Chapter Fifteen
WHEN RAFFERTY WENT to see Edith Staveley at her son’s home, where she had gone after the assault on her, she tried to appear her usual strong-minded self, but it was clear that it was an effort of will alone and didn’t quite succeed. Although her spine still didn’t rest against the back of her son’s more comfortable armchair, it sagged a little from her former straight stance. Unsurprisingly, the attack had shaken her. Rafferty asked her how she was feeling,
Her voice was croaky and difficult to understand as her throat had been badly bruised. But she insisted she was okay and could talk.
‘Have you seen a doctor?’ he asked.
‘My mother’s GP has been to see her,’ John Staveley told him. ‘He’s given her sleeping tablets and some tranquillizers as a short-term measure.’
‘I
