14

The sun hung low in the northern sky as McLean parked his car and headed to the back door of his house. He would have liked to think that meant he wasn’t coming home too late, but summer this far north was a time of almost perpetual daylight. Emma would have been home from work for a couple of hours by now; he just hoped she wasn’t too upset at him, even if he deserved it.

There was no sign of her or Mrs McCutcheon’s cat in the kitchen, although there was plenty of evidence both that Emma had already eaten her supper and that the cat had helped. He didn’t find them in the library either, so McLean headed upstairs. The door to his old bedroom stood ajar, light spilling out on to the landing, and as he approached he could hear a strange sound coming from within.

‘Em? You in there?’ McLean popped his head around the doorframe, taking in the partially redecorated room. Most of the wallpaper was gone now, and a smell of fresh gloss paint filled the air. Before he could register that the room was empty, he heard the toilet flush in the bathroom beyond, and then Emma emerged, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

‘Oh, Tony. You’re home.’ Something flickered across her eyes that he would have considered guilt were she a suspect being interviewed.

‘Sorry it’s so late. It’s always a nightmare when you set up a new investigation. Still, you’ve been busy.’ He nodded at the freshly painted window.

‘Just thought I’d get a little bit more done. Something pleasant after a hard day at work.’

‘Let me guess, the truck crash?’

‘The same. Spent half of the day in front of a fume cabinet. No wonder your suit stank when you got home yesterday. That stuff’s beyond foul.’

‘Should you be working with that sort of thing? You know, in your …’ McLean nodded in her general direction. Experience had taught him that referring to her pregnancy as a ‘condition’ rarely went well.

‘I’m fine. Just a bit tired.’ Emma laid a hand on her belly for a moment.

‘You sure, Em? Only you look a bit peaky.’

The furrow that ran across her brow suggested he’d said the wrong thing. He couldn’t help himself sometimes, though, especially not after she had so obviously just been throwing up whatever it was she and the cat had been eating earlier.

‘You must be hungry,’ she said, as if reading his mind. ‘I ate already, but there’s supper in the oven if you’ve not had anything yet.’

McLean considered lying and going without. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d skipped a meal, but his stomach chose that moment to let out a low grumble. He smiled, shrugged. ‘I guess lunch was a while ago.’

‘Come on, then.’ Emma took him by the hand, her touch ever so slightly warm and clammy as she led him out of the room and back to the stairs. Mrs McCutcheon’s cat sat on the top step, staring at them both like a disapproving parent.

‘She’s been keeping a very watchful eye on me,’ Emma said as the cat stood, arched its back and shook its tail at them before striding elegantly down the stairs.

‘I’m glad someone is. I feel I’m rather neglecting my duties on that score.’

Emma laughed, her pale skin flushing. ‘You don’t half sound like a Victorian gentleman sometimes, Tony. I managed to travel right around the world on my own. I can cope with a little neglect. Just don’t let it become a habit, aye?’

She dropped his hand, taking a hold of the rail as she followed the cat’s route down to the kitchen. McLean watched her from the top of the stairs and wondered whether it hadn’t already.

He woke with the ghost of a scream on his lips. Heart pounding, breath ragged, he sat upright in bed and stared across the almost dark bedroom. Outside, the dawn had begun, tinging the sky a fiery red beyond the trees. His whole body was slick with sweat, dampening the sheets and the thin duvet tangled around his legs. Beside him, Emma lay on her back, not so much snoring as breathing noisily. He rubbed at his face with fingers still stiff from sleep, then hugged his knees to his chest and just sat there staring at her as the light slowly rose.

The nightmare wasn’t a surprise, although its intensity had been worse than the one from the previous night. If he had the time, he could unpack the imagery, but there were more important things to worry about than his brain getting over the trauma of the crash. Finding out how it had happened, and who was responsible, for a start. They’d seen where the truck had come from already, today would be finding out where it was supposed to go. He couldn’t help but think there had to be a better way of pursuing the investigation, though. Co-ordinating with the Health and Safety Executive and the Vehicle and Operator Services Agency was a nightmare, too, not the kind of teamwork he was used to at all.

Emma rolled over with a snort, one arm slapping against him in a grim parody of the nightmare that had woken him up. She grunted, sniffed and then opened her eyes. ‘You ’wake?’

‘Bad dreams.’ McLean leaned back against the headboard, shivering slightly as the sweat evaporated from his skin.

‘The crash?’ Emma hauled herself up, leaning on one arm as she stared at him. Her tousled hair and eyes still puffy with sleep were deeply alluring.

‘It’s to be expected. I’d be more worried if I didn’t have them, to be honest.’

‘But you’ve spoken to someone about it, right? There’s a trauma counsellor at the station these days, isn’t there?’

McLean bent down, kissed Emma lightly on the forehead. ‘I’m fine, Em. Don’t worry about it. You’ve got the day off today, right?’

‘The joys of working part-time, aye.’

‘Well, make the most of it.’ He swung his legs round, climbed out of bed even though the clock told him it wasn’t going to wake him up for another hour yet. ‘Won’t be long until sleep’s a rare luxury, you know.’