Chapter 25
Simon was waiting for him when Walter came out of evening surgery on Monday. He was leaning against the door of the police Crossley he’d turned up in less than a week ago, arms folded in the evening sunlight. No driver was in evidence.
“Detective Frost’s here,” Sylvia had said, poking her head back into the surgery from the hallway. “I’ve asked him if he wants a cup of tea or to stay for supper and he said that depended on you.” She looked at him shrewdly. “He seems a very nice man, Walt.”
Walter had scowled at her, quellingly. “He’s a copper,” he said.
“Nevertheless,” Sylvia gave him a long look. “You could do worse.” She smiled a small, complicit smile and withdrew before he could say anything else.
He’d spent yesterday thinking, trying to make some sense of it all. And f
