WHEN THEY GOT ROUND to Primrose Avenue, it was to find Margaret Jones on the sofa crying softly. Harry Jones was pacing restlessly up and down as though, if he didn’t keep active, he, too, might give way.
‘What happened?’ Rafferty asked one of the paramedics who’d been called out to attend Allbright.
‘Took a load of Paracetamol. Late last night would be my guess as he was well gone when we arrived. The empty packets were by his bed. He must have been stockpiling them seeing as most chemists won’t allow you to buy so many at one time.’
From what the paramedic said, it seemed Allbright had been planning his suicide for some days. Rafferty wondered if this planning dated back to Harrison’s murder. Maybe a count up of the discarded packets of Paracetamol would tell him.
‘We thought he’d go
