CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Franklin checked the time: 9.00pm. He frowned, pissed at Georgie for not ringing back. No matter where they were personally with her ex coming back, while the kids were missing she should be contactable.
He glared at Troy Dickson on his computer screen.
Some crooks were ordinary. They blended into crowds, nothing about their appearance and their daily behaviour flagged them…until their crimes were exposed.
They were the types that neighbours reeling after a domestic killing would swear were ‘good blokes’ and there must be some mistake. Or the polite white-collar workers who skimmed a bit here and there for years while their bosses thought they were staying behind out of diligence, until wondering how they could afford, say, a three-storey house with sea views at Sor
