The Dying Hours by Mark Billingham

Author:Mark Billingham
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780802121486
Publisher: Sphere
Published: 2013-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Susan Jacobson was sitting on a raised terrace with the promised glass of water. When Thorne joined her at the table she passed the glass to him and said, ‘I’ll redecorate in there, obviously. Haven’t had much time to think about it the last few days. Well, you know.’

‘All that stuff can wait,’ Thorne said.

‘God knows what I’m going to do with all those bloody machines of his. I don’t know which ones are valuable.’

‘What about a museum?’

She took a sip of water, thought about it. ‘Yes, I think he would have liked that.’ She stared out at the garden for a few seconds. ‘I think his brother should have all his old jazz records. I mean I certainly don’t want them and it’ll be nice to have a bit more room.’

Thorne nodded, drank. He’d seen this many times before; the need to plan, to think ahead, to stay busy. It was understandable, but he was not convinced it was altogether healthy in the long term. It was only putting off something that needed facing up to and getting through. He had done much the same thing when his father had died… when his father had been killed… and he had come to regret it. He had thrown himself back into work far too quickly, taken on more than he could manage, when he should have allowed himself the time to take it in. He’d heard a counsellor talk once about ‘owning’ your grief. Thorne had certainly never owned his.

‘Sod all wrong with wallowing,’ Hendricks had said, and as usual he had been right.

‘I can’t stand all that parping and noodling,’ Susan Jacobson said.

‘Sorry?’

She looked at Thorne. ‘Jazz…’

‘Oh, me neither,’ Thorne said.

He could not recall having seen a bigger garden in London. It sloped away from them, probably more than a hundred feet long and almost as wide, with tall trees – oaks, sycamores, a huge copper beech – shielding it on two sides and an old stone wall running along the third. The beds were wide and filled with flowers and the terrace was dotted with bay trees and box balls. ‘This is lovely,’ Thorne said. The lawn was neatly mown into stripes and he wondered how recently Richard Jacobson had used one of his precious machines on it. How long it would take for the stripes to fade.

‘Should probably get rid of that thing too.’ Susan Jacobson nodded towards the large trampoline, standing next to a rickety-looking shed in one of the corners. ‘While I’m sorting things out. I mean, the kids are too old to want to use it again and I spend my life clearing away the leaves and fox poo. The fox certainly enjoys bouncing on it.’ She smiled. ‘I had a go myself last year after we had a party out here and put my back out for a month. Silly old mare…’

Her face crumpled suddenly and she looked down into her glass.

Thorne looked back towards the trampoline. Two squirrels were chattering and chasing

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