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'Maybe he did the Lakin girl in。'
'No chance。'
Hopes raised and dashed instantly。
'What did Copeland die of？'
'It's all in the autopsy。 Official secret at the moment。 Maybe it'll be disclosed at the press conference tomorrow。'
'So you know about that； too。'
Tm attending a crisis meeting up at the nuclear station in the morning。'
'Thanks； anyway。' Coyle realised the futility of asking further questions； 'Let me know the moment you have any news of my boy。'
He replaced the receiver； and turned to Kent。 'Another whore murdered； and a young local vagrant dead。 They won't reveal the circumstances。 Until tomorrow； anyway。'
'I see；' Kent puffed at his pipe more furiously than ever。 'Well； all we can do is wait。 I'll look in at one of the hotels before the Fleet Street army arrives。'
'You're wele to 。 。 。 '
Kent shook his head。
'You've got your problems； mate。 Some that I can't help you with。 I'll phone through to my editor about the murder just to let him know I haven't e up here for a holiday。'
Coyle put on his coat。 In the outer office he paused and slipped an arm around Anne。
Tm sorry about tonight； darling。'
'There'll be others。 Plenty of them； I hope。 Meanwhile； let's hope we'll have some news of Richard soon。'
Whatever the news； Coyle knew it would be bad。 His son faced a murder charge。 There was no getting away from that fact； and he would have to print the details in his own paper。 Right now； though； there was another task which he did not relish。 He must return home and face his wife and daughter。
Chapter 8
There was an air of emptiness about the house as Coyle let himself in。 The temperature gauge below the barometer was proof that the central heating had not been switched on that day。
Fear stabbed at him。 Almost in a frenzy he dashed from room to room； returning finally to the kitchen； the heart beating frantically。 For one brief moment he had feared the worst。 Jane wasn't the type to 。 。 。But he knew only too well that there wasn't such a thing as a 'type'。 People took their own lives for a variety of reasons…some for none at all。 And Jane had reasons。
He stiffened as he heard a key being inserted and turned in the front door。 A slim silhouette was framed in the doorway。 Sarah。
'You're home early。' She did not meet his gaze as she took off her coat。 'Anne otherwise engaged tonight？ Perhaps she doesn't want to associate with the father of a murderer！'
For the second successive day he felt the urge to strike one of his children。 Probably only the fact that she was a female spared her the blow。 His fists clenched； then relaxed。
'There's been another murder； did you know？'
'I was informed officially。'
'No word of Richard？'
'No。'
'I suppose I'd better get us something to eat。' There was a slight relaxing of the tension。
'Where's your mother？'
'Your wife is spending the day with Mrs Bean。' Sarcasm and disapproval。 'Although； I doubt there's much more the old bag can tell her。 She now knows all about your affair with Anne。'
'And yours with Houston。'
'Well； that's stale news now。 She's behind the times。 I sent David packing…back to his wife； I hope。 But he'll find another woman。'
Coyle hoped she did not hear his sigh of relief。 At least something was turning out right。
Suddenly came the shrill ringing of the telephone。 He lifted the receiver。 'Coyle。'
'Rollason； here。' The gravity of the Superintendent's tone conveyed the message ahead of the words。
'I take it you've found my boy。'
'Yes。 I'm afraid we have。'
'Dead？'
'Yes。 In Birmingham。'
'Christ！' Coyle was trembling。 He sensed Sarah listening at his side； her face close to his shoulder。 'How？'
'Well 。 。 。 knifed。 At least that's what finally killed him。'
'What do you mean？'
'I'm afraid I can't say any more。 Official Secrets； I guess。 More than my job's worth。 No doubt it'll be revealed at the press conference tomorrow。'
'Thanks 。 。 。 thanks； anyway。'
Coyle turned to Sarah。 He slipped an arm around her； and she made no move to resist him…two people needing each other and afraid to show it。
'He's dead then？'
Coyle nodded。 She buried her head in his chest； sobs shaking her body。 They had never been close； but he wished to God he could find some tears from somewhere right then。 Instead he just had to bear it； the build…up like a volcano that can't reach an eruption。
He steered her into the adjoining room。 Still holding her； he somehow managed to pour a couple of stiff whiskies。 Fragments of broken glass still littered the carpet。 The stains on the wall had dried。
Shortly before eleven o'clock Jane returned。 She took her time removing her coat； hanging it up in the wardrobe； went upstairs to the toilet。 Almost as though she was afraid。 As though she knew； and was postponing having to face them。
At last she entered the living…room。 Her face was white； with black lines beneath her eyes where the mascara had run。 She had been crying。 She stood looking at the two of them； wide…eyed； her voice low and husky when she finally spoke。
'Richard's dead； isn't he？ I know。 I don't know how； but I know。' She sat down in the nearest armchair。
Coyle knew that none of them would go to bed that night。 Nobody spoke again。 They just sat there； not looking at each other； a family which had fallen apart。 And once again he was reminded of Balzur's curse。
That morning McLellan was an hour earlier than usual as he walked the short distance from the municipal car…park to the council offices。 There were several matters that required his attention before his colleagues arrived。 There were a couple of letters concerning building contracts for the expanding estates； which he preferred to type himself。 There would be no carbon copies； corruption was in the headlines all too frequently these days。 He had nightmares about seeing his own name there in large type on the front page of one of the dailies。 Yet he was still prepared to take the risks。 The financial rewards could not be ignored。
His foot kicked against a dead pigeon； sending it bouncing and rolling into the gutter。 It was strange the way so many feathers flew up from the small corpse…the wind whipping them into the air like a miniature snowstorm。 He felt momentary anger。 The old town was full of feral pigeons…and had been for the past decade。 Those so…called pigeon…fanciers were to blame originally； just like those other people who dumped unwanted pets to roam the streets。 The pigeon problem was worse； though。 They shit all over the buildings and pavements。 The Square stank of it。 He could have solved the whole problem two years ago when he first came to office。 Alpha…chloralose was the answer； a form of powdered chloroform which； when mixed with scattered grain； gave the birds a perfectly painless death。 Once the Ministry of Agriculture had tested it on woodpigeons； but too many other species of bird life had died as well。 The method had been declared illegal。 Sod that！ It would have saved the town some thousands of pounds in labour each year； and 。 。 。
Then he saw a second dead pigeon…lying on its back in the centre of the road； wings spread； feet upwards。 A third lay less than a yard away； squashed almost beyond recognition； except for the mass of blue…grey feathers which the wind was whipping up。 Funny how the feathers came away so easily exposing 。。。 he had always believed pigeon meat was dark； unwholesome looking。 With revulsion he now paused to study the flesh； red raw and weeping a yellowish pus。 Horrible。
McLellan felt the bile rising inside him； and quickened his step。 Three less； anyway； and he had far more important matters to attend to。 He rounded the corner into the Square； the only truly historical part of the town which still remained。 A cobbled rectangle in the centre； a statue of Robert Burns copied from that in Dumfries。 One day； perhaps； his own monument would stand alongside it。 Burns and McLellan 。 。 。 He stopped and stared； dreams of future fame evaporating like the early morning mist as the sun began to creep over the peaks of the mountains which formed this valley。
The whole Square was littered with dead pigeons。 Dozens of them； most lying on their backs。 A few had clustered together as though seeking pany in their last moments。 Some were lodged on parapets； and most of the gutterings were blocked。
McLellan stood amazed； but felt no pity。 Relief and excitement； yes。 But why had they all suddenly died overnight？ Even during recent severe winters only a few had perished。 Of course； he laughed aloud as it dawned upon him。 Someone had acted on the idea he had put forward two years ago。 Alpha…chloralose。 Some well…meaning citizen had distributed the doped grain during the nocturnal hours so that the birds would f