Amy Glossop lived in one of five flats above the little parade of shops off Elmhurst High Street. Her flat, like the others in the row, had its entrance round the back of the shops, up a private alleyway. The alleyway was unlaid, it was still raining, and they squelched their way along to Amy Glossop’s door which, inevitably, was the last in the row.
Her entrance was unexpectedly private, as a six foot brick wall separated her garden from her neighbour and another on the other side separated her from the side street.
Unlike the rest of the row, Amy Glossop’s garden was well-cared for. Even though it was February, the mean little strip was far from bare and several glossy, easy-care evergreens broke up the otherwise empty borders.
Rafferty noticed there was a large bare pat……
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