Randall Boyes was a strange looking man. Although I"ve never been good at judging people"s ages, I guessed he must be about fifty. There were round, wire rimmed spectacles perching on his long nose and his wild hair was reminiscent of Albert Einstein, although Randall"s was mousy brown with only the merest frosting of white. His checked shirt was buttoned to the neck and partly covered by a threadbare brown wool cardigan. The ensemble continued down to light grey corduroy trousers and dark brown shoes that didn"t look as though they"d seen polish for some considerable time.
I felt very uneasy that Gabe hadn"t been the one to suggest this visit and, on the way to our appointment with Mr Boyes, I had to ask him why. It bothered me that he"d not added this particular avenue to our search map
