At long last my mystery novel has a corpse gracing its pages!
(Sorry, Laurence. Not only for doing you in, but for having you killed as the result of a misunderstanding. And for the ignominy of being knifed in an alley near St Giles.)
I feel rather ghoulishly pleased with myself for finally working in a nice murder. I’m not sure what it says about me that I find it fun to kill non-existent people in various nasty ways ... but at least I can look at all the crime novels filling my shelves and know that I’m in good company.