Peter Hamilton - Great North Road

“My God,” Jacinta muttered.

“He did save the city from a D-bomb,” Chloe said.

Sid and Jacinta looked at each other, then looked away. Their limousine turned right into St. Nicholas Street and pulled up outside the cathedral. The majestic old building was isolated by more crowd barriers; uniformed agency constables were lined up along them. Sid couldn’t even work out how many people had turned up to pay their respects to the hero who’d sacrificed himself to save the city—but it was certainly in the thousands.

“Now remember, no more than thirty seconds with the mayor,” Chloe warned as the doors unlocked.

“Aye,” Sid said, with tone .

The limousine in front had brought the mayor to the cathedral. Chloe had negotiated that with the mayor’s office, giving the politician arrival preference, but in return he wasn’t to monopolize Sid on the way into the cathedral. And they weren’t going to be sitting together during Ian’s memorial service, either; that would make it look too much like Sid was part of the mayor’s ticket. That hadn’t been agreed yet.

Sid stepped out onto the pavement. The sun was high in a cloudless azure sky, and the warm air was gusting down Newcastle’s ancient streets, carrying with it the smell of the city. Leaves on the oak trees along the north side of the cathedral still retained their spring vivacity, producing a bright emerald stipple haze as they were struck by sunlight. It was a lot of rich sensation after the sterility of the limousine, and hundreds of people were staring at him.

The applause began. It took Sid a moment to realize it was directed at him. He managed a discreet smile direct to the crowd, and nodded his appreciation. Faces blurred as he walked past. He was dreading catching sight of one of Ian’s girls.

“Detective Hurst.” The mayor was upon him, hand extended. The large cluster of licensed reporters on either side of the cathedral doors paid very close attention to the greeting.

Sid shook the proffered hand. “Mayor. Thank you for coming.”

“It’s the least I could do. The city owes Detective Lanagin so much. He truly demonstrated why we are right to place so much value on our police force.”

Sid could just picture the mocking grin Ian would have on his face if he could see this, the gesture he’d be making at Sid behind the politician’s back. Then he’d be off eyeing the crowd for decent-looking girls to score.

Jacinta smoothly eased forward and offered her hand to the mayor, who shook it gracefully. “We should go in,” she said.

“Of course,” the mayor said, still the epitome of dignity.

They walked away from him. The coffin bearers were waiting just inside the big double door: Eva, Lorelle, Ari, and Royce O’Rouke, who was once again able to show off his old uniform to the transnet news crews. Sid smiled tightly at them, and felt Jacinta’s grip squeeze harder. He needed that. It was tougher than he could believe possible simply to walk down the aisle, acknowledging people as he went. That was his job now, being seen and making connections. Ralph Stevens and Sarah Linsell were there, right at the back, as unobtrusive as good spooks should be. Jenson San, the little shit. Hayfa Fullerton, Reannha Hall, Tilly Lewis heading the pew of Market Street personnel. Milligan and his people in the pew behind, making sure they were included. Even Vice Commissioner Passam was there, being ignored by everyone.

So many people he didn’t know. Who never knew Ian. Important people to be seen offering their thanks, showing support for the city’s finest in these troubled times.

Tallulah was there, several rows from the front. Head down as she sobbed quietly, trying not to make a scene. Grandees on either side, whose polite stiff faces were doing their best to ignore her. Even in distress with tears smearing her makeup she was breathtaking.

Sid stopped and held out his hand to her. “Come with me,” he said kindly.

So there was a bit of a commotion as she wormed past people and joined him in the aisle. Sid led her to the front row where Ian’s distraught parents were sitting.

“No,” Tallulah began feebly.

“You knew him. You cared about him,” Sid said quietly. “There’s not many of us. We have to stick together.”

She smiled with pathetic gratitude and sat beside him. He shook hands with the parents, whom he’d met for the first time last night. An awful ninety minutes in their hotel room telling them about all the good parts of their son’s life he’d shared.

Jacinta patted his leg. “That’s the man I married,” she whispered.

Sid drew a breath. His e-i told him the coffin had arrived outside. The bearers were gathering to lift it from the hearse.

In front of him, the choir rose. It was the cue for the congregation to stand. Sid slowly got to his feet, the hymnbook drooping from his hand. The vast organ began playing the funeral march.

Jacinta’s fingers twined through his. “Forty minutes,” she said. “And it’ll all be over. I’ll share it with you.”

“Really? You want all this?”

“For better or worse. I did promise.”

And with that Sid’s life was bearable again.

The limousine dropped them off outside their Jesmond house at one o’clock. It had proved impossible to get away earlier. Sid couldn’t avoid the official reception at Newcastle’s Civic Center. He didn’t want to be there, not with all the dignitaries and business leaders and the bishop of Newcastle. Market Street personnel were having their own wake in a pub down on Quayside beside the Millennium Bridge. There would be genuine laughter, maudlin reminiscences, loud music, too much beer, and some tox. Hopefully it would end in a fight, and a whole load of them would wind up being thrown in the cooler cells for the rest of the night. That would be true to Ian. A proper send-off to one of their own.

Instead he dutifully mingled with the living dead, where it was all small talk, must-be-made introductions by Chloe, and warm white wine served by bored contract waitresses. A midnight shift riding a car around the GSWs would be better than that. Hell, his office on the sixth floor was preferable.

“Cup of tea, pet?” Jacinta asked.

“Yeah, thanks.” Once the front door was closed Sid took the hated uniform jacket off. He rubbed his neck. “I think I’ve got an allergy.”

“I’ll find you some cream.”

“It’s not that bad.”

She rolled her eyes. “Aye, men! Medicine isn’t a weakness, you know.”

“I know.” He sat at the breakfast counter on one of the new stools. Jacinta poured boiling water into a china pot—a moving-in present from her parents. “You know, we haven’t had a housewarming party yet.”

“Because we need to decorate everything before I’ll let anyone inside,” she replied. “And once we do that, I’m not having your police friends in here trashing the place. Honestly, pet, they behave worse than a bunch of fresher students once the beer’s opened.”

“A fair point, well made.”

She sat down opposite him. “Do you want to go down to Quayside?”

“Nah, I’d cramp their style. I’m sixth floor now.”

“You knew him better than all of them.”

“I took him there, into Last Mile. I was the one that wouldn’t let the case go.”

“Don’t do this to yourself, pet. This case was one big weird disaster right from the start.”

“Aye.” He poured some tea into a cup. “So the HDA was right. An alien!”

“Have you worked out why it was there, yet?”

“Not a fucking clue.” Sid grinned and drank the tea.

Jacinta reached over the counter and put her hand on top of his. “Run the cold equation. Are we worse off now than we were before?”