“Of course. The gammon’s still got another half an hour at least.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The hospital was a thirty-minute drive from Trotterdown. Killian knew the route like the back of his hand. He left Trotterdown behind and headed inland. The housing estates and built-up areas were replaced by open fields and smallholdings as he drove further south. The tourist season was already in full swing and Killian negotiated drivers speeding up or slowing down to a dead halt on unfamiliar twisty roads.
He thought about the day Megan was finally diagnosed. Megan had only been in her thirties when she started “seeing things funny” and being unable to do up her own buttons. It had taken a dreadful year and numerous appointments before the final diagnosis of one of the early-onset forms of Alzheimer’s.
Killian had hung on to hope as long as he could. It had taken years before Megan’s memory and language started to go — that was the ‘good’ thing about this type of the disease. He’d read every bit of research he could find, and lobbied to get Megan any and all of the medications that could help her symptoms. They’d had a decent few years. Now, ten years down the line, things were different. Megan was deteriorating, her symptoms were way beyond anything that medication could control, and she couldn’t be left on her own. Once she got over this infection and came home, Killian would have to face the fact that even full-time paid carers might not be enough. He’d have to choose between putting his wife in a home, decades before he’d ever expected her to reach this stage, or give up his own work to be with his wife for the last heart-breaking years.
Maybe all of this is happening for a reason, he thought, maybe the arrival of the team from Exeter is a sign. A sign that it’s time for me to hang up my gloves and concentrate on something much more important than police work.
Killian knew he would be able to apply for early retirement. He also knew that, under the circumstances, it would be granted. But it was a grim decision to have to make. He was thinking so hard than he almost ran into the back of a huge SUV that had come to a halt in front of him.
“Idiot,” he shouted. “Watch what you’re doing.”
The SUV shot off at speed into the distance. Killian hated the roads at this time of year. The Cornwall tourist board claimed that the tourist revenue was essential to the local economy but, for Killian, all it meant was frustration on the roads and an increase in petty crime.
Megan was fast asleep when he got to her room. He leant over her and kissed her on the cheek. Her breathing was very rapid. Killian brushed a stray hair from her eyes and sat down next to the bed.
A young nurse came in. “She’s had a pretty rough twenty-four hours,” she said, “but she’s quite comfortable now. She’s been asleep for a few hours.”
“I won’t wake her. I’ll just sit here if that’s all right.”
“Of course, Mr Killian. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” She smiled.
“No thanks. I’ve had far too much coffee already today.”
“I thought that’s how you guys solved all your cases, over endless cups of coffee.”
“Something like that.”
“I’d better get back to my rounds.” The nurse checked the monitor next to Megan’s bed. “The doctor will want to speak to you later.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The nurse left. His wife looked so peaceful in her sleep. It was as if there was nothing wrong with her. Every now and again her mouth would open slightly and close again. He shut his eyes and was just about to doze off when his phone started to ring in his pocket.
It was Taylor.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“Where are you?” she said.
“At the hospital. Megan’s asleep. I was just about to nod off myself.”
“Sorry. How’s she doing?”
“Fine.” He didn’t have enough energy to talk about his wife’s condition.
“I need to tell you something and I didn’t want you to hear it from somebody else.”
“Go on.”
“DCI James wants me on his team. I thought you ought to know. I’m the only one from Trotterdown he wants.”
He said nothing.
“Are you still there?” Taylor asked.
“I’m here. That’s great news.”
“You’re not angry?”
“Why would I be angry? If he hadn’t wanted you on the investigation, I would’ve been angry. Well done. Make us all proud.”
“Thanks. I hope your wife is going to be ok.”
“Thanks, Harriet.”
There was a pause and then Taylor added: “There’s something else. I mentioned to James about Alice Green’s wedding forty years ago. I told him you thought it wasn’t important. It just came out. I’m sorry.”
“Taylor, my mind has been elsewhere for the past few days. You were right to mention it. Three people who were at the wedding are now dead. I should have seen the connection earlier. Like I said, my focus isn’t on the job at the moment. It’s time I stepped back for a while.”
“Sir,” Taylor said.
“Yes, Taylor.” Killian stifled a yawn.
“Would it be all right if I called you if I need any help?”
“Of course. But I’m not sure DCI James will appreciate it.”
“He’ll never know,” Taylor said and rang off.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Taylor hung up.
“How did he take it?” Alice asked.
“Better than I expected. I thought he’d be angry.”
“What’s wrong with his wife?”
“Dementia. She’s only middle-aged but she’s had it for years and apparently she’s pretty bad now. Killian’s thinking of taking early retirement to look after her.”
“See, there are still a few good men out there. Now come and eat.”
The gammon was surprisingly good. Taylor hadn’t enjoyed her food so much for weeks. She’d been thinking of sloping off upstairs to bed early, given how early she’d need to be up the next day, but supper gave her the energy to sit cheerily with Alice, over a glass of mint tea for her and port for her guest.
“You have a lovely house,” Alice said, “it’s so big. It must’ve cost a small fortune. Especially with that view.”
“I couldn’t afford it on a police salary,” Taylor admitted, “but the insurance company paid out enough money for me to buy it outright. I suppose Danny looked after me in that respect.”
“What was he like — Danny? He can’t always have been a bad lot. You wouldn’t have married him in the first place if he had been.”
“Danny?” Taylor shook her head. “Danny was Danny Taylor. Everybody knew Danny. He could walk into any pub in Edinburgh and there would be somebody there he knew.”
“Sounds just like my Stanley. How did you meet him?”
“It was at a Christmas party.” Taylor hadn’t talked about any of this since the accident. “The venue had been double-booked. Can you believe it? With all the logistical expertise the Edinburgh police force had at their disposal they couldn’t even organise a Christmas do.”
“It’s often the way.”
“Anyway, it was late December and all the decent venues were booked so we decided to share the place with some hot-shot property development company. The Royal Hotel. Smack bang in the middle of Edinburgh. I’m going to make another glass of mint tea. Would you like some?”