“Already, barely nine o’clock, shoppers were spilling off the buses in the seafront terminal and there was a queue of cars waiting to drop passengers for the hovercraft crossing to Portsmouth. Faraday paused to check his ringing mobile in the bright, cold sunshine. It was a number he didn’t immediately recognise though the voice, when he finally answered, put him in a position of some embarrassment. The woman who’d given him a lift home from last weekend’s celebratory wake, the woman whose mothe...r had sent him Harry’s letters. But what on earth was her name? ‘It’s Karen Corey.’ She spared him the trouble. ‘I thought it’d be better to leave this call to the weekend.’ ‘Oh?’ Faraday had stopped on the seafront, arrested by the sight of a huge container ship nosing up the deep-water channel towards Southampton. ‘How can I help you?’ ‘It’s about those letters. Mum wondered whether she could have a word.’ ‘Now?’ ‘We were thinking tomorrow if you could spare the time.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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