TWENTY-EIGHT
The next morning Mandy woke early, disturbed by a thrumming, the vibrations of a diesel engine rattled the sashes in the bedroom windows, and this irritating phenomenon was blended with an underlying hint of hypnotic cooing noises. The street door closed as near to quietly as Jack could manage, about five on the Richter scale, and he was off. Mandy could just hear an “Arr-reet Tom lad” and she was sure she heard a sigh that had to be the driver, Tom, before Jack slammed the lorry cab door. She had called him mad last night and he saw this as a compliment as it confirmed his self-diagnosis of a mid-life crisis. Mandy drifted but could not return to sleep and got herself up, abluted, and went into the police station.
The General, Jamie, Jo Jums and Mandy, had been in for some
