The person who had been watching for sixty years arrived on a Thursday morning.
She was eighty-three years old, five feet tall, and wore a cream linen suit with the posture of someone who had decided decades ago that how you occupied space communicated everything worth communicating before you opened your mouth. She came through the Knight Estate gate in a car that was not extravagant but was excellent, driven by a young man who helped her out with the practiced efficiency of a longtime assistant.
She stood on the estate drive and looked at the house with the expression of someone recognizing a place they have known about for a long time and are finally seeing in person.
Marcus's team had cleared her six ways from Sunday. Her name was Catherine Bell. She was a retired private finance co
