Dead Man's Grip

43

When the meeting ended Grace asked Glenn Branson to come and see him in his office in ten minutes’ time. Then, as he walked alone along the corridor, he rang Cleo. Despite the consultant’s instructions for her to rest, she had insisted on going back to work today, although she had promised Roy she would not do any heavy lifting.

She sounded fine but was too busy to speak for more than a moment. Lots of people died at weekends, falling off ladders doing DIY, born-again bikers going out for fast rides, men pegging out during their solitary bonk of the week and the lonely who found the weekends too much to bear. Her enthusiasm for her grim work never ceased to amaze him. But by the same token, she frequently said the same of him.

He made himself a coffee in the space the size of a small closet, with a kettle, worktop, sink and fridge, that was Sussex House’s apology for a canteen and carried it through to his office. He had barely sat down when Glenn entered.

‘Yo, old-timer. What’s popping?’

Grace grinned at his use of that word. He’d recently circulated to Sussex CID a DVD he’d been sent by a senior detective in Los Angeles, whom he had met last year at the International Homicide Investigators Association annual symposium. It was on the large number of Hispanic gangs prevalent on the streets of LA and in the prisons, giving guidance on how to recognize and interpret their slang, the symbols on their clothing and in their tattoos, and their hand signals, all of which were copied by the less organized but equally nasty UK street gangs.

‘Popping?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘What’s popping is that I want you to take this evening’s briefing.’ Grace grinned, clocking Branson’s even sharper than usual suit – grey with purple chalk stripes. ‘That’s if you haven’t got an appointment with your tailor.’

‘Yep, well, I need to make you one, get you some new summer gear.’

‘Thanks, you did that last year and cost me two grand.’

‘You’ve got a beautiful young fiance´e. You don’t want to take her out dressed like an old git.’

‘Actually, that’s why I need you to take over from me this evening. I’m taking her out tonight. Got tickets for a concert at the O₂ in London.’

Branson’s eyes widened. ‘Cool. What concert?’

‘The Eagles.’

Branson gave him a sad bastard stare and shook his head. ‘Get real! The Eagles? That’s old git’s music! She’s an Eagles fan?’

Grace tapped his chest. ‘No, I am.’

‘I know that, old-timer. Seen them in your house. Can’t believe how many of their albums you have.’

‘ “Lyin’ Eyes” and “Take It Easy” are two of the best singles of all time.’

Branson shook his head. ‘You’ve probably got Vera Lynn on your iPod, as well.’

Grace blushed. ‘Actually I still haven’t got an iPod.’

‘That figures.’ Branson sat down, put his elbows on Grace’s desk and stared him hard in the eyes. ‘She’s just come out of hospital and you’re going to inflict the Eagles on her? I can’t believe it!’

‘I bought the tickets ages ago, for a fortune. Anyhow, it’s a quid pro quo.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘In exchange, I’ve promised to take Cleo to a musical.’ He gave Glenn a helpless look. ‘I don’t like musicals. Give and take, right?’

Branson’s eyes widened. ‘Don’t tell me. The Sound of Music?’

Grace grinned. ‘Don’t even go there.’