‘No, but I’d like to keep this open for a bit longer. See if we can get something from it,’ Broderick replied.
‘I don’t need to tell you that it’s a little inconvenient, Chief Inspector. Especially considering the press interest in the case.’ Broderick stayed silent. Massetti sighed. ‘All right. But I can’t wait forever, you understand?’
‘Ma’am.
Gibraltar. 1966.
The sun shines through the open French windows, warming the boy’s face. He’s barely ten years old, and his father is sat beside him, his arm round his son’s shoulder. The boy tries to release his tears, but the tears will not come.
In the centre of the room a police inspector leans over the woman’s body. The boy cannot bear to look. A trickle of blood falls down her cheek, a final crimson animation from her lifeless corpse.
The boy clings helplessly to his father as a uniformed police officer leads the man from the room towards the hallway. Another policeman grabs the boy and carries him kicking and screaming out onto the terrace. The hot air hits the boy’s face, but inside – deep inside – he feels chilled to the core.
He had seen his father’s eyes. The relief. The calm. His father who had reached for his son, protecting him as he always did. That protection was gone now. The boy was on his own. Alone.
10
Although it was only early evening, the Marina Bar was busier than Calbot and Sullivan had expected – it’s customers being mostly German and Swedish cruise ship tourists , lingering on dry land for a cocktail or two before heading back to their floating hotels.
‘One white-wine spritzer,’ Calbot announced as he returned to the table with the drinks.
‘Thanks,’ Sullivan replied, raising a small smile.
‘Cheers,’ he said, lifting a pint of ice cold lager to his lips. Sullivan viewed him suspiciously.
‘So, DC Calbot, what’s all this in aid of?’
Calbot drew a breath. ‘Well, it occurred to me that you hadn’t really been welcomed to The Rock, Sarge. In the traditional way.’
‘With a good old-fashioned police piss-up, you mean?’
Calbot shrugged his shoulders.
‘Well, thanks for the thought. There is, of course, one notable absentee,’ Sullivan added.
‘The guv? Oh, no, no. He doesn’t do social. Too busy at home.’
‘Family?’
‘Sort of. Lives with his sister.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Sullivan questioned, trying not to sound too intrigued.
‘Before he joined the RGP he was in the Met for eighteen years. Then his wife walked out on him and their two daughters. His sister had lived over here since the nineties, so basically he moved the family over so his sister could help him with the girls. Particularly the youngest one. Down’s Syndrome.’
‘Oh,’ Sullivan replied. Whatever she might have been expecting to hear about her boss’s private life, this scenario was not on the list. ‘And the mother?’
‘Vanished. Apparently he spent years trying to find her. But as you’ll know, if a person wants to disappear completely it’s not that hard to achieve these days. He never talks about it. They’ve lived with the sister up in the South District for eight years now.’
‘I see.’
A group of tourists at the next table erupted with loud laughter. Calbot took the cue to lighten things up.
‘And as for me – since I’m sure you’ll be fascinated to know - my mum’s Gibraltarian. I grew up in the UK but spent every summer holiday here on the Rock. When I decided to join the force, it was a no brainer. The mean streets of London or the sunny streets of Gib.’
Sullivan smiled. The wine was working fast. She was actually feeling relaxed for the first time in as long as she could remember.
‘What about you?’ Calbot continued. ‘Complicated, I heard?’
Sullivan raised an eyebrow.
‘You have no idea. So...’ she said, raising her glass. ‘Here’s to changing the subject.’
Broderick parked his Mercedes in the narrow driveway of his sister’s 1930s semi-detached town house. He glanced in his rear view mirror. He looked tired, he thought, and in need of a hair cut. His head of once thick brown hair now resembled the metallic mesh of a saucepan scourer. As he pulled himself out of the car, a motorbike screeched to a halt in the driveway behind him. Before Broderick had a chance to fully register this information, the front door of the house was flung open and his eighteen-year-old daughter, Penny, rushed to greet the motorcyclist - her boyfriend, Raoul.
‘Laters, dad!’
‘Wait a sec, Penny. Where are you off to?’
‘Raoul’s got tickets for the Killers,’ she said excitedly as she clambered onto the back of the bike.
‘The what?’
‘The Killers, Dad. They’re a band!’
‘Really? Look just take care of her on that thing Raoul, will you?’
Penny threw her dad the look she reserved for when she thought he was fussing too much. It was a look Broderick had become very well acquainted with. Before he could riposte, she was on the back of the bike. ‘Yeah, yeah Dad! Bye!’
With a rev of the motorcycle engine, they were gone. Shaking his head, Broderick made his way through the front door and into the kitchen, where his sister was sitting preparing his evening meal. Although ten years older than her brother, Cath looked the younger of the siblings. She had lived on the Rock for nearly a quarter of a century, having married a Gibraltarian lawyer. Widowed far too young, she had welcomed the role of aunty and homemaker to her nieces and brother.
‘Hello, love.’ She smiled. ‘ Good day at work?’
‘Not great, Cath. You?’
‘You look tired,’ she said, ignoring the question.
‘Makes a change, does it?’
‘You work too hard, you know you do. I take it you bumped into her Royal Highness, then? Out for a night with Justin Bieber.’
Broderick had little idea who she was talking about and even less inclination to enquire.. ‘Where’s Daisy?’
‘Upstairs, putting her glad-rags on.’ Cath replied, placing a basket of bread and small saucer of olives on the table.
‘For what?’
‘She says she’s going clubbing.’
‘Clubbing?’
‘She’s been waiting for you to get in.’ Cath raised an eyebrow by way of wishing her brother good luck in the matter.
Broderick nodded and turned on his heels and headed up the stairs. As he reached his daughter’s bedroom, he tapped lightly on the door and entered.
His fourteen-year-old daughter was sat on her bed, wearing a bright yellow and blue party dress, her hair having been specially combed.
‘Daddy!’ cried Daisy, as she jumped up to hug her father.
‘Hello, sunshine,’ Broderick replied. ‘Looking good!’
And she was. From the moment Daisy was born she had been his little angel. The pain and worry that he and her mother had felt during pregnancy had disappeared for Broderick the moment she had been born. He knew
