changed a person’s life simply by the act of arriving at their door. This man, this seemingly ordinary man, was living a perfectly normal existence, and then I show up, bearing my basket of bad news. You want someone else to come sweeping in, some overbearing mother, some calm and collected best friend, hell, some hobo that you picked up off the street. Anyone who can diffuse the impact.
Isaac made a sound. For a second I thought he was crying again; took me longer to figure out that it was a laugh.
It’s funny what it does to you, the sound of laughter in the middle of a murder. An effect similar to footsteps in a dark alley.
I watched him closely.
He looked up at me, a rictus smile. ‘There’s no one.’ Shook his head.
‘Okay … Parents?’ I floundered, grasping at straws, still trying to fit him into a category, because in grief he was the victim. Then he laughed again, and the walls of that category juddered.
‘My parents are back in the US. Wouldn’t matter much if they lived next door. They don’t speak to me. They don’t approve of …’ He waved his hands, indicating himself, the room, the world. ‘Well, they don’t approve of me. I went home, after I met Dom. I wanted to tell them face to face. Be a man about it. Fess up to being gay.’ He laughed again. ‘My dad punched me. Broke my tooth. Told me they were done, that I had upset them enough.’
I nodded, shifting in the quicksand of the conversation. ‘Okay. Friends?’
Isaac looked at me, shook his head. ‘There is no one else,’ he repeated. ‘There was only Dom.’ Then another smile, my hackles climbing further. ‘It’s ironic, isn’t it? You worry so much that you will lose them, because you love them so much, that you cling and cling, and then you lose them anyway.’
I nodded, my thoughts elsewhere. ‘Isaac, would you mind if I just took a quick look around? See if I can spot anything that may give us a clue what Dominic’s plans were, how this happened to him?’
He agreed with a wave, head sinking back into his hands.
I moved through the apartment. Everything modern and shiny, all squared away. Thought how different it was to my little barn conversion, a slice of paradise in the middle of the countryside. A slice of paradise with a used cup on every surface, takeaway cartons ruling the kitchen counters, and the ubiquitous smell of dog. Yeah, I thought. I could wreck this apartment inside an hour.
I kept my expression flat, my eyes roaming the kitchen counter, the knife block. Five slots. Five knives. Across the floor, looking for signs of blood, an attempt at a clean-up. Into the bathroom, scanning the sink, the bathtub, looking for any indications that someone had got themselves covered in blood, washed it away. Pawing through the dirty laundry and thinking that life does not get much more glamorous than this.
I’m not sure what it was I expected to find. Whatever it was, it wasn’t there.
I am getting the sense of being stared at. I turn away from the window, look back into the office with its banks of desks, long-outdated computers.
‘All right, Finn?’ Oliver asks.
We were friends once, me and Oliver. At least, I think we were. He is a mercurial guy. You never entirely know where you are with him. At one time I thought he was, well, kind of cool. Sharp-witted, smart. I liked him. But then you realise that those sharp wits are not as much fun when they are pointed right at you, that the smart is not so appealing when it is being used to undermine.
Oliver wanted the sergeant’s post. My sergeant’s post. He failed his boards. I didn’t.
We’re not friends any more.
‘Yup,’ I say, careful to shift my expression into neutral. I pull myself up straighter. Glance around. Looking for an inspector, a chief inspector … the chief constable. Anyone that means I am not the highest rank in the room. But no. Of course not.
I suppress a sigh.
‘So, where are we up to now, guys?’ I try to sound confident,
Isaac made a sound. For a second I thought he was crying again; took me longer to figure out that it was a laugh.
It’s funny what it does to you, the sound of laughter in the middle of a murder. An effect similar to footsteps in a dark alley.
I watched him closely.
He looked up at me, a rictus smile. ‘There’s no one.’ Shook his head.
‘Okay … Parents?’ I floundered, grasping at straws, still trying to fit him into a category, because in grief he was the victim. Then he laughed again, and the walls of that category juddered.
‘My parents are back in the US. Wouldn’t matter much if they lived next door. They don’t speak to me. They don’t approve of …’ He waved his hands, indicating himself, the room, the world. ‘Well, they don’t approve of me. I went home, after I met Dom. I wanted to tell them face to face. Be a man about it. Fess up to being gay.’ He laughed again. ‘My dad punched me. Broke my tooth. Told me they were done, that I had upset them enough.’
I nodded, shifting in the quicksand of the conversation. ‘Okay. Friends?’
Isaac looked at me, shook his head. ‘There is no one else,’ he repeated. ‘There was only Dom.’ Then another smile, my hackles climbing further. ‘It’s ironic, isn’t it? You worry so much that you will lose them, because you love them so much, that you cling and cling, and then you lose them anyway.’
I nodded, my thoughts elsewhere. ‘Isaac, would you mind if I just took a quick look around? See if I can spot anything that may give us a clue what Dominic’s plans were, how this happened to him?’
He agreed with a wave, head sinking back into his hands.
I moved through the apartment. Everything modern and shiny, all squared away. Thought how different it was to my little barn conversion, a slice of paradise in the middle of the countryside. A slice of paradise with a used cup on every surface, takeaway cartons ruling the kitchen counters, and the ubiquitous smell of dog. Yeah, I thought. I could wreck this apartment inside an hour.
I kept my expression flat, my eyes roaming the kitchen counter, the knife block. Five slots. Five knives. Across the floor, looking for signs of blood, an attempt at a clean-up. Into the bathroom, scanning the sink, the bathtub, looking for any indications that someone had got themselves covered in blood, washed it away. Pawing through the dirty laundry and thinking that life does not get much more glamorous than this.
I’m not sure what it was I expected to find. Whatever it was, it wasn’t there.
I am getting the sense of being stared at. I turn away from the window, look back into the office with its banks of desks, long-outdated computers.
‘All right, Finn?’ Oliver asks.
We were friends once, me and Oliver. At least, I think we were. He is a mercurial guy. You never entirely know where you are with him. At one time I thought he was, well, kind of cool. Sharp-witted, smart. I liked him. But then you realise that those sharp wits are not as much fun when they are pointed right at you, that the smart is not so appealing when it is being used to undermine.
Oliver wanted the sergeant’s post. My sergeant’s post. He failed his boards. I didn’t.
We’re not friends any more.
‘Yup,’ I say, careful to shift my expression into neutral. I pull myself up straighter. Glance around. Looking for an inspector, a chief inspector … the chief constable. Anyone that means I am not the highest rank in the room. But no. Of course not.
I suppress a sigh.
‘So, where are we up to now, guys?’ I try to sound confident,
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