Weeping widows are never a sight to behold, but as he stared into the penetrating blue eyes of Claire Dryden, made sapphire blue by teardrops of grief, he couldn’t take his mind off the physical charm confronting him. Her perfect oval face, pale skin and shoulder-length blonde hair gave the woman an eerily symmetrical quality, like a sculpture carved from marble by precision tools.
Sant offered his condolences, noting a half-empty bottle of vodka and several empty cans of Diet Coke on the kitchen Formica. ‘We’re trying to get to the bottom of Liam’s death,’ he said. ‘Did your husband talk to you about the cases he’d worked on lately?’
‘Only after they were solved,’ she said, wiping more tears away. ‘He was a professional in that sense. Sometimes I would ask, but he’d never let on. I’ve a
