Chapter 8
Shirley had taken to staying in the flat with me. She was curled upon my lap her eyes closed, a gentle purr radiating from somewhere deep within her. Days were passing by and with every dawn the dawning reality of maybe never seeing Jenny again threw me into an ever deepening malaise. It was just gone ten-thirty in the morning; I was still in my dressing gown and slippers, when the doorbell rang. Shirley slipped reluctantly from my lap, arched her back and stretched out digging her claws deep into the faded carpet.
I made my way downstairs expecting some kind of door to door salesman but was shocked to come face to face with a police badge being thrust in my face by a middle aged man, with a ruddy face and greying hair.
‘DCI Charlie Sinclair,’ he said by way of introduction. ‘
