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We’re having to live apart. You can’t expect me to like that. Or pretend to like it.’
    She nodded. ‘OK. It’s not going to be easy. But we’ll get through it. They won’t let me stay out in the field for too long. No one does. A year. Eighteen months, max.’
    â€˜Almost there already, then,’ he said. The tone was ironic, but he was smiling now at least.
    â€˜Come to bed,’ she said. ‘It’s our last night. We ought to make it worthwhile.’
    â€˜OK,’ he said. ‘Five minutes. I’ll just finish the wine.’
    â€˜Don’t drink too much. I don’t want you incapable,’ she half-joked. ‘How are you feeling now, anyway?’
    He shrugged. ‘Not so bad. Tired. Aching a bit. But I’ve been feeling better lately. Not so difficult walking.’
    She looked at him, wondering what was going on in his mind. Whether he was really feeling better or just trying to make the best of things. Since he’d received the diagnosis, he’d become harder to read, more withdrawn. When she tried to talk about it, he just shrugged it off. There was nothing to say, he insisted. Maybe it would be all right, maybe it wouldn’t. All he could do was take each day as it came.
    â€˜OK,’ she said. ‘But you don’t want me falling asleep on you.’
    â€˜Certainly don’t.’ He raised the wine glass in her direction. ‘Here’s to you, Marie. Here’s to us. Here’s to the future.’
    He sounded very slightly drunk, she thought. And there was no way to tell whether he was being sincere. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘To me. To us. To the future.’

Chapter 2
    They’d thrown open the large picture windows and a chill wind was gusting off the canal through the apartment, but the stench of blood was unavoidable. The young officer, Hodder, stood hesitantly in the kitchen doorway, trying to catch Salter’s eye. He looked faintly bilious.
    After a moment, Salter thumbed off the mobile phone and looked up. ‘All OK, son?’ There was only a few years’ difference in their ages, but Salter categorized most colleagues as ‘son’, ‘mate’ or ‘guv’, depending on their relative rank. He was a tall angular man, his head shaved, his eyes staring disapprovingly at the world through narrow steel-rimmed glasses.
    â€˜Didn’t want to interrupt,’ Hodder said. He gestured towards the phone. ‘Your sister?’
    Salter stared at him, uncomprehending, then laughed. ‘No, just my little joke. One of our esteemed colleagues, Marie Donovan.’
    â€˜Don’t know her.’
    â€˜You wouldn’t,’ Salter said. ‘Covert. Deep cover.’
    Hodder shook his head. ‘Don’t know how they do it,’ he said. ‘Months on end. Leading a double life. Must drive you bananas.’
    Salter smiled. ‘It does, son. Take it from one who knows.’
    Hodder blinked, suspecting he’d made a gaffe. ‘No offence. Didn’t realize you’d done it.’
    â€˜Years of it. And, yes, it can leave you pretty messed up.’ He gazed impassively back at Hodder, as if daring him to take the conversation further. ‘How are things through there?’
    â€˜They’re nearly done with the crime scene stuff. Just finishing up.’
    â€˜About bloody time,’ Salter said. ‘Sooner we can all get out of this place the better.’
    â€˜It’s a mess in there,’ the young man said. ‘Though they’ve taken the body out now.’ His expression suggested that this was a relief.
    â€˜Thank Christ for that. This is a nasty one.’ Salter peered quizzically around, as if his words might apply equally to the compact kitchen in which they were standing. ‘Will hit the resale value, too. That living room’ll need completely stripping back.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘No consideration,