Fifteen
“He tried to get me to call him ‘Uncle’ when I was a kid. Fat chance.” — Francesca BoyleBailey Troy pressed the “end” button on her phone, and watched as Isaac Church’s number disappeared off the screen.
Although it was only 8:30am, she had already been at her desk for an hour, and breakfast was a distant memory. Since getting to her office, she had been reading through forensic and scene-of-crime reports, trying in vain to divine a promising line of enquiry. Piled up beside her desk were the boxes of Dakin Boyle documents from Francesca’s home study. Bailey had been contemplating opening the topmost box and looking there for inspiration when the call from Isaac had come.
And now, after a five-minute phone conversation, she had her line of enquiry. She pressed “4” on the phone k
