56
Three weeks later.
Gary McCann stepped out through the bi-fold doors, into his back garden and took a deep lungful of the crisp morning air. It was a good time to be alive.
It was always a good time to be alive, and he particularly enjoyed this time of the morning. Regardless of the time of year, he always came out here first thing and stood with a cup of tea, watching nature wake up in front of him.
A small nagging voice had, for a short while, told him he might not have too many of these mornings left, but it had quietened down in the last few days. Everything would be taken care of. It always was.
He knew the police would be busily trying to gather their evidence while he was on bail, awaiting a court date. He also knew it didn’t matter what they came up with — he was always at
