“Yes, guv?” said Thompson, pausing in the doorway.
“Take Mister Martineau down to the evidence room and get the personal items box,” said Edge. Then he turned his gaze and gave Martineau another hard stare. “You remove nothing, do you understand me? So I’m hoping that you have a photographic memory. You have one hour and no more.”
It was one man’s entire life condensed into a small cardboard box and it was as tragic as it sounded.
Martineau and Thompson were left alone in a small interview room, with only a table and two chairs to make them comfortable as they sorted through the items.
It was the usual array of paperwork of a life; birth certificate, death certificates of long forgotten relatives, old Christmas cards and love letters from years gone by. Each of the items were individua
