When we parted Simon and I had split up restaurants and bars the way some people split up their possessions, their animals and their children. Simon had agreed that I could have sole use of San Carlos, as it held rotten memories for him anyway of times when I had left meals uneaten and him abandoned while rushing off to do my bloody job. Or allegedly to do my bloody job, he had said. That had been a snide afterthought. I was on time, but Robin Davey was already waiting in the bar. At first sight, propped on a high stool, gazing into the middle distance, he had about him the same gravity I had noticed in the coroner’s court. He looked drawn beneath the tan which seemed to be a permanent feature, and he had certainly aged since my fateful visit to Abri Island, but his face seemed to light up when I walked in. His smile of greeting was warm but diffident, as if he were still unsure of the kind of response he was going to get. He was dressed casually in a soft light-brown suede bomber jacket, his white shirt open at the neck.
What do You think about For Death Comes Softly (1999)?
