But back to… the bitch....
Terry Garvin had only recently been divorced and was living in a rented studio-apartment in Deptford.
His savings, the all-knowing Amrita had confided to me, were non-existent and he was having trouble making the payments the court had awarded his wife and the twelve-year-old son who wanted nothing to do with him.
All of which made the salary he earned at the company I was now running for Amrita crucial to him and his alarming recent drop in productivity and slack timekeeping all the more alarming.
For him.
Terry Garvin was also, if not quite in Denny’s class, a highly desirable man.
He was tall, maybe six-one, and well-built if not over-muscular frame. Thick black hair framed rounded and pleasant features and his eyes had an almost doe-like quality.
Perfe
