JOSEPHINE TAYLOR, THE first of Sophia’s old friends on their list, lived in London’s Earls Court. They left the car at the station and took the train to Liverpool Street, then the Central Line to Notting Hill Gate and the District Line to Earls Court.
‘You’ll be the cops,’ was how she greeted them after they had knocked on the door of her garden flat. ‘I’ve been expecting you. Come in.’
She didn’t wait to see their warrant cards but whizzed her electric wheelchair round with an expertise doubtless born of long practise, and led the way down the hall to a bright room to the left of the front door.
Llewellyn chastised her for her lack of ‘elf and Safety. ‘You know, Ms Taylor, you really shouldn’t let strangers into your flat without checking they’re who they claim to be. It’s not safe. We
