BLOG TOUR
Sarah Flint – Daddy’s Girls
About the book
He wasn't always a killer. At first, he just wanted to talk.
D.C. Charlie Stafford has an odd case on her hands. And it may be her toughest one yet.
A burglar who isn't interested in valuables, the subject of Operation Greystream is a strange but smooth operator. In the dead of the night, gloved and masked, he visits the elderly. He doesn't hurt them and, if they beg, he won't take anything of real value. All he wants is conversation... and they're powerless to refuse him.
But then 87-year-old Florence Briarly is found by her friend, cold to the touch and neatly, too neatly, tucked into bed. And Charlie realises this case has taken a sinister, urgent turn. Now this stealthy burglar has had a taste of murder, it's only a matter of time until he craves it again...
EXTRACT
The 249 bus crawled slowly up the hill towards Crown Point, its brakes hissing with displeasure as it pulled to a halt several bus stops from the top.
Florence Briarly gathered up her shopping bags and prepared to dismount, staring with glee from the window at the view across Streatham Common and out towards the most southerly parts of London. The sun was bright, its reflection bouncing between the glass-fronted office blocks in the nearby mini-metropolis of Croydon, each dark towering shape brilliantly silhouetted against the azure sky. The sight was one from which she would never tire.
At the next stop, she moved gingerly towards the door, clinging hard to the grips at the top of each seat with every step that she took, consciously waiting for the final jolt that signalled the bus was at last stationary. Her fingers shook with the effort and her legs bowed with the exertion of stepping down the two steep metal stairs on to the road below.
The bus was rarely busy between school times, and apart from a few passengers who had left along her journey, there were only two other people on board: a silver-haired, outwardly respectable lady of a similar age to her and a man in his mid-forties with a red inkblot style birthmark on his forehead. They would be kept waiting until she dismounted, so she tried to be quick.
Once on the pavement, she placed her two small shopping bags down and waved her thanks towards the driver. It wasn’t their usual driver. This driver was a woman, a little less aware of customer satisfaction and a little more focused on adhering to the timetable maybe, but Florence liked to be polite. Good manners were still as important now as when they’d been instilled in her by her Victorian mother.
She thought of her usual driver, always full of cheery words and a welcome smile, well-liked amongst the local residents of Streatham and Crystal Palace. He was a love though. On one occasion he had even dismounted from the driver’s cab to assist her on to the bus, his strong hands guiding her frail figure to one of the nearest seats saved for the elderly.
The bus was pulling away now as she started to shuffle up the road, her hip jarring with each step taken. The bags were light, only a few single pieces of fruit, some cereal and a packet of teabags, the outing being more an excuse to leave the confines of her house and speak to people really. There were a few flags fluttering outside houses, the red crosses signifying St George’s Day, bringing back patriotic memories of wartime Britain. Her hip tweaked again, reinforcing the fact she was old enough to remember. Still, it wasn’t far to go, thankfully. Just across the footpath at the top of the common, past The Rookery cafe and then a few houses into the street that bordered the woods.
Her neighbour was bent over, tending to his front garden as she approached. He straightened and rubbed the base of his back, squeezing his eyes shut briefly.
‘Good morning Flo,’ he smiled warmly towards the old lady. ‘It’s good to see you out and about. How’s the hip replacement doing?’
‘I can’t complain, George.’ She never complained. Flo nodded towards a clump of colourful wallflowers. ‘Anyway, it gets me out in the sunshine to admire your gardening prowess, especially as it’s the day named in your honour – St George’s Day.’
About the author
With a Metropolitan Police career spanning 35 years Sarah has spent her adulthood surrounded by victims, criminals and police officers. She continues to work and lives in London with her partner and has three older daughters.
Follow Sarah:
Facebook: @SarahFlintBooks
Twitter: @SarahFlint19
Pre-order links:
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2DZl9VV
Kobo: https://bit.ly/2VS4wW9
GooglePlay: https://bit.ly/2LvMjtJ
iBooks: https://apple.co/2YMAbtN
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