DPhil material, but your fucking wouldn't earn you an 0 level. "
It had been downhill from then. The last couple of women Tony had been involved with had thought he was a perfect gentleman, never pressurizing them into bed. Until they got him there and discovered how seldom he could actually deliver. He had long ago discovered how hard it was to convince a woman that the fact that he couldn't get it up had nothing whatsoever to do with her. They just got fed up with having their egos bashed," he said aloud.
Maybe now he had finally found a way to confront the past and move forward. A few more nights like tonight with Angelica and maybe, just maybe, he'd be ready to try the real thing. He wondered if her services extended to that. Perhaps he should start thinking about dropping a few hints.
Brandon read the sheet of paper on his desk and rubbed the grit of sleep from his eyes. He and Dave Woolcott had spent the evening going through the dozens of reports that had flowed in from the actions Dave had ordered in response to the correlations thrown out by the HOLMES computer. In spite of their determined efforts to find some slender thread of evidence to unravel back to the killer, there was nothing that either of them could identify as a lead.
"Maybe this idea of Carol's will do the business for us," Dave yawned.
"We've tried everything else," Brandon said, his voice as depressed as his face.
"It can't hurt to run with it."
"She's a smart operator, that one," Dave remarked.
"She'll be running the shop one of these days." There was no bitterness in his tone, only a tired admiration. Another yawn split his face.
"Go home, Dave. When was the last time you saw Marion awake?"
Dave groaned.
"Don't you start, sir. I was going to knock off anyway, there's not a lot doing. I'll be in tomorrow, finish off listing these computer suppliers."
"OK, but not too early, you hear? Give your family a treat. Eat breakfast with them." Before he took his own advice, Brandon wanted to go through the witness statements and officers' impressions once more, unable to believe that there wasn't something lurking in there that would give them their first serious break. By the time he was halfway through he was finding it almost impossible to motivate himself to get through the rest of the pile. The prospect of tucking himself round Maggie's warm body was overwhelmingly appealing.
Brandon sighed and focused on the next sheet of paper. His scrutiny was interrupted by the insistent trill of his telephone.
"Brandon,"
he sighed.
"Sergeant Murray here, front desk. Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but none of the inspectors are in the station at the moment. Thing is, there's a gentleman down here I think you'll want to talk to. He's a neighbour of Damien Connolly's, sir."
Brandon was already out of his chair.
"I'm on my way," he said.
The man at the front desk was sitting on the wooden bench that ran along the wall, head down, the rough blur of stubble dark along his jaw. As Brandon came round from behind the counter, he looked up.
Late twenties, Bran- don estimated. Sun-bed tan, bruised circles under his eyes. Some sort of businessman, judging by the expensive but sombre suit and the silk tie hanging askew under the open top button of the shirt. He had the rumpled, red-eyed look of someone who's been travelling so long they've forgotten which day or which city it is. Seeing someone more tired than himself seemed to inject Brandon with fresh energy. "Mr Harding?" he said cheerfully.
"I'm John Brandon, the Assistant Chief Constable in charge of the investigation into Damien Connolly's death."
The man nodded.
"Terry Harding. I live a couple of doors down from Damien."
"My sergeant tells me you might have some information for us."
"That's right," Terry Harding said, his voice thick with exhaustion.
"I saw a stranger driving out of Damien's garage the night he was killed."
It seemed poetic justice to me that, like Damien, his name was already on my list as a potential partner. If I had needed any kind of reinforcement that I was doing the right thing by punishing him, that was it.
So, I already knew where he lived, where he worked and what he looked like. I knew what time he left the house in the morning, what tram he caught to work, and how long he stayed in his little office in the university.