Not Dead Enough

95

Cleo Morey left the mortuary, together with Darren, just before five thirty. Closing the front door and standing in the brilliant, warm sunlight, she said, ‘What are you doing tonight?’

‘Was going to take her to the cinema, but it’s too hot,’ he said, squinting back at his boss with the sun in his eyes. ‘We’re going to go down the Marina, have a few drinks. There’s a cool new place I’m going to check out, Rehab.’

She looked at him dubiously. Twenty years old, spiky black hair, a cheery face sporting some designer stubble, he could have so easily, with just a brief turn in his life, have ended up like so many of the no-hoper youngsters draped along the pavements and doorways of this city every night, strung out, dossing, begging, mugging. But he’d clearly been born with a spirited streak in him. He worked hard, he was pleasant company, he was going to do OK in life. ‘Rehab?’

‘Yep, it’s a bar and restaurant place. Classy. I’m splashing out – bit of a special bird. I would say join us, but, you know, two’s company and all that!’

She grinned. ‘Cheeky sod! And hey, who’s to say I don’t have a date myself tonight?’

‘Oh yes?’ he looked pleased for her. ‘Now, let me guess who.’

‘None of your business!’

‘Don’t suppose he works for the CID, does he?’

‘I said it’s none of your business!’

‘Then you shouldn’t snog him in the front office, should you?’ He winked.

‘What?’ she exclaimed.

‘Forget about the CCTV camera in there, did you?’

With a broad grin, he gave her a cheery wave and walked over to his car.

‘Peeping Tom!’ she called after him. ‘Voyeur! Perve!’

He turned as he opened the door of his small red Nissan. ‘Actually, if you want my opinion, you make quite a nice-looking couple!’

She flipped him the bird. Then added for good measure, ‘And don’t drink too much. Remember we’re on call tonight.’

‘You’re a fine one to talk!’

She was still grinning some minutes later as she drove around the gyratory system and into the covered car park of Sainsbury’s. Her mind was now on what she was going to give the CID officer she had snogged in the front office – as Darren had so crudely put it – to eat. As it was such a glorious evening, she decided to barbecue up on her roof terrace. Roy Grace liked seafood and fish.

Ahead of her she saw a parking space and manoeuvred in to it. She would go to the wet fish counter first and buy some uncooked prawns in their shells, if they had them, and tuna steaks. A couple of corn on the cobs. Some salad. And some sweet potatoes in their jackets, which were totally yummy on a barbecue. And a really nice bottle of rosé wine. Well, perhaps not just one bottle.

She was looking forward to this evening and hoped Grace would be able to escape from his investigation at a reasonable hour tonight. It seemed a long while since they had actually spent a proper evening together and it would be good to have a catch-up. She missed him, she realized, missed him all the time when he wasn’t around. But there was still the spectre of Sandy and his visit to Munich – she wanted the full lowdown on that.

She had learned from her last relationship that just when you thought everything was perfect, life could turn round and bite you.