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voice made Martha think that wasn’t the whole truth.
    ‘What do you think?’ McNeil asked her. ‘Any angle I’m missing?’
    Rose frowned. ‘It’s not news. Except maybe the gun.’
    ‘Yeah, that’s what I figured,’ McNeil said. ‘You happy for Billy the Kid to keep tabs on it for now?’
    Rose looked at Billy. There was something between the two of them. A closeness. A kindness, maybe.
    ‘Yeah, that’s fine.’
    McNeil turned to Billy. ‘OK, hotshot, keep in touch with the cops about the gun and let us know if you hear anything. But don’t let it get in the way of your regular work with the evening paper.’
    McNeil looked at his watch, a chunky silver thing. ‘Balls, I have a meeting upstairs with some management in nappies. We’re done here.’ He turned to Martha. ‘Thanks for bringing this to me.’ Something seemed to occur to him. ‘Are you all right? I mean, the shock and that.’
    Martha nodded as she picked up the Walkman and put it back in her bag.
    McNeil turned to Billy. ‘This could be the start of your rehabilitation, Billy boy, don’t fuck it up.’
    He turned to Martha. ‘And you’re work experience, yeah?’
    Martha nodded.
    McNeil gave a dry smile. ‘Well, it seems we need cover on the obit desk for a while.’
    ‘I suppose,’ Martha said.
    ‘Keep in touch with Billy on this. You never know, could turn into something. And both of you report to Rose if you discover anything. Understand?’
    They both nodded, like schoolkids being told off.
    Martha glanced at Rose, who looked like she was somewhere else, frowning to herself.
    ‘Now, all of you get out my office,’ McNeil said. ‘I have to go and explain to some quisling fucks how to run a newspaper.’

12
    Martha and Billy stood outside McNeil’s office.
    ‘What did he mean about your rehabilitation?’ Martha said.
    Billy looked at his watch. ‘I’ll tell you another time.’
    Martha shook her head. ‘International man of mystery, eh?’
    Rose came out the office behind them.
    ‘Billy, I’m just heading home, my shift’s over. You need me to pick up anything on the way?’
    ‘No thanks, I’m fine.’
    ‘OK, see you back at the flat, then.’
    Rose still looked like she was fretting over something. Martha watched her go. She had a great figure for someone kicking fifty. Martha turned to Billy.
    ‘You live with her?’
    ‘Not like that.’
    Martha smiled, on the wind-up. ‘Like what? I never said anything.’
    ‘But I know what you were thinking.’
    ‘She’s a good-looking cougar right enough.’
    ‘Stop it.’
    ‘Into the MILF thing, yeah?’
    ‘I said stop.’ A serious tone in his voice, she’d touched a nerve. ‘I’m sleeping in her spare room. Rose helped me out when I needed it. You have no idea. She’s a good friend.’
    ‘OK.’
    ‘I only met you six hours ago and you’ve already got me into some crazy shit.’
    ‘I already got us both a possible news story, you mean.’
    Billy shook his head. ‘Just go back to your desk and write some nice obituaries, OK?’

13
    So that’s what Martha did.
    Despite V’s claims from earlier, deadline was approaching and they didn’t have the pages properly laid out yet. Martha chased one of the freelancers and got copy in, then began subbing it onto the page. Standard eight-hundred-worder on some retired old colonel. It seemed like the vast majority of their obits were ex-army officers who’d seen out their last years shooting animals on Highland estates. Lots of pictures of old guys with whiskers standing next to mounted deer heads and the like. Martha wondered why they didn’t do obits of ordinary people. It seemed like a last bastion of class snobbery – only the well-to-do were worthy of having their lives laid out for the ever dwindling readership to pore over as they sipped their morning tea or mid-afternoon Pimm’s or whatever.
    V got her letters pages finished early and helped out with the last scraps of stuff to do, all the fiddly stuff