Grace was subdued as they drove away from Whitburn. She was angry, angry with Terry, angry with herself. She never spoke of her loss. Never! Her grief was a private pool from which all outsiders were excluded. Even colleagues in Sheffield CID, whom she had known for years, had not penetrated the barriers she so carefully erected around herself.
If they thought her stand-offish and ungrateful for their sympathy, there was nothing she could do about that. She had to deal with Gary’s death in the only way she could, by squeezing all that grief and hurt into a carapace of focus on her job. The job became her life and she could not allow anybody to breach that shell, a shell which until now had been impenetrable.
And now this man, this Terry Horton, a man she barely knew, had met less than
