Dead Man's Time Read Free

cuddly Thomas The Tank Engine. Above them dangled a mobile with brightly
coloured animals and birds.
    Humphrey, their young black Labrador-Border collie cross, gnawed a bone, sulkily, in his basket on the far side of the room. He had taken a couple of disdainful looks at Noah when he had first
come home, then wandered off, tail between his legs, as if aware he was no longer number one in his owner’s eyes, and his attitude had remained the same ever since.
    Roy Grace clicked his fingers, beckoning the dog. ‘Hey, Humphrey, get over it! Make friends with Noah!’
    Humphrey gave his master the evil eye.
    It was midday on Tuesday, and Roy Grace had sneaked home for a few hours, because he had a long meeting ahead of him this evening. It was with the prosecution counsel on the trial, at the Old
Bailey, of a particularly repugnant villain, Carl Venner, the mastermind behind a snuff movie ring, whom Grace had arrested last year. The trial had been adjourned recently for several weeks
because the defendant had claimed to be suffering chest pains. But doctors had now cleared the man to continue with his trial, which had restarted yesterday.
    At this moment Roy Grace honestly believed he had never felt happier in his life. But at the same time he felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility. This tiny, frail creature he and Cleo had
brought into this world. What kind of future lay ahead for Noah? What would the world be like in twenty or so years, when he became an adult? What would the world be like during the next twenty
years – at the end of which Grace would be sixty years old? What could he do to change it? To make it a safer place for Noah? To protect his child from the evil out there, of which Venner,
sadly, was just one of life’s sewer rats?
    What could he do to help his son cope with all the shit that life, inevitably, threw at you?
    God, he loved him so much. He wanted to be the best father in the world, and he knew that meant committing a lot of time. Time he wanted to spend, yet, in his chosen career, he was painfully
aware it was time he would not always have.
    Since Noah had been born, Grace had spent much less time with his son than he’d hoped, because of the demands of work. If he got lucky, and there were no major crimes committed, he might
have this weekend relatively free. He was the duty Senior Investigating Officer and his week was due to end at 6 a.m. on Monday. Normally, all SIOs hoped for a high-quality murder – one which
would hit the national press, enabling them to shine, to get on the Chief Constable’s radar. But right now, Roy Grace hoped for a silent telephone.
    That wasn’t going to happen.

7
    The old lady heard the knock on the door for the third time. ‘I’m coming!’ she called out. ‘Bejazus, I’m coming!’ She lifted the saucepan of
boiling water and green beans off the hob, grabbed her wheeled Zimmer frame, and began making her way across the kitchen.
    Then the phone started ringing. She hesitated. Her brother rang every day at 7 p.m. on the dot, whether he was in England or France, to check she was okay. It was 7 p.m. She grabbed the phone,
with its extra-large numbers for her failing vision, and shouted, over the
Emmerdale
theme tune blaring from the television, ‘Hold on a minute, will you!’
    But it wasn’t her brother’s voice. It was a younger man with a silky purr. ‘I only need a moment of your time.’
    ‘There’s someone at the door!’ she shouted back, fumbling with the TV remote to turn the sound down. Then she clamped her arthritic hand over the mouthpiece. Despite her years,
she still had a strong voice. About the only thing left of her that was still strong, she rued. ‘You’ll have to wait. I’m on the phone,’ she hollered at the front door. Then
she lifted her hand. ‘I’m back with you, but you’ll have to be quick,’ she said with her Irish lilt.
    ‘A good friend of yours told me to call you,’ the man said.
    ‘And who would