It was just past midnight as they drove past huge wrought-iron gates leading onto an unkempt gravel driveway circling a dreary old building. It resembled more of a mausoleum rather than the nineteen-sixties built mortuary.
"Pull around the side of the building, Mr Ackman." The driver peered through the rear-view mirror. Both eyebrows raised. "You'd not rather I dropped you at the Front entrance, Mrs Stone?"
Restraining an irritated sigh, she turned to view the overhanging passing trees. "No, Mr Ackman. I shall tell you when to stop."
"Of course, Mrs Stone."
Following a long wait of almost three years, Elaine Stone had travelled twelve hours by private plane and two hours by car. Opening her purse, she reached for her phone and pressed sent on the pre-typed message.