Detective Constable Kathryn O’Hara paced the length of the meeting room determinedly, her hands held out in front of her, fingers interlocked. She fixed her eyes on the constables who were sat around the table, collecting her thoughts.
Jerome stared, aghast, at the note. He felt a lump forming at the base of his throat. It was almost as though the writer of the note was pressing them to inform the Police with his insistent correspondence. If they did not approach the Police, what if he or she divulged the events of that night? Jerome would not be able to bear considering the consequences. The whole trajectory of his life could be altered. All resulting from the mishap caused by their simple prank. Jerome turned his eyes to the others seated around the table.
This article is owned by Direct Ventures, a company based in Ile-de-France.
Kathryn meticulously studied Fred Williams’ calm visage from across the table. He was sat beside his Solicitor.
Adnan buttoned his white shirt and knotted his tie, checking his appearance in the mirror. He brushed aside the loose strands of black hair which were strewn over his forehead. As he did so, his finger grazed the deep cut on his forehead. He paused momentarily, his finger absent-mindedly running over the inscrutable scar. Then he collected his thoughts and straightened his tie. He had to get to work before he ended up being late.
Mrs Anna Smith sat at the kitchen table, sipping her coffee. Her cheeks were speckled with fresh tears. She drew a steadying breath, wiping her eyes with the back of her free hand. It had been more than a week but she couldn’t stem the flow of tears. Robert is a wonderful man, loving father and husband. Was. Anna corrected herself, her eyes focused on the window overlooking the sunlit driveway. It had been more than a week, but everyday was difficult. She struggled to keep the fragments of her life intact. But she could not succumb to her grief. She needed to be strong, if not for herself, then for the sake of her children.