Chapter Six
Dora Richmond walked along the pavement in the late morning sunshine. The crisp autumn air felt fresh and cool in her nostrils and carried with it the faint aroma of burning leaves and wood bark.
At 61, she was incredibly sprightly for her age, and thanked God daily for the fact that she was not encumbered by arthritis, rheumatism or any of the usual aches and pains from which so many of her friends of a similar age at church suffered.
She had lived in Hertfordshire for more than 30 years, ever since her husband, Lawrence, had moved them down here from Sheffield so he could take up his position as Deputy Chief Constable in the local constabulary. That was a post he held for 20 years until his retirement.
His sudden death from a heart attack, five years earlier, had come as
