DI Davies entered, his expression as readable as a slab of granite.Behind him was another man. He was older, perhaps in his late fifties, with thinning grey hair and a face that looked like it had been worn smooth by years of carefully contained pressure.He wore a suit, expensive but understated, and carried a simple manila folder.He didn’t look like a typical copper. He looked like a bank manager, or a senior civil servant.‘Miss Galloway,’ Davies said. ‘This is Commander Gilbert Sterling, from the Special Crime and Counter Terrorism Division of the Crown Prosecution Service. He’ll be conducting this interview.’Commander Sterling gave a small, polite nod. He took the seat opposite me, placing the folder neatly on the table.Davies remained standing by the door, a silent sentinel.Sterling laced his fingers together. His voice, when he spoke, was calm, measured, and ice-cold. It was the voice of absolute, uninterested authority.‘Miss Galloway, you’ve been arrested on suspicion of
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