ONE HUNDRED FIVE
‘Take a seat, Grace,’ ACC Martin Vickers told her as she was shown into his office. The summons to Vickers’ office came as a surprise and Grace could only surmise the meeting must be about progress on the current case. She gathered her files and drove over to the HQ of the South Yorkshire Police in Sheffield.
‘Thank you, sir, you wanted to see me?’ she said and then felt like an i***t for stating the obvious. As usual, Vickers was immaculately turned out. He had taken off his uniform jacket and hung it up on a hanger rather than a hook and his crisp white shirt, starched and ironed with the creases in the sleeves so sharp as to present a danger to the public. Even the epaulettes of his rank seemed to be starched and ironed.
The knot of his tie was a perfect Windsor and
