Jim the dogsbody. A man with a van. Cleaner of other people’s dirty work.
Main line of business? Men. Bad men. Men he couldn’t care less about. Men who deserved to die.
But a woman? And more to the point, a woman he’d respected. A brave woman who’d deserved better than to be fried like a kipper.
She peered down at a man in uniform, his face youthful and lean. The glossy black-and-white finish to the print dated it seventies or early eighties. She knew who the officer was – and why these men wanted him. His name was Tanner. Frank Tanner. At least, that was his name in 1984. A good cop. And what is more, a witness, like her, to wicked men like her captors.
She peered down at a man in uniform, his face youthful and lean. The glossy black-and-white finish to the print dated it seventies or
