The Deep Dark Sleep

‘Then it’s time for a father–son reunion to put his doubts to rest. You know I’m right. You know everything I’m saying is right.’

‘That’s true,’ I said and nodded respectfully. ‘What you’ve said is all true. And do you know what the truest thing is?’

‘What?’ He was smiling now, knowing he had beaten me down with his logic.

‘The truest thing you’ve said is that you’re dead. As far as everyone is concerned you’ve slept the deep, dark sleep at the bottom of the river for eighteen years.’

‘Your point is?’ he asked, the smug smile still on his face.

‘That this isn’t murder.’

I shot him in the face. Right in the middle of his smug smile. My second and third bullet hit him in the chest and the life left him before he toppled backwards, off the pier and into the river.

‘Sleep well, Gentleman Joe,’ I said.

I used my handkerchief to wipe down the Webley before I threw it as far as I could into the dark.

I heard it splash, somewhere far out in the inky Clyde.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to offer my heartfelt thanks to the following people for their help and support: Wendy, Jonathan and Sophie; my editor Jane Wood; Ron Beard, Jenny Ellis, Lucy Ramsey, Robyn Karney; Marco Schneiders, Ruggero Léo, Colin Black, Chris Martin, Larry Sellyn and Elaine Dyer.