I have no doubt that Mr Baldwin has upset a whole range of people over the years. If he ever got shot then there would be an endless list of possible suspects. I wonder what this meek, old lady would do if a foe ever did come knocking on the door, though. She is not exactly the most intimidating bouncer in the world.
"My name is Marcus Clancy," I say. "Mr Baldwin was the lead detective in a case that goes back a number of years. I was the victim."
The smile vanishes from her face. I'm quite sure that the colour does, too. She knows who I am. Her face freezes. But then it is as if she presses the 'on' button. The smile returns, bigger and more colourful than before. She stands to the side to let me in, actually gives me enough room to enter her home.
"He is out the back, dear, in the garden." She leads me through the living room. The carpet and the curtains are in dire need of updating, but the house is immaculate, and it smells wonderful. "Could I get you a cup of tea?" she asks. "And some biscuits? I am sure you two men have quite a lot to catch up on. You were but a boy the last time you met."
I assure her that I am absolutely fine, thank you. She leads me outside. I have no idea what I will find. She is right. So many years have passed. DCI Baldwin was on a destructive downward spiral even then. Part of me is relieved that he isn't dead. Another part of me, of course, is disappointed that he is alive.
The garden is peaceful, though. And beautiful. The colourful flowers look like they have been lovingly nurtured with kind, caring green fingers. The shiny lawn slopes gently downwards. I head in the direction of a large metal cage at the bottom of the garden.
There he is. Inside the cage. I notice that he is surrounded by budgerigars, all blues, greys and greens. His concentration is such that he doesn't even notice me. I awkwardly stand with my hands nestled in my pockets, an intruder. I wonder how I can gain his attention without being overtly rude or startling him.
"DCI Baldwin?"
I know that he is just Mr Baldwin these days, just as Mrs Baldwin dutifully informed me. It somehow feels disrespectful to call him that, though, like calling an old teacher by their first name. He slowly turns to me, like a sloth. He holds my eyes for a few seconds, his face neutral. And then, he smiles.
"Marcus," he says. "It has been so long. You look well. And very, very, different from the last time I saw you."
He looks different, too. Naturally; after all, a lifetime has passed since we last met. He is an old man now. There are more grey hairs sprouting from his nostrils than from the crown of his head, and his face is lined like dried cowpat. But - to me, at least, then just a boy - DCI Baldwin was an old man even back in the eighties. His face looked grey and shallow and exhausted, just one sleepless night from running out of gas. Now, despite the inevitable passing of time, he somehow looks healthier, like he is further away from the grave. His cheeks have a surprisingly rosy tinge, like he spends a great amount of time outdoors. He stands straight and there does not appear to be much baggage circling his midriff. To put it bluntly, I expected much, much worse.
DCI Baldwin opens the cage door and steps out. This is a relief. There are tens of budgies in the cage and I don't fancy any of them plopping on my head.
I'm guided to a wooden bench. I blink my eyes. Brut. He smells exactly the same. Sitting down, he stares at me with apparent wonderment for a few moments, like he can't quite believe it is me sat there. I don't sense any negativity towards me. Time really must be a great healer.
"I heard that you have done rather well for yourself, young man," he says. "Which is amazing really, all things considered. No offence, like. You were a prime candidate to end up at the bottom of the River Taff, weren't you? You proved me - for one - wrong, and I do like being proved wrong. Good on you, I say. Don't think me a stalker or anything, but I did keep an eye on your progress. Couldn't help it.”
I laugh. "Depends what your idea of doing well is, Mr Baldwin," I say. "I earned some decent money working in the city, for sure. And the money enabled me to live a good life. But I can't say it provided all the answers. I've taken a step back now, and I must say, my life is better for it."
I don't really want to talk about my life to date. I turn to DCI - Mr - Baldwin. "You're looking well."
His face breaks into a broad smile. I can't remember the old DCI Baldwin ever smiling. "I bet you're surprised I'm even alive, aren't you? You and me both, son!" His laugh is deep and raucous. "I had to quit the drink to save my sanity and I had to give up the fags to save my lungs. I've been clean of both for over twenty years now. If I hadn't, then I'm sure the only way you'd be communicating with me would be through a medium."
He doesn't ask what the hell I'm doing there. He must be thinking it, though. Ideally, I'd like to avoid that awkward moment, so I take the initiative.
"I'm really sorry to come to your house and disturb your retirement, Mr Baldwin..."
"I'm hardly rushed off my feet now, am I? What is it you want?
