Chapter Twenty-One“It's a bad business.”
Sitting in his office in New Scotland Yard, Commander James Hawkes shook his head gravely as he delivered what appeared to be a masterpiece of understatement to Detective Chief Inspector Richard Proffitt, who slumped wearily in a chair facing him.
“Yes, you never quite get used to losing one of your own, do you?”
“Have you seen his wife?”
“Yes, I broke the news to her.” Proffitt rubbed his eyes, already reddened by lack of sleep. “Not a very pleasant duty, but someone had to do it.”
“I sympathise. Telling someone of the death of someone close to them is something I've never really got used to. I don't think many of us do. Even more so when it involves people we know personally.”
“It goes with the job, I suppose.”
“How did she take it?”
“Very
