“It was stony underfoot, despite the path being well used for most of the year. Baz had a knife around his waist, in a sheath, like a cowboy with a gun. Even though he hadn’t shown them the blade, she could all too vividly imagine it. A knife had killed Mr Braithwaite, which made it obvious that Baz was the killer, even if he did deny it. And everybody knew that if a person had killed once, it was all too easy to do it again.Her damaged bones were starting to complain at the climb as the path gr...ew steeper. The mountain above looked huge and indifferent, no more benign than it appeared from a distance. Sheep peeped at them from behind the rocks and a sharp wind whipped at their faces. Baz and Ben had hoods. None of the women did. The ones with long hair found it blowing across their eyes and their noses ran.She tried to imagine Kathy, alone somewhere up here, bewildered and frightened. Her friend’s suffering completely outmatched anything she herself might be enduring. As for Melanie, who regarded walking on the fells as one of the daftest of activities, her complaints were quickly becoming annoying.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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