When a small time builder dies suddenly, leaving two million pounds for 'casualties of the industry', a newspaper editor smells a rat. Elizabeth Webster is charged with sniffing it out, only to find herself drawn into the dark psychology behind Charlie's real agenda.
How did a man, living in self-imposed penury, come by his fortune? Surely the charitable fund can't be a pot filled by monkish self-denial, but a repository for something more sinister. The dead hand of an intriguing but thoroughly unpleasant character is guiding them towards a stash of information that, if found, would put them seriously at risk. Their first casualty is Charlie's waif, a teenage drug addict he'd found dossing in a cement shed and groomed for better things, or so it seemed.
Fear and self-doubt dominate a narrative in which the characters bump up against moral questions and judgements that have no easy solutions. Even so, out of the mess of people's lives arise honour and dignity in this modern tragedy.
When a small time builder dies suddenly, leaving two million pounds for 'casualties of the industry', a newspaper editor smells a rat. Elizabeth Webster is charged with sniffing it out, only to find herself drawn into the dark psychology behind Charlie's real agenda.
How did a man, living in self-imposed penury, come by his fortune? Surely the charitable fund can't be a pot filled by monkish self-denial, but a repository for something more sinister. The dead hand of an intriguing but thoroughly unpleasant character is guiding them towards a stash of information that, if found, would put them seriously at risk. Their first casualty is Charlie's waif, a teenage drug addict he'd found dossing in a cement shed and groomed for better things, or so it seemed.
Fear and self-doubt dominate a narrative in which the characters bump up against moral questions and judgements that have no easy solutions. Even so, out of the mess of people's lives arise honour and dignity in this modern tragedy.