ACCOMPANIED BY A SPORADIC drizzle that washed away the weak sunlight and that, although not worth putting up the umbrellas for, still managed to seep down collars and into shoes, Rafferty and Llewellyn returned to Primrose Avenue to see if Jake Sterling or any of his three cohorts were sporting bruises following Izzy Barber’s mugging. He’d said his fists had made a couple of connections with faces. But, for once, the quartet weren’t idling their lives away on the street corner.
‘Hiding away with their injuries, you reckon, Daff?’ Rafferty asked as they parked up and got out of the car. ‘Looking black and blue wouldn’t do their street cred much good.’
‘Why don’t we wait and see? There’s little point in speculating in advance of the facts.’
‘But that’s half the fun of police work. Thinkin
