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latter; he would make me wait. Mason didn ' t want me on his patch; he didn ' t want the grief. He was counting his days till retirement, and counting on them all being easy. I couldn ' t blame him; we ' d both had our fair share of hard days for sure.
    The lab ' s coat was illuminated in the brightness of the morning sun: grey and white flecks showing down his spine and around his ears. I still remembered him as a pup, a small black bundle — a surrogate child that never fully met the need. He ' d let my mother down because he ' d failed to live up to her expectations, but hadn ' t we all? She had never worked, had a career, she was a mother and when we grew up, left her, that was it. Life stopped. I don ' t think I had fully understood this until recently; leaving the force had left me empty too. All those years, all that commitment, it defined me. But now it was gone. Over.
    The dog was bumping into walls, left and right. I tightened the lead. In the daylight, his milky-blue cataracts were more visible. The sight of him wounded me, made me want to hit out at the injustice. But it was only nature. I knew you couldn ' t fight it.
    ' Come on, Ben …'
    He wagged his old tail.
    ' Good lad. '
    The neighbourhood was quiet; this part of town — the edge of Alloway — always was now. It hadn ' t always been that way. I knew it when there were families, young children in the neatly appointed homes. Not even two salaries could afford them now; not even the economic crash helped. The place was becoming an extension of God ' s waiting room, old widows and widowers pottering about and eyeing the street through twitching curtains. Few ventured outside; they no longer had the energy to maintain gardens. The council seemed to have abandoned the roads; grassy areas were left unattended. All life seemed to have been sucked out of the place.
    I came off the Maybole Road and down Lauchlanglen, crossed into Rozelle. Ben was struggling now, his arthritic hips dragging behind him. I slowed the pace as we left the pavement and took the wooded path. I had a circuit route in mind that would get us back to my mother ' s house; I just hoped I wasn ' t going to have to carry the dog the last part of the way. Neither of us would like that.
    I felt the phone in my pocket and knew I needed to return the call.
    Dialled.
    Ringing.
    ' Hello …' It was Lyn.
    ' I got your call. '
    A pause; she seemed to be processing my response. ' Oh yeah, I just wanted to ask if you had, y ' know …'
    She was reaching. Desperate for any news. ' Lyn, it ' s too soon. '
    Her tone softened, lowered. ' I thought so. '
    ' Look, I ' ve made some … enquiries. '
    ' I see. ' I could sense the disappointment in her tone.
    I tried to enliven my own voice. ' But, there ' s still plenty we can be getting on with. '
    I waited for a reply. None came.
    I said, ' I need you to make a list of Glenn ' s friends for me, people he knew, worked with and so on …'
    ' Why? '
    That was the question. ' So I can speak to them. ' I needed to get a picture of who her son was, what kind of person he was. But there was more besides. ' And Kirsty … can you put me in touch with her people? '
    Lyn stalled, ' I—I don ' t know. '
    I was a cop, once. I knew most murder victims knew their killer. ' It ' s important. '
    ' Do you mean her parents? ' said Lyn.
    ' Yes … among others. '
    ' Well, it ' s just that …' the line fizzed, then stilled to silence.
    ' Lyn … is there something you have to tell me? '
    The line crackled some more, then: ' Before you go speaking to Kirsty ' s parents, Doug. ' A sigh; her voice quivered. ' I think there ' s something I should tell you. '

Chapter 7
     

    I returned home to find my mother asleep on the couch. Near comatose would be a more accurate description. The television blared in the background — Jeremy Kyle lording it over his latter-day bear-pit. I picked up the doofer, flicked it to off. My mother barely stirred, her mouth agape as her head rested on the