NEIL WHITE
AVON
To Thomas, Samuel and Joseph, as always
Contents
Bill Hunter looked through the wrought-iron gates as he came to a halt outside Claude Gilbert’s house. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, the interior of the police car heavy with the first real promise of summer, and turned to his passenger, Paul Roach, a fresh-faced young officer with scrubbed cheeks and the swagger of youth on his side.