Page 77 of Hang on St. Christopher

THE BREAK-IN

Next morning. Quality time with the fam. The good stuff. Kid being cute at breakfast. Making the missus her sandwiches for lunch. Listening to the chitchat and the craic while Scottish people burbled away in the background on the radio.

Ever read Epicurus? You should. Meaning-of-life stuff. Appreciating the little things isn’t the road to happiness. It is happiness itself. The best we’re going to get in this world, anyway.

“Joke,” Emma said.

“Go on, then.”

“Why don’t dinosaurs clap?”

“Why?”

“’Cause they’re dead.”

“Okay, then, here’s one for you. What's yellow and hurts when it gets in your eye?”

“What?”

“A bulldozer.”

And this time, thankfully, she did laugh.

Good old Sean Duffy. Intimidating skinheads, solving a case, and doing dad jokes over breakfast. This was the good life. Right here. Right now. Didn’t need to think about Rachel Melville’s hair curling between her?—

Walk kid to nursery school.

Hit the bricks.

Ferry terminal.

Toast and a coffee overlooking the cold north water. Ferry up Belfast Lough to the Belfast docks. Back to Carrick, upstairs to office.

Shattered.

Crabbie seeing me screech in, in the Beemer and bringing me a cup of joe.

“Cheers, mate. Any breaks in our case while I was away?”

“Were you away?”

“Aye, wee trip back over the sheugh.”

“Glad to hear that, Sean. Family’s the most important thing.”

“It is. Anything on the case?”

“Nope. Nothing on the car or from forensics or about that bike or anything.”

“Whathasbeen happening?”

“We had an interesting call this morning from a lawyer at the NIO. The Crown Office is asserting its right to Mr. Locke’s property in light of the fact that no next of kin or a will is asserting itself.”

“No will has been found?”

“Nope, and no one has come out of the woodwork claiming to be a long-lost cousin. At least not yet.”

“What about Mr. O’Roarke? Locke’s good buddy in Dundalk?”

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