Four
“Daddy always liked Isaac.” — Francesca BoyleIsaac walked through the front door of his house to the sound of his phone chirping for attention. He hurried through to the kitchen and picked up the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Isaac? It’s Dick.”
Dick Boyle. Co-owner of Dakin Boyle. Francesca’s father.
“d**k. My god, I… I don’t know what to say. I’m… I’m sorry. For your loss. About Francesca…” He tailed off. At twenty eight years of age, Isaac had as yet had little need or opportunity to learn the art of comforting the bereaved.
“I know, Isaac. I know. Hey look, I just called because… Well, I heard what happened — with you and the police, this morning. I just wanted you to know that, well… I never thought for a moment that… that you could have… you know.”
Typical d**k, Isaac thought. Even
