His thick arms and wide chest were full of basic, unimaginative tattoos. He looked like some back alley thug, like he’d barged in here to steal our ...V and when he found my mom, likely scared and hiding in some corner, he decided to help himself to her defenseless body too, while he was at it. And for her part, my mom looked pretty ravaged, what with her smudged lipstick, her runny mascara, her pleading, mewling, voice and the way his rough, dirty hands were kneading her flesh. It looked. And then I found myself thinking about the remaining guests, and wondering which one of them was the culprit. As I knew it couldn’t be David Raddner – he had been with me in church - but then, who? Charles Hartington? Barrister, family man. Very polite, he hadn’t really paid me much attention since they had arrived. Anthony Atherley? CEO of a publishing company, I had chatted with him quite a lot, but didn’t detect any sign that he may have sexual thoughts about me. Peter West OBE? Highly. More

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