The Reborn Read Free

area’s Chief Forensic to sleep with a Detective Sergeant, as they had to work so closely together; but the habit was widespread. You were constantly in one another’s company, inhabiting a strange world that only those who were part of could possibly understand. Violent death drew people together, and sex was a good way to celebrate being alive.
    When McNab had reappeared, she’d already moved on to Sean Maguire, an Irish charmer who played the saxophone in a local bar. She’d even gone so far as to allow him to move in with her – delightful at first, but inevitably a disaster. He had figured out her notes and learned how to play them, but she’d grown suspicious that she might not be the only tune he was playing. She had no proof, but the time she spent thinking about it disturbed her. So Sean had gone the way of the others and solitude had returned.
    I can’t count on anything or anyone. I am better off alone .
    If McNab could hear her he would have mocked her self-pity and then made a pass at her, fully expecting the usual knock-back.
    But McNab was dead.
    An officer killed in the line of duty. It could happen to any one of them, which was why so many of his colleagues had been at the funeral, a hundred at least. McNab’s real family, the people he had worked with day after day. The people who would seek his killer, however long it took.
    Chrissy had given the reading, and it was she and Bill who’d organised the funeral. Rhona hadn’t known McNab was a Catholic, although she’d seen him rub both sides up the wrong way by humming the wrong tune in the wrong bar. It takes one to know one , Chrissy had said. And it’s easier to do it this way. The priest takes care of everything .
    It was more than that. McNab had saved Chrissy’s life and that of her then-unborn child, a little boy she’d named Michael in tribute. She might profess to be a lapsed Catholic, but she’d preferred to hedge her bets where McNab was concerned. If it’s not true, it won’t matter. If it is, then I’ve seen him right .
    Chrissy’s voice had been strong as she’d recited Corinthians, Chapter 13. Rhona had heard a muffled sob beside her as DS Janice Clark had striven to contain herself. Rhona would have put her hand on Janice’s arm had she been able to control her own trembling. Most people there that day wouldn’t have been inside a church for years, but you didn’t need to be religious for the final proclamation to ring true.
    As it is, these remain: faith, hope and love, the three of them; and the greatest of them is love .
    Chrissy had taken her place on Rhona’s other side and she’d felt a hand slip into hers as the predominantly male voices had risen in unison to sing ‘Be Thou my Vision’.
    She was in the kitchen making coffee when the phone rang, just after midnight. She’d already spoken to Chrissy at eleven thirty; her assistant had taken to phoning during her nighttime breastfeeding sessions. According to Chrissy, her partner, Sam, managed to sleep through everything, only waking if she shook him. ‘He’s not got the right equipment anyway.’
    These nighttime chats, Rhona knew, were more about her state of mind than Chrissy’s, although looking down at her baby son was bound to bring back thoughts of McNab. The calls didn’t last long, but she was always glad to hear Chrissy’s voice in what had become her solitary darkness. Chrissy had tried on one occasion to get her to seek counselling for post-traumatic stress, but to her shame Rhona had greeted the suggestion with frigid silence. After that, Chrissy had taken it upon herself to be her nocturnal companion.
    When the phone rang again, she’d thought Chrissy had forgotten to impart some vital piece of news about baby Michael’s progress, like an imagined smile, but it was an unfamiliar voice she heard. The operative couldn’t tell her the full details, just that her presence was required at a suspicious death in Kelvingrove Park.
    The street