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Jack and Wendy sat down opposite Clive Blake in the interview room. Something didn’t quite sit right with Wendy. Clive looked so out of place, this relatively meek and mild-mannered man, a parent, arrested on suspicion of having paid Connor French to murder his daughter’s boyfriend.
He certainly didn’t seem like the sort of man who’d effectively hire a hitman, but Wendy had to admit she’d seen it all over the years. The idea that one could spot a criminal on sight was laughable.
She often thought back to one of her first shifts as a uniformed police constable, when she’d been out in a patrol car with a colleague, looking for a man who they suspected of beating a teenage boy to within an inch of his life, all for a Nokia mobile phone and twenty quid in cash. The only description they
