THIRTY-NINE
The call came through as Nolan pulled on his coat to go home. A young constable came through and gave the Sergeant a piece of paper. Nolan read it and sighed. The fingerprints on the glass in Ashton’s sink were Brunt’s.
“Norwich wants you to give them a call, Sarge.”
Nolan nodded, sucking in his bottom lip, trying to piece it together, putting it straight in his mind. There was something about Brunt, a caged tiger in many ways, but a man not capable of such extreme acts of violence. Could he really have got the man so completely wrong?
“Sarge?”
He looked up and frowned, realised the officer implied he should call the Norwich C.I.D. now, and grunted a reply. He went back to his desk and used the desk phone.
“We’ve got the ballistic report back, Sarge,” said Amis, voice tir
