue to be baffled by the disappearance of convicted killer, Malcolm Hardy. Fifty-year-old Hardy escaped police custody on the way to a hearing, sparking a manhunt acro
