Dead Man's Time

police, looking at the Patek Philippe in his hand. ‘You’re right, Lucas. I can’t just throw it in the water; that would be
stupid.’
    ‘Sir, raise your hands in the air,’ the loudhailer boomed, louder as the launch was much closer now, the voice echoing and booming off the superstructure of the bridge above
them.
    ‘You know why it would be stupid, Lucas?’ Gavin Daly said, ignoring the police.
    ‘Sir, I’m giving you one more warning: put your hands in the air where I can see them.’ Aaron Cobb standing on the bridge of the launch, held the microphone in his left hand,
and his Glock, at full arm’s length, in his right.
    Standing close beside him, Roy Grace took the loudhailer and, holding it to his lips, said, ‘Mr Daly, this is Detective Superintendent Grace – please do what the officer
requests.’
    In answer, Gavin Daly picked up the winch handle and raised it in the air.
    Cobb’s finger tightened on the trigger.

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    On the launch, as it slipped into the shadow beneath the bridge, Roy Grace put a steadying hand on Cobb’s arm. ‘He’s an old man and his emotions are running
high,’ he said quietly. ‘Cut him some slack.’
    ‘Yeah, he’s a regular sweet old guy who just happens to like shooting people in the nuts,’ Cobb retorted drily, without taking his eyes off Daly.
    Grace looked at the water immediately around the marker buoy, looking for air bubbles; meanwhile the police pilot obeyed the request from the dive boat’s skipper and kept the launch a safe
distance away.
    ‘I’ll tell you why it would be stupid, Lucas,’ Gavin Daly roared. ‘Because you’d have tried to get it back! And you might have done. This way, I won’t have to
worry about that.’
    The diver broke surface a few feet off, but neither Gavin nor Lucas noticed. The old man put the watch on the deck, right in front of his feet.
    ‘Dad, no! No! No!’ Lucas yelled as he suddenly realized what was happening. ‘No, Dad, no! Don’t do that! Don’t do that!’
    Gavin Daly brought the winch handle down with all the force he could muster onto the watch, shattering the glass and splintering the face. He struck it again, just as hard, then again a third
time.
    Lucas Daly, Stuart Campbell and the police officers stood watching.
    Gavin Daly scooped up the broken, twisted remains, reached across and lifted the flattened crown from under a lifebelt where it had shot. Then with his fingernails, he carefully scraped the
hands off the deck, and then a tiny section of the crescent of the moon. Then he tossed everything overboard. ‘Done,’ he said to Lucas, with a satisfied smile. ‘All gone. Feeling
sentimental, are you?’
    He raised his hands in the air and turned towards the police launch.
    ‘Gavin Daly!’ Aaron Cobb called across. ‘You need to know that Eamonn Pollock died in the ambulance thirty minutes ago. You are under arrest for murder. You have the right to
remain silent, and anything you do say might be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult with an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present
during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning, if you wish.’
    He continued to read him his entire Miranda rights.
    Roy Grace stared at the old man, a whole mixture of emotions running through him, but, most of all, sympathy. In the short while he had known Gavin Daly, he’d found him endearing and
charming – but tough, too. Doubtless, he had been a ruthless businessman in his day – not many people achieved his level of wealth by being sweet and gentle. Even so, he was unable,
fully, to square the horror of what Daly had done, just an hour ago in that Madison Avenue office, with the sad figure he saw in front of him now.
    He switched his attention to the diver, who pushed his goggles up onto his forehead, spat out his breathing tube, then called up to the skipper of the dive boat, ‘Give me a hand, Stu. I
got something.’ Then, as he paddled towards the ladder hanging down the side of the boat, he was looking around, bewildered, at the scene facing him: the three men on the dive boat with their
hands in the air, and the police launch. ‘Is this a bad time?’ he called up to his colleague as he reached the ladder and gripped it with one hand. ‘Want me to come back another
day?’

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    Stuart Campbell looked across at Cobb. ‘Sir, may I assist my