instinctively that this little girl, with her extra chromosome, would be special. And here she was, twelve years of age already, bright, loving, demanding, intelligent and like her sister Penny, the apple of his eye. The same had sadly not true for Daisy’s mother. Black depression and self-hatred had followed the birth. Unable to accept that her Down’s Syndrome daughter was anything other than a punishment for some sin she felt she must have committed, she had struggled for nearly two years to come to terms with life. Unable to cope, she had one day simply disappeared from their lives, leaving two children without a mother and Broderick without the love of his life.
‘Going dancing Daddy!’ Daisy announced, a smile beaming across her face as she sat back on the bed.
‘Oh, good. Where?’
‘Disco. Going to get a boyfriend.’
‘Ah. I thought you had a boyfriend at school? Nicky, isn’t it?’
‘Nah. He’s not a good one. I want a disco boyfriend. I’m going to love him.’
Broderick sat on the bed next to his daughter and put his arm around her. ‘Well, that’s good. That’s good. But it is a Friday night, you know.’
‘Yeah. I know,’ Daisy replied.
‘I could put a DVD on in a minute if you like. Harry Potter maybe?’
Her face lit up. ‘Yeah, Harry!’
‘I thought I’d get some fish and chips from Roy’s as well.’
‘Fish and chips.’
‘And a bottle of cream soda.’ Broderick added, relishing his daughter’s delight.
‘Yeah!’
‘Fancy that, Daisy?’
‘Yeah! Fish and riding whips!’
‘Yeah,’ Broderick smiled and kissed Daisy on her forehead. ‘Fish and riding whips.’
Sullivan and Calbot were still tucked away in a corner table of the Marina Bar. They had spent over an hour in each other’s company. There was nothing unusual in this. They worked together side by side on a daily basis. What was unusual was that it was out of ‘office hours’ and to her great surprise Sullivan had found herself enjoying her colleague’s company. Calbot’s infuriating cockiness had given way to a natural charm and ease that was usually absent in his dealings with her. So it came as something of a surprise to discover that the time was later than she had expected. After she turned down Calbot’s offer of another drink, they both stood and moved to the door, passing a fellow off-duty officer at the far end of the bar. PC Ferra was nursing a large brandy and seemed to be lost in his thoughts. Calbot broke his colleague’s reverie as he placed a hand on the officer’s shoulder.
‘Ferra? I’m sorry about Bryant,’ Calbot said.
‘So am I. He was a good man.’
‘If you need anything...?’
Ferra nodded as Calbot and Sullivan forced a smile and moved towards the door and out onto the street.
‘Thanks for the initiation ceremony,’ Sullivan said as they got outside.
‘You’re very welcome. Share a taxi home?’ Calbot offered.
‘Nah, I’ll walk. And so should you.’
Calbot gave her a quizzical look.
‘Clear your head.’ Sullivan added.
‘Yeah. You know, it’s funny. Thought you’d be Irish, name like Sullivan.’
‘What makes you think I’m not? My dad was from Dublin.’
‘You’ve got a slight accent. Odd. Where’s it from?’
‘My mum’s from Chester, which is where I was brought up. So I’m a half Paddy.’
‘Wherever you’re from, you’re not what I thought you’d be.’
‘Meaning what, exactly?’ Sullivan challenged half heartedly.
‘Nothing....nothing really.’ Calbot attempted a change of topic. ‘I enjoyed that. You should be initiated more often.’
The awkward pause that followed was broken by Sullivan. ‘Right. Well. Good night, Detective Constable.’
‘Night, then.’
Calbot crossed the street towards the sports bars across the way. The night was obviously still young for him. Sullivan waited a moment. Had Calbot really given her the slight come on? Had she perhaps ever so slightly encouraged it? Had she not learnt by now how dangerous the after work drinks with fellow officers could prove? She shuddered a little inside and headed off in the other direction for home.
Ferra knew he shouldn’t drive – not after the amount he’d drunk – so it came as a relief to bump into some friends leaving the bar next door. They promptly offered him a lift. Ferra’s home – a boat - wasn’t far, but he needed sleep now and quickly. His mooring was half a mile away on the Kingsway Wharf. The ‘Ailsa’, a 1960’s built four berther, had been his home for three years now. It belonged to his great uncle, who had a long lease on the mooring at a ridiculously low – by Gib standards – annual rent. Ferra paid next to nothing for his lodgings in return for keeping the old man’s boat seaworthy.
Ferra’s pals dropped him off and as their car drove off, the policeman made his way carefully down the third avenue of pontoon moorings. It wasn’t late, but the place seemed deserted. The nearby boats were mostly owned by local Gibraltarians who would turn out during the day, but be off home come the dark. There were other fellow boat residents in the basin, but they had either turned in already or were elsewhere. Taking a deep breath, and being careful not to slip, Ferra stepped aboard the Ailsa’ and tried to find his keys, with no success. Distracted by the sudden sound of an object hitting the deck of the boat, he turned to see what it might be. As he did so, he felt a sudden blow to the back of his legs. Falling to his knees, he was stunned to feel a rope being slipped over his head. Managing to stagger upwards he flailed out at his assailant, but before any contact could be made his head was violently yanked upwards as the rope was tightened around his neck.
Turning and twisting in desperation, Ferra felt his feet lift from the ground as a forceful push propelled him over the side of the boat and into mid-air. The rope jolted sharply as the policeman’s neck snapped in an instant.
11
The hot water cascaded down Sullivan’s back as she threw her head back and exhaled. Her morning shower was a sheer pleasure and she wasn’t going to miss a second of it. She had been up at five thirty and half-way through her daily three mile jog by six. She varied her jogging route once or twice a week and as such had got to know Gibraltar quite well. It was, in fact, even smaller than she had imagined. The combination of its densely packed population and housing, together with the presence of international financial services, the shipping trade, tourism and the large naval docks and military garrison, gave Gibraltar a diversity and energy that would not have been out of place in a major city. It wasn’t just the sunshine that had made Sullivan feel at ease upon The Rock. Increasingly it was both the place and its people.
But now, as she rinsed the shampoo from her long dark hair, she caught a glimpse of her showered body in the bathroom mirror. Tall, muscular and athletic was the shape that met her eye. A far cry from the modish anorexic look so favoured by the high fashion houses and movie world. Besides, she rarely looked at herself these days, vanity being an indulgence she had long given up on. She knew she was attractive, that much was clear by the way many men and some women treated her on first meeting. She also knew better than most that good looks in her trade could prove more of a handicap than a virtue. She had sometimes unkindly thought that if she’d had a face like a pug dog and a body like a shot putter, she would have made it to Inspector by now. Not that her own actions and judgements hadn’t slowed the speed of her career advancement to a near standstill by themselves. But for now, she felt good and looked okay, so why dwell on the negative? The water was hot, breakfast was waiting and order had been restored to her life.
Seconds later her mobile phone started to ring in the next room, the shrill noise immediately grating on her nerves. She reached for a towel, wrapped it around her and rushed to answer it, her wet footprints leaving marks
