Dead Man's Time

to call me when he returns – as soon as convenient.’
    ‘Of course.’ She laid the card on the coffee table.
    ‘If you don’t mind me saying, you’re a very good newsreader,’ Grace said.
    ‘Thank you so much!’
    ‘Are Fridays one of your regular nights?’ he asked.
    ‘Well, they rotate, but this past month I’ve been doing the Friday evening regional news, after the 6 p.m. and 10 p.m. national news.’
    Sounding as nonchalant as he could, Grace continued, ‘I suppose with these long summer evenings, your husband plays golf while you’re working?’
    She blushed, looking very uncomfortable now. ‘Well – not that often.’
    ‘Out of interest, can you recall if he played last Friday evening?’
    She looked at her watch again. ‘Last Friday. No, he went over to see his father – Gavin’s very upset about Aileen. I think he had dinner with his father while I was at
work.’
    ‘Have you had to read out any of the coverage on this story yourself, on air?’ Guy Batchelor asked.
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘And I’d rather not. Not sure I could cope with that emotionally.’
    The two detectives stood up. ‘Thank you for your time, and we’ll have a chat with Mr Daly when he’s back.’
    ‘I’ll make sure he gets your card.’
    *
    Back in the car, Grace said, ‘I didn’t see a single golfing trophy in there.’
    ‘So maybe he’s a crap golfer. Where are we going with this, boss? Sorry if I’m being dumb.’
    ‘I don’t think he plays golf at all. Golfers always have trophies, even if just a wooden spoon.’
    Batchelor pulled over, got out of the car, shook a Silk Cut cigarette out of a pack, and offered the pack to Grace. ‘Want one?’
    ‘No, not right now, but go ahead.’
    ‘Have you given up?’
    ‘I gave up a long time ago, but I still have the occasional one with a drink in the evening.’ He shrugged. ‘I enjoy them, so sod it!’
    ‘Why’s Daly’s shop manager and his wife saying he’s on a golfing holiday, Roy?’
    Grace was silent as the DS leaned against the outside of the car, lit his cigarette, and blew a perfect smoke ring.
    ‘I’ve always wondered how to do those,’ he said.
    The DS grinned and blew two more in rapid succession. For an instant, as they closed together, they looked like handcuffs.
    ‘I’m impressed!’ Grace said.
    ‘My party trick.’
    ‘Then you wave a magic wand and turn them into steel?’
    ‘Depends whose party I’m at.’ He grinned back. ‘So we’re safe to assume that whatever Lucas Daly’s doing in Marbella, golf isn’t a feature?’
    ‘Once again we’re on the same page. Or maybe I should say the same
fairway
.’
    ‘Or
bunker
?’

48
    At 7 p.m. Lucas Daly and the Apologist watched Tony Macario and Ken Barnes lock the gate at the top of the
Contented
’s gangway, and strut ashore.
    They were rough-looking men; neither of them was tall, but they both had a wiry meanness about them. Macario, with short dark hair, sported several days’ growth of stubble, and even from
this distance Daly could see a long scar beneath his right eye. Both men wore jeans, and white T-shirts with the yacht’s name stencilled across the front. They headed off along the quay,
Macario in flip-flops, and shaven-headed, tattooed Barnes in trainers.
    ‘They coming back or should we follow?’ the Apologist asked.
    ‘They’d sodding well better come back. Wait here.’ Daly got up and sauntered after them.
    The two crewmen did not walk far. After a couple of hundred yards they made a left into an alley lined with buzzing bars and restaurants, then a right, and entered O’Grady’s Irish
Pub. The word GUINNESS and its harp logo were etched onto the windows and the glass panes of the open doors. Daly waited, watching them make their way slowly through the
crowd towards the bar. Then as he saw their drinks being served, he returned to fetch the Apologist.
    Ten minutes later the two of them were positioned with their drinks in the pub, a safe distance from Macario and Barnes, watching them attempting to chat up a small group of uninterested teenage
girls. Daly hoped to hell they wouldn’t pull, as that would complicate his newly formed plans.
    An hour and a half later, to his relief, the girls left, despite the entreaties of the two men, who were clearly a little sloshed, to stay. Just after 11 p.m., Macario and Barnes staggered out
of the bar and up the alley. Daly and the Apologist followed them, and saw them stop at a takeaway pizza