7
Casually, as if he had nothing untoward on his mind, William Vine turned off the road and into the small car park behind the High Street. The car park was strictly for the use of people who worked on the High Street, and all of them had to display identifying passes in the windscreens of their cars, which made it easy for him to find the right vehicle, a three-year-old red Audi R8 – not that he couldn’t have found it easily enough without the pass.
Vine stopped alongside the expensive sports car and looked around. Ordinarily he would have admired the R8, it wasn’t his favourite sports car, he preferred Ferraris, but it was a fabulous car. On that occasion, however, his admiration was marred by the knowledge of what had paid for it.
Once he was satisfied there was no-one around to obse
