16
My head feels foggy and muzzy as I roll over and look at the alarm clock. It’s ten to nine. I never sleep in this late, even on a Saturday. I realise the pent-up stress and anxiety from Mum and Dad’s visit yesterday — not to mention the visit to Maisie — probably didn’t mix all that well with the bottle of wine I consumed in front of the TV last night.
I’ve still heard nothing further from PC Day or anyone from the police. But today’s Saturday. It’s one week since I called Gavin Armitage, one week since I went to his studio and had the photos taken. Like PC Day said, maybe he only works weekends. Perhaps he’s got another job, too. He might be right. I doubt it, but he might be. Either way, I know Gavin works weekends.
With my state of mind as it currently is, I know exactly what I in
