FORTY-TWO
His wife was not pleased. She’d made plans for the evening, had bought a DVD and a bottle of wine. “We never have weekends anymore,” said Irene Nolan, “so I thought I’d take each night as it comes, Saturday night, Wednesday night, I’ll take what I can because I know you’re busy.” She sniffed and collapsed into the sofa. “And now you’re going out again.”
Nolan stood at the bottom of the hill, staring up at the house, thinking back to the look on his wife’s face. She was right, of course. He was busy and fairly soon the Super would become involved, take it out of his hands because it had grown too big, too serious.
He knew as much back at the station when he went through the case files. Every investigation MacMillan had ever been involved with, starting from his very early days.
