Sure, I should have put it in the basket. Hell, forget the basket, I was supposed to pick it up like some relic of the biggest saint you ever heard of... of Jesus himself, and take it straight to the head honcho, the prof who was masterminding this dig. But he was short and fat and bald and ugly and an all-around asshole anyway, and Yvette was— OK, I told you I forgot the name. Anyhow, she was one helluva lot cuter and sexier, and I wanted her to see it first. Showing off, you know. So I stuck it. On the morning of the second day, ms Stringer called Karen to give evidence. ‘How long have you owned Carter Speciality Services, ms Carter?’ Karen favoured the court with an ingratiating smile, before speaking. ‘Since my father Bryce Carter passed away six years ago.’ ‘How long have you known Ken Austin?’ ‘Oh, about fifteen years. He was employed by my father as an engineer. In fact, I kept him on as a sort of favour to my late father‘s memory. Ken, well… he wasn’t a particularly good. More

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