Can you explain the bruises Ma am
Detective Andrews knocked on the third door of his rounds, flicking his notebook open in preparation for the inevitable elderly man to open the door. The whole street seemed to be old people, and while they all offered nice tea and biscuits, they were rambling conversationalists.He was sick and tired of listening to them tell him about the victims 'lovely son' and 'wayward daughter'. The daughter was always a particular focus, with commiserations delivered about how smart and wonderful she...
Cheating