Whilst Crane and Zechariah were about to delve into some heartfelt conversation … the heart candle continued to melt. The gaping hole was surrounded by runny, waxy trickles that looked oddly suggestive – even with the fire billowing out of the hole.

There was a tilt of his head when Crane half-asked, half-stated “Swordfish”. Oh. Oh. He had not known. This was … not quite the delighted response he would have hoped for a new revelation, but so be it. Zechariah finished off his glass, and filled it back up with straight vodka. He was feeling the warmth, some, but he was still in complete control of his faculties.

A couple more would fix that in a jiffy.

“Surprise?” he said with an amused arch of his brow. “You caught me. Biggest case of the year, surely.”

Oh! The constable could flirt. Zechariah waved a hand and shook his head.

“And it was not even necessary. I forgive you for speaking down on a morsel of a man,” he teased, letting his gaze run up and down Crane, “but just this once.”

Oh, God though. What was that sound? Was Crane’s chair shaking? (Did he find all the sabotaged ones? Who knew.)

Did he want children? He hoped he wanted children. Perhaps he should ask him, right now, while he was shaking in his chair, if he wanted children.

Zechariah took another sip. Nah. A little early for that. A little.

“So … Catholics flog themselves?”

Small talk. Perfect small talk.