Coming home

Jim Brooke walked along the canal tow path pulling his coat tight as the wind whistled around him. It was what his mother had called a lazy wind. 'It goes through you rather than taking the long way round.' He smiled as he thought about her chuckling at her own joke.
It was the first time he'd returned in twenty years. The canal seemed cleaner than when he had played along it but it felt darker almost foreboding.
A young policeman stood at the far end of the tunnel and as Jim entered he had t...