Shadows under a dipping sun - is a contemporary coming-of-age psychedelic odyssey centred around two young teenagers off the Church Rd estate locked out of a house party in Tottenham. Who, without money or means to get home, make what turns out to be a bizarre trip across London to Harlesden on foot - meeting some of the capital's weird, funny, wonderful, and at times dangerous inhabitants along the way.
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"Look – I know she killed that man. I don't know how, but I know she did. At least look at the text messages." Frank argued.
Frank held a folder containing transcripts from Shelley Lank's phone and emails. A back and forth between her and the man she was now spending her dead husband's money with.
Creed paused for a few seconds, sighed, and then took the folder, pushing his lunch to one side. He pulled out the transcripts. Frank stood over Creed, hands palm-down on his desk. Creed shifted through a few pages. He leaned back in his chair, his hands braided behind his bald head.
"Well?" Frank asked.
"Well, it appears she was fucking Ranjit while she was married to the deceased," Creed responded.
Frank's eyelids fluttered, his mouth agape. He let out a small laugh.
"You think?" He replied.
Creed handed the folder back to Frank, then pulled his lunch back towards him.
"It's open-and-shut mate. Old boy marries young tail, young tail marries for money, and makes sure the last years of his life are spectacular. When he pops his clogs, she gets all the pinkies. Seen it a thousand times, a tale as old as the sea. Now please let me finish my lunch – my kids are calling in five minutes, and I have to appear marginally interested." Creed said.
Frank shook his head. "You obviously didn't read the part where Ranjit asks her how long she reckons he has," Frank replied.
Creed bit down into his veggie patty. "So what?" He responded.
"Motive, Creed, motive!