My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. ” He smiled and buzzed her in to the glass doors, which opened by an unseen electronic hand. I wish they would just get it over with. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note. The only difference between the officers of Newgate and their brethren was, that they had enormous bunches of keys at their girdles, while the latter had left their keys at home.
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