Twenty Four
“It is a terrible, terrible thing.” — Francesca BoyleIsaac opened his front door and headed straight for the kitchen. He needed to think straight, and he needed to think deep. Which meant that he needed coffee.
His laptop was open on the breakfast bar, and he thumbed its power button on his way to the espresso machine. Once at the machine, he operated it on auto-pilot — pre-ground coffee from the overhead cupboard, water into the jug from the tap then into the machine from the jug, the jug placed on the machine’s hot plate ready to receive the hot liquid when the machine was ready to dispense it. The beans were Arabica, Ethiopian Harar. A true coffee connoisseur would have regarded it as sacrilege to pre-grind the beans, he knew. But Isaac didn’t regard himself as a connoisse
