Edinburgh Twilight (Ian Hamilton Mysteries #1)

by Carole Lawrence

“I admire your initiative, but the coroner’s office is overworked as it is, and we can’t—” “Can’t afford to look into a potential murder? Is that what you were going to say, sir?”

“‘Suspicion is a heavy armor—’” “‘And with its weight it impedes more than it protects.’

“What do you make of young Wycherly, Sergeant?” Dickerson wiped sweat from his forehead—in spite of the cold, damp room, his face was flushed. “He’s—dead, sir.” “Well done, aye—but apart from that.”

“‘I am a very foolish fond old man, fourscore and upward’—fear has lodged itself in my head, an unwelcome visitor.” “That’s from Lear, isn’t it?”

vast underclass of the underpaid, underfed, and overworked,

he had nowhere to go, no money to spend, and no one to check his wilder impulses.

The barkeep was a muscular, bald fellow with a thick Glaswegian accent—which is to say, he was nearly unintelligible.

Expectation is the root of all heartache.’”

One thing was certain: time did not move backward. He could never reclaim those days; all he could do was hold them close and lurch into the future.