Dead Man's Grip

and stepped aside as a young uniformed woman police officer walked across, snapping on a pair of blue gloves. She studied Carly for a moment, expressionless, before beginning to pat her down, starting with her head and rummaging in each of her coat pockets. Then she asked her to remove her boots and socks, knelt down and searched between each of her toes.
    Carly said nothing, feeling utterly humiliated. The woman then scanned her with a metal detector, put that instrument down and started emptying out her handbag. She placed Carly’s purse, her car keys, a packet of Kleenex, her lipstick and compact, chewing gum and then, to her embarrassment, as she saw PC Pattenden eyeing everything, a Tampax into one of the trays.
    When the woman had finished, Carly signed a receipt, then PC Pattenden led her into a small side room, where she was fingerprinted by a cheery male officer, also in blue gloves. Finally he took a swab of her mouth for DNA.
    Next, holding a yellow form, PC Pattenden escorted her out, past the console, up a step and into a narrow room that felt like a laboratory. There was a row of white kitchen units to her left, followed by a sink and a fridge, and a grey and blue machine at the far end, with a video monitor on the top. To her right was a wooden desk and two blue chairs. The walls were plastered in notices.
    She read: NO MORE THAN ONE DETAINEE IN THIS ROOM AT A TIME, THANK YOU.
    Then: YOU’LL COME BACK.
    Next to that was a sign in red with white letters: WANT TO GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN?
    PC Pattenden pointed at a wall-mounted camera. ‘OK, what I must tell you now is that everything seen and heard in this room is recorded. Do you understand?’
    ‘Yes.’
    The officer then told her about the breath-test machine. He explained that he required her to give two breath specimens and that the lower of the readings would be taken. If the reading was above 40 but below 51 she would have the further option of providing a blood or urine sample.
    She blew into the tube, desperately hoping that she was now below the limit and this nightmare – or at least this part of it – would be over.
    ‘I can’t believe it. I didn’t drink that much – really, I didn’t.’
    ‘Now blow again for the second test,’ he said calmly.
    Some moments later he showed her the printout of the first test. To her horror it was 55. Then he showed her the second reading.
    It was also 55.

16
    Roy Grace’s phone rang in the hospital room. Releasing his grip on Cleo’s hand he tugged it out of his pocket and answered it.
    It was Glenn Branson, sounding in work mode. ‘Yo, chief. How is she?’
    ‘OK, thanks. She’ll be fine.’
    Cleo looked up at him and he stroked her forehead with his free hand. Then she suddenly winced.
    He covered the mouthpiece, alarmed. ‘You OK?’
    She nodded and smiled thinly. ‘Bump just kicked.’
    Glenn Branson said, ‘We’ve had a call from Inspector James Biggs, Traffic. A fatal at Portland Road. Sound like a hit and run. They’re requesting assistance from Major Crime Branch as it looks like death by dangerous driving or possibly manslaughter.’
    As the duty Senior Investigating Officer for the week, Roy Grace was in charge of any Major Crime inquiries that came in. This would be a good opportunity for Glenn, whom he considered his protégé, to show his abilities, he decided.
    ‘Are you free?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘OK, organize a Crime Scene Manager for them, then go down yourself and help the rats. See if they’ve got everything they need.’
    Rats were known to eat their own young and traffic officers had long been known as the Black Rats . This dated back to the time when all police cars were black and was because of their reputation for booking other police officers and even members of their own family. Some of them today wore a black rat badge with pride.
    ‘I’m on my way.’
    As Grace put his phone back in his pocket, Cleo took his hand.
    ‘I’m OK, darling. Go back to work,’ she said. ‘Really, I’m fine.’
    He turned and looked at her dubiously, then kissed her on the forehead. ‘I love you.’
    ‘I love you too,’ she said.
    ‘I don’t want to leave you here.’
    ‘You have to get out there and catch bad guys. I want them all locked up before Bump is born!’
    He smiled. She looked so frail, so vulnerable, lying in this bed. With their child inside her. Cleo’s life and the life of their unborn child hanging on a thread more slender than he wanted to think about.