SWEEPING AWAY THE SAD TIMES
PROLOGUE October 1988
Detective Chief Superintendent John Watt stood gazing out over the River Thames.
Four months ago, his wife Jean had been killed in a car crash. It was a traumatic ending to a marriage which had once seemed full of promise.
She had been fifteen years younger than he was, but that had not seemed to matter at the start. It was a source of pride to him as a man that she had been attracted to him. Or so he thought. But, within a few years, they had started to drift apart. In retrospect, they had had really very little in common – and very differing views on the roles of a husband and wife in a marriage. But he had always tried to provide for, support and be kind to her, almost right up to the end – and what had happened had shocked and hurt him beyond measure.
But, he could never completely regret their union because, however tragically it had ended, it had given him what he wanted most of all in the world, his greatest treasures – his two sons.
David Charles John Watt, named for his godfather and father, was twelve, dark-haired and fascinated by science; Philip Henry George Watt was ten, loved books and, as so many said, very much his father's son – right down to the dimple on his chin.
It had been a week before the October half-term that he had proposed to the boys that the three of them went away together for a few days, across the river. He had said he had wanted to take them somewhere he used to work. From the looks on their faces, it was clear they didn't quite understand why their father should want to do that, but when they had driven along that narrow road off the appropriately-named Coldharbour Lane up to the car park, and the river opened up in front of their eyes, they could see why. There was something raw, something captivating about it, and all the ships, where were they going, who was on board, what were they doing….? Best of all were the barges. Those strange, hulking objects, actually made from concrete, now disused but still lying there at the edge of the water among the reeds, brought visitors from miles around.
As his sons eagerly explored them under his watchful eye, John Watt could not help but remember, as he knew he would, about the years he had spent working alongside the river near Thamesford with the Task Force.
And most especially, his colleagues….Detective Inspector Harry Hawkins….Police Constable (now Inspector) Henry Snow and Radar his dog….Sergeant (now Detective Inspector) Bob Evans….WDPC (now Detective Inspector) Betty Donald….Chief Constable Cullen. And last, but absolutely by no means least, Detective Chief Superintendent Charlie Barlow. There was nobody in the world quite like him.
And Jean….his wife….his former wife….his late wife.
It HURT.
From somewhere far away in his mind, he heard the music "Love is Blue" by Paul Mauriat. It had been in the charts not long before they all transferred here from Bristol and he always associated it, and that other very different song, with the years here….
So deep was he in thought, that he barely heard the approaching footsteps.
"Dad! Dad."
John Watt turned to look into the face of his younger son Philip. He half-smiled.
"Oh, hello, son."
"You've been standing here ever such a long time. You looked as if you were dreaming."
"Aye. I was." Watt was quiet a moment. "How d'you like the barges?"
"They're really interesting. David's climbed over the first two and he's going into the third one."
"He would!"
"He said he's looking for metal samples." Philip regarded his father.
"Were you thinking about Mum?"
Watt didn't answer. He looked back out over the river. Philip, in front of him, did the same. Watt put his arm across him, and father and son stood close together in silence.