created a landscape of reclaimed warehouses and wharf buildings, some of it new but built to the same design, to blend in, but a lot of it was the modern crammed into the old, creating a beautiful knot of water, brick and steel all built on the footprint of the Roman fort of Mancunium. The city centre and busy roads were just on the other side of the apartment block, but his view was the tranquil stillness of canal water and pleasure barges, two willow trees gently sweeping at the surface, the calm disturbed only by the rumble of the trams as they went back and forth over the viaducts.
Manchester had been built on textiles, but it had been a tough upbringing. The city had grown too quickly, meaning people had been crammed into small houses, a family to a room, sometimes more, so that for a while the whole city choked on fumes and human debris, the streets nothing more than a network of slums and factories that killed its inhabitants too young, cholera thinning the population. Joe knew it as a proud city though. The squalor had grown the labour movement and the Manchester people had almost starved when they supported the cotton blockade of the Southern States during the American Civil War. They knew what was right and stood up for it. The mills and factories were gone now, and the few that remained were just brick shells used for art studios and craft fairs, but it was that mindset that had framed Joe’s upbringing.
It was the canal that had drawn Joe to the apartment. He enjoyed evenings on his small balcony, watching the sunset shimmer across the water, the murky water gleaming as the light caught it.
He opened his fridge and found a sauvignon blanc, the product of an internet wine club he had joined a few months before and hadn’t bothered to leave. The swish of the balcony door as he opened it brought in the sound of early evening. The clink of glasses and sound of laughter from the open restaurant in Catalan Square on the other side of the canal mixed in with the creak and squeal of the tram wheels.
He poured himself a glass and then went back for Ronnie’s file.
As he set the box down on the balcony, he picked up his glass to toast it. ‘Happy birthday,’ he said, and then sat down, pausing to take a sip.
He let the late-evening warmth bathe him for a moment, knowing that he would lose it soon, because once he started to read he would become immersed in the case. It was always the way, that he thought of nothing else but winning. It didn’t matter what type of case, from a minor fight to a murder like this one. It was the result that counted.
There was a buzz on the intercom. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He thought about not answering, but then curiosity got the better of him. He went back inside to the panel, and when he pressed the button, he heard his brother’s voice, Sam.
‘Joe, it’s me. You can’t have your birthday alone.’
Joe wondered whether to answer. He guessed that Sam wasn’t there for his birthday, and that it was about what had happened earlier, when he hadn’t gone to Ellie’s grave with him. But Ellie’s memory had been with him all day, and so it was good to hear a voice from the family.
He pressed the button to let Sam into the building and then opened his apartment door to let him walk right in.
Joe returned to the balcony. When Sam appeared, he was holding some beer cans, smiling.
‘Happy birthday. Again.’
‘I don’t normally get all this.’
‘We parted badly earlier,’ he said. ‘I thought I should try to make amends.’
Sam pulled a can from the ring and offered it to Joe, who held up his wine glass and said, ‘I’ve got this.’
‘I thought you were a beer drinker,’ Sam said, looking at the can in his hand and then at the wine glass.
‘I am, but I like a glass of wine sometimes.’
Sam sat down on the chair opposite and put the cans on the floor. He tried to slot the can back into the ring, and Joe watched amused. Once the four-pack was
Manchester had been built on textiles, but it had been a tough upbringing. The city had grown too quickly, meaning people had been crammed into small houses, a family to a room, sometimes more, so that for a while the whole city choked on fumes and human debris, the streets nothing more than a network of slums and factories that killed its inhabitants too young, cholera thinning the population. Joe knew it as a proud city though. The squalor had grown the labour movement and the Manchester people had almost starved when they supported the cotton blockade of the Southern States during the American Civil War. They knew what was right and stood up for it. The mills and factories were gone now, and the few that remained were just brick shells used for art studios and craft fairs, but it was that mindset that had framed Joe’s upbringing.
It was the canal that had drawn Joe to the apartment. He enjoyed evenings on his small balcony, watching the sunset shimmer across the water, the murky water gleaming as the light caught it.
He opened his fridge and found a sauvignon blanc, the product of an internet wine club he had joined a few months before and hadn’t bothered to leave. The swish of the balcony door as he opened it brought in the sound of early evening. The clink of glasses and sound of laughter from the open restaurant in Catalan Square on the other side of the canal mixed in with the creak and squeal of the tram wheels.
He poured himself a glass and then went back for Ronnie’s file.
As he set the box down on the balcony, he picked up his glass to toast it. ‘Happy birthday,’ he said, and then sat down, pausing to take a sip.
He let the late-evening warmth bathe him for a moment, knowing that he would lose it soon, because once he started to read he would become immersed in the case. It was always the way, that he thought of nothing else but winning. It didn’t matter what type of case, from a minor fight to a murder like this one. It was the result that counted.
There was a buzz on the intercom. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He thought about not answering, but then curiosity got the better of him. He went back inside to the panel, and when he pressed the button, he heard his brother’s voice, Sam.
‘Joe, it’s me. You can’t have your birthday alone.’
Joe wondered whether to answer. He guessed that Sam wasn’t there for his birthday, and that it was about what had happened earlier, when he hadn’t gone to Ellie’s grave with him. But Ellie’s memory had been with him all day, and so it was good to hear a voice from the family.
He pressed the button to let Sam into the building and then opened his apartment door to let him walk right in.
Joe returned to the balcony. When Sam appeared, he was holding some beer cans, smiling.
‘Happy birthday. Again.’
‘I don’t normally get all this.’
‘We parted badly earlier,’ he said. ‘I thought I should try to make amends.’
Sam pulled a can from the ring and offered it to Joe, who held up his wine glass and said, ‘I’ve got this.’
‘I thought you were a beer drinker,’ Sam said, looking at the can in his hand and then at the wine glass.
‘I am, but I like a glass of wine sometimes.’
Sam sat down on the chair opposite and put the cans on the floor. He tried to slot the can back into the ring, and Joe watched amused. Once the four-pack was
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