CHAPTER SIXTY
He answered his phone. ‘John Franklin.’
Silence. Then, ‘Detective Franklin?’
‘Yes?’
‘Stephen Murray. Alec’s father.’ The words held a tremble.
‘Thanks for calling.’ Franklin added his condolences.
This gap stretched longer. Was he crying?
‘Sorry for the delay. I couldn’t…’
‘It’s fine…it’s a difficult time for you,’ Franklin reassured him.
The bloke’s shrill moan made the hairs on the back of Franklin’s neck stand. He blanked on what to say. Stood planted on the slushy grass copping odd glances, listening to shouts, grunts and trills of whistles. Then applause and the clamber of appreciative honks from car horns. A goal, apparently for the Doggies.
Stephen Murray’s keening receded. Still heart-wrenching.
‘What can I do to help, Mr Murray?’
‘Stephen.’
Breathing cam
