Generally he would wake feeling worse than when he closed his eyes. Today he had no choice. He was dog tired and the painkillers acted as sedatives. After getting home at five, he made short work of a stack of cheese and pickle sandwiches, opened a pouch of tuna for the cat and fell into bed. Good thing he had enough of his wits about him to set the alarm for eleven – P.M., not A.M., as he felt he deserved.The sleep must have helped, but it didn’t feel like that when the beep-beep broke into his dream of cruising the shallows of a slow-moving river in a flat-bottomed boat with Steph miraculously alive again, lightly holding his arm. When he flexed he found he’d been stroking his right bicep with his left hand. With an anguished groan, he reached out to stop the alarm repeating. Darkness had set in. He heaved himself off the pillow, groped for the light switch and stared at the clock. Stark reality replaced the dream: three brother officers murdered and their killer out there somewhere.
