Dead Man's Time

the roof. Cleo had sounded exhausted on the phone, and he wanted to get back to her, and to see Noah.
    ‘I have to meet this guy, darling, it’s really important.’
    ‘I thought you were going to be home early today,’ Cleo said.
    ‘I had to see Glenn. His wife died – I told you, right? Dead from an allergic reaction. It’s unbelievable.’
    ‘You did tell me, and I can’t imagine how he is feeling. Poor, poor guy. Aileen McWhirter died and that’s terrible, too. You have to find her killers, and you have to find them
quickly, and you will, darling, because you’re the best. But a few hours aren’t going to change anything, Roy.’
    Sandy had never understood – or at least, accepted – how the work hours of a homicide detective could be so totally unpredictable. But Cleo was different. Until only a short time
before she had given birth, she ran the Brighton and Hove City Mortuary, and had equally unpredictable hours, recovering bodies from wherever they had died. People were rarely courteous enough to
drop dead or get murdered within office hours. But all the same, he really wanted to be at home with her, wanted to spend every precious minute with Noah that he could.
    ‘I’m doing all I can to keep the weekend clear, darling,’ he said.
    ‘So you can go to the footy?’ There was humour in her voice.
    ‘If I go, it’s for work. How is Noah?’
    ‘He’s cried, pooed and vomited for five hours, non-stop.’
    ‘I’ll be on Noah watch all night, after I get home, I promise.’
    ‘That’s sweet of you to say, darling, but you won’t. You’ll fall asleep and I won’t wake you, because I know you have to be at work at 6 a.m. And besides, you
don’t have breasts.’
    ‘Couldn’t I bottle-feed him to give you some sleep?’
    ‘I’m so tired,’ she said, ‘I can barely think straight.’
    ‘I’ll be home as soon as I can.’
    He hung up with a heavy heart. How the hell was he going to be a good father and a good detective at the same time? The task in front of him seemed daunting. Was it possible?
    Others had done it, it had to be. But at this moment he wasn’t sure how.

39
    Hector Webb was a tall man with a ramrod-straight back and a military bearing. He had close-cropped fair hair and a rugged, pockmarked face. He was seated at the bar, with a
half-drunk pint of Guinness in front of him, as Roy Grace entered the Royal Pavilion Tavern on Brighton’s Castle Square.
    Before crossing the threshold, out of habit Grace clocked all the faces in the room. But none of them rang any bells. Webb, twenty years ago, had been the Detective Inspector in charge of
Brighton and Hove’s Antiques Squad – a unit that had been disbanded, for economic reasons, shortly after his retirement. Since then he had written a series of non-fiction books about
his big passion, Second World War aviation.
    ‘What can I get you?’ Roy Grace asked.
    ‘My shout,’ Webb insisted.
    After his conversation with Cleo, he felt badly in need of a drink, but he was still working and he should not even have had the one with Glenn. ‘A Diet Coke on the rocks,
thanks.’
    Webb ordered, and when the drink was poured, they retreated to a quiet table.
    ‘So?’ Webb asked.
    As a young Detective Constable, Grace had served for a short time under Webb, who had then been a DS at Brighton’s John Street, and had liked the man a lot.
    Grace brought him up to speed on the Aileen McWhirter case, then said, ‘What I need help with, Hector, is where to look for all the stuff that’s been stolen. I don’t know the
world of antiques, although I’m having a crash course in it right now and some very good help from Peregrine Stuart-Simmonds. Do you know him?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Do you still keep in contact with any of the old dealers?’
    Webb drank a large draught of his pint. ‘It’s a changed world from my time, Roy. But I still keep up with a few of my old contacts and they tell me most dealers have had a rough
time, particularly since 9/11 when the Americans stopped coming over here. They also tell me fashions have changed a lot in the Western world. People have modern furniture in their homes these
days.’
    Grace nodded.
    ‘Cost’s a big factor,’ Webb said, draining his pint.
    Grace fetched him another, then queried, ‘Cost?’
    ‘People used to furnish their homes largely with antiques because they were cheaper than buying new furniture. Ikea has a lot to answer for in hurting the antiques trade. My