Dead Man's Time

playful slap, which the dog
ignored. He held his nose until the stink passed. He gave him another tap. ‘No farting, okay? Two can play at that game!’
    A hand suddenly squeezed his shoulder. He looked up and saw Cleo, her hair up, in a pale-blue nightdress. ‘What are you watching?’
    ‘It’s for work. You okay? Do you want anything?’
    ‘Yes, I do. I want to lose my bloody baby fat and my varicose veins. I want to stop feeling so damned tired all the time and bad-tempered from loss of sleep,’ she moaned.
‘I’m sorry, but they don’t tell you how rubbish you are going to feel in any of the books – at least not the ones I read.’ She kissed his forehead.
    He took her hands and squeezed them tenderly. ‘If I had a magic wand, I’d wave the damned thing!’
    ‘Shit, Roy, why didn’t anyone tell me what having a baby’s really like?’
    ‘Maybe because no one would have one if they really knew.’
    She nodded. ‘Yes, that’s true!’ Then, changing the subject, she said, ‘Where do you keep your handcuffs?’
    ‘Handcuffs?’
    ‘Uh huh.’
    ‘I have some in my go-bag – but I don’t really have any reason to use them in what I do.’
    She gave him a strange smile that he could not read. ‘So you do have some?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I thought maybe – you know – perhaps I could try them out on you – sometime when I’m feeling less sore.’
    He grinned. ‘That book you’re reading?’
    ‘I’m into the second one,’ she said. She grinned again.
    ‘Not sure about my handcuffs,’ he said. ‘They’ve been on some pretty scuzzy people. Maybe we could try silk ties?’
    ‘I think we should try a few things. But I’d hate to distract you from your work. Lock up all the bad guys first. Then you can start on me.’ She kissed him on his forehead
again. ‘Not tonight, though. I’m still really sore, and I’m too tired.’
    He watched as she headed back up the stairs. ‘Love you,’ he said.
    ‘Even fat like this?’
    ‘More to love.’
    ‘You’re a good bullshitter.’ She pointed across the room. ‘See, your goldfish agrees!’
    High up on one of the fitted black bookshelves on the far side of the room, Marlon had his nose pressed up against the side of his bowl, endlessly opening and shutting his mouth. Grace was
relieved he had survived the transition to his new home. He’d developed a strong affection for the fish over the years following Sandy’s disappearance. He would be sad, he knew, the day
Marlon died.
    He’d brought the fish here as Glenn was now moving back to his home to take care of his children. And with the exchange of contracts on his own house sale imminent, he’d needed to
start clearing everything out, putting it into storage until Cleo and he decided what they would need once they had found a new house.
    He focused on the film, shocked by the brutality of the Dead Rabbits Gang. If this movie was even remotely accurate, life in several boroughs of New York from the 1850s up until the time of the
Depression was hellish.
Hell’s Kitchen
was an apt name.
    Gavin Daly was a tough old bird, for sure. He wondered if he could be that energetic and sharp at ninety-five – if he ever made it that far, which was unlikely. Historically, life
expectancy for retired police officers was among the lowest of any profession. His father had been a textbook example. Dead within three years of retiring.
    He looked at the baby monitor. Listened to the sound of Noah’s breathing. And wondered if he would live long enough to be a grandfather.
    Daly was going strong at ninety-five. From all accounts Aileen McWhirter had been on course to live well past a hundred, until she had been savagely cut down. That made him feel very sad.
Civilization, he knew, was a fragile veneer. You only had to read or watch or listen to the news every morning to witness the hell in which so many people on this planet existed. He never forgot
how lucky he was to have been born in England, and to have grown up in a country which was relatively peaceful. But there were threats here all the time. Terrorist threats from within the UK and
outside. And threat from villains.
    He was in a rare position, he knew, to be able to do something for the citizens of Brighton and Hove, and of Sussex, which he loved so much. Aileen McWhirter should have died peacefully in her
sleep, from old age, a few years from now. After all she and her brother had endured in their early childhood, as he had learned