Aid workers, when handing out food to starving people, quickly learn that the people fighting for it at the front are the people who need it least. It's the people sitting quietly at the back, too weak to fight, who need it the most. And so too with tragedy.

A good journalist, as you know, is a great listener. And so's a good writer. And I got to listen to people for almost 20 years. That serves me well, I hope, when I try to understand how a character might be feeling, or how they might react.

The question that haunted every investigation was 'why'.

He tried to let her know it would be all right. Eventually. Life wouldn't always be this painful. The world wouldn't always be this brutal. Give it time, little one. Give it another chance. Come back.

In winter the very ground seemed to reach up and grab the elderly, yanking them to earth as though hungry for them.

I'm just like this. I have no talent for choosing my battles. Life seems, strangely, like a battle to me. The whole thing.

The night is a strawberry.