Page 58 of Dream a Little Dream

If it was murder…

The official line was unexplained death. Because anything to the contrary wasn’t worth thinking about. It would be hushed. As it should be for the general population. There was no reason to scare the university students that there could be a killer on the loose. Suggestions of a curfew rang around the leadership table. But not letting students out would cause uproar, much like it had during the Covid years. Kenny was glad he wasn’t part of those decisions and he idly traced his pencil over his notepad, thinking and rethinking about the roses. What they meant.

What all thismeant.

Why was the past edging itself into his present?

When the meeting ended, he made his way over to his car, and threw his bag on the backseat. Battling with his conscience, he got in. He didn’t need to get obsessed over this, too. He had to leave it to Jack and his team. Let them figure it out and traipse through the old files, dredging up a past that was never quite put to bed. What he needed to do was go home, get his head down. Plan the next week’s lectures. Put together his research budget. Give feedback to his PhD student’s introductory chapters for his thesis. Have a beer. Call Heather.

He did none of those.

Instead, he drove to the nearest off license, bought their best bottle of single malt whisky, then drove further out of town to the suburbs where he parked on a marked off bay next to a set of bungalows, relieved the lights were on inside the one he was here to see. He got out of the car, gripping the bottle with apprehension and anticipation spurring his ascent up to the modest, ivy-covered home.

It had been years since he’d last seen Harry Walker, Ryston Police’s former Chief Inspector, a man with a steely calm who’d been in charge of many of the operations and investigationsKenny had been involved with. He’d been a good friend of Kenny’s old professor when he’d been completing his PhD, which had allowed him the access he’d needed to get his head into the investigations back then.

Tonight, however, Kenny needed more than the comfort of reminiscing.

He neededanswers.

So he knocked on the door and after a shuffle behind, it creaked open to reveal Harry, now bald and weary, but still holding a presence as solid as granite.

“Dr Lyons!” Harry grinned in surprise. “What brings you here?”

“Was in the area and realised I never got you anything for your retirement.” Kenny handed over the whisky. “So I brought you this.”

Harry took it with all the scepticism Kenny expected from ex-police. But he perused the label over his glasses, then angled his head. “You’re in luck. The wife’s at her writing group.” He twisted the cap on the bottle. “Meaning we can open this despite it not quite being six o’clock yet.”

“It’s six o’clock somewhere.”

Harry waggled a finger at him. “That’s why I always liked you.” He tapped his head. “Smart.”

Kenny chuckled and stepped inside the bungalow, wiping his dress shoes on the welcome mat. “You go ahead. I better not, though. Driving. Unless you want me to crash in your spare room.”

“They’re made up for the grandkids. Toddler beds. Coffee then?”

“That would be wonderful.”

“Take a seat in the lounge.” Harry hobbled off to the back kitchen and Kenny took his time to peruse the place.

It was habit. Checking out the inner décor of what someone called a home. What people put on display in their house revealed aspects of their personality, values and choices, and Kenny could use these to paint a picture of who they were. Harry’s walls and sideboards were how he’d expect a married couple enjoying their retirement would be. Dotted with photos of their three children, now all grown up, along with various grandchildren, with a pride of place canvas over their faux fireplace of the entire gang from baby to grandpa. Harry deserved the beaming smile he had in each photograph. Especially as Kenny was about to replace it with the frown he remembered him having far more often.

Taking up an armchair in the front room, Kenny settled back to decide how he’d approach all this. Harry came back in a short time after with a tray, on which were two mugs and the bottle of whisky. He slipped the tray onto the coffee table and gave Kenny a subtle wink as he opened the whisky and poured a generous amount into his cup. “The wife won’t ever know.”

“Until you fall asleep before the news.”

“Not the first time. Wait ‘til you get to my age.”

Kenny shuffled forward, taking his coffee, then slipped back in his seat. “I imagine you’re enjoying the peace. Your wife certainly must be. No more long nights chasing the dregs of our society.”

“Can’t say I miss it, but…” Harry relaxed back in his reclining chair. “Can’t say I don’t either. It’s hard settling down knowing what’s out there. What continues to be out there. As you’ll find out.”

“But you put a few of them behind bars before you put your feet up, so you should rest easy knowing that, at least.”

Harry eyed him for a moment. “So what brings you here, Dr Lyons? And not that bullshit about wanting a catch up.” He heldup his coffee. “Not that I mind the gift, but I can’t be your first choice to be spending an evening with. No lady friend?”

Kenny breathed out a laugh. “I have a lady friend, yes. Not seeing her tonight, though.”

“So go on, then. What do you want from me?”

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