Morton paddeddownstairs in his boxers to make a large cup of coffee. Everything in thekitchen was in the same place as it had always been since timeimmemorial. He surmised that it was probably his father’s parents who hadfirst dictated where everything should live in the kitchen and woe betideanyone who dared to question it. ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,’ hadbeen one of his father’s many quips. Morton realised that he was thinkingof his father in the past tense and didn’t really believe that he would pullthrough. He just wasn’t the type to survive illness or disease. Hewasn’t one of those people who could ‘battle illness’ and fight back. Hewasn’t a fighter and Morton was sure that his weak body would readily give up atthe first obstacle.
He sipped hiscoffee and wondered where Jeremy was at that moment. After being passedfrom pillar to post, Morton had finally been able to speak to him in the earlyhours of the morning. He took the news with typical Jeremy histrionics. ‘Oh my God! I’m on my way,’ he’d cried. Morton had told him that hewas staying at their father’s house for the time being, which Jeremy took asunfettered altruism. Morton refrained from adding more drama to Jeremy’slife by telling him that part of the reason for the relocation was becausetheir house had exploded.
Morton tried tomake a mental inventory of what he’d lost in the house. As huge curtainsof fire poured from the gaping orifices where doors and windows had once been,the fire chief had rather optimistically said, ‘It might not be as bad as itlooks.’ Then the roof collapsed. No, there could be nothing left atall. What hadn’t been singed, smoked, soaked or burned to a crisp wouldhave been fatally crushed. He felt strangely emotionless about losingmost of it. Furniture, clothes, books, DVDs – all replaceable junk. There were a few keepsakes that had belonged to his mother that he was guttedto have lost. And then there was the fact that everythingconnected to the Coldrick Case had gone up in smoke. His ColdrickCase Incident Wall that he’d spent so much time creating was now nothingmore than a pile of boiling ash. But then that was probably the reasonfor the explosion in the first place: to destroy every last shred of evidencethat he’d compiled. Fortunately, he had backed up most documents to thecloud, meaning that he still had remote access anywhere with an internetconnection.
Julietteappeared in the kitchen looking dog-rough, her hair seemingly having beenblow-dried in a hundred different directions and a few ounces of fat pumpedbelow her eyes as she slept. She was wearing an over-sized ‘I LoveDerbyshire’ t-shirt that they’d found in his father’s wardrobe.
‘Shoot me,’ shehissed.
‘Morning!’Morton answered brightly. ‘Coffee?’
‘Black. Biggest cup you can find. Three spoonsful of coffee,’ she said, floppingdown onto the kitchen table. ‘Christ. Tell me yesterday was anightmare and there’s a really good explanation as to why we’re here?’
He looked ather bedraggled body slumped on the table, her tough exterior having been shedovernight like excess skin. There was no way on earth she would havesurvived the explosion if she had remained inside. Now he knew what lovewas all about. He placed the steaming hot drink in front of her andstroked her hair. ‘I’m afraid not.’
Four large cupsof coffee and a long, hot bath later - modern devices such as a shower havingnever been fitted in his parents’ house - and Morton was feeling somewhere nearhuman again. He had found a packet of sausages in the freezer, which hehad cooked with a tin of beans and a couple of slices of toast for theirbreakfast.
‘So, just sothat I understand, some random guy just phones you and tells you your house isgoing to blow up in ten minutes?’ Juliette said, somewhat incredulously, as sheshovelled a large forkful of food into her mouth. It was the first timethat they had actually talked about the moments prior to the explosion withoutembellishment or omission.
‘Well, notreally a random guy.’
‘What?’ sheasked, lowering the fork and giving him her full attention.
‘I recognisedthe voice, but it wasn’t until about five o’clock this morning that I realisedwho it was.’
‘And?’
‘Daniel Dunk.’
‘The guy wholives at Dungeness with the car registered to Olivia Walker? Why would hedo that?’
‘Godknows. It might have been a Mafia-style attack – a final warning to keepaway from the Coldrick Case. If he’d actually wanted me dead, thenI would be. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the day we make thelink between Daniel Dunk, the Coldricks, the Windsor-Sackvilles and the ChiefConstable of Kent Police our house turns to rubble, do you?’
‘No,’ sheanswered definitively.
‘At least we’vegot somewhere to stay for the time being. Every cloud, and all that.’
‘Morton, that’sa terrible thing to say. I hardly think your dad suffering a heart attackis our silver lining.’
‘I didn’t meanit like that,’ he said, as he carried his plate over to the sink. Eighteenyears in this house had taught him that he had to wash the dishes before he didanything, no matter how life or death it was. His mother wouldturn in her grave if she knew he had taken the decision to leave the washing upfor later. It was somewhat churlish to act rebelliously towards hislong-dead mother and near-dead father, but
