After years of driving his feisty A3 Sportback, Hudson had to adjust to the Ford Fiesta but this silver-grey hire car was anonymous and it brought him down the motorway to the East End of London. He paid the congestion charge and turned into a side street to escape the procession of thundering double-decker buses making their way to the terminus at the end of the evening rush hour. There he consulted his A to Z of London to find Kate Briggs’s apartment. He looked at her husband’s visiting card again and back at the street map. It was only a couple of streets away.
He decided that the Briggs woman might be able to save him a lot of time and trouble if he could winkle out the whereabouts of the long hill with its cross. He pressed his hands to his temples. His head ached. It had been a cons
