Dead Man's Grip

turned the page.
    There was a picture of a cyclist fleeing the police and another road accident, this time a VW Passat that had rolled over. Then on the next page was the story of a factory closure, which did not interest her. Nor did a photograph of a school football team. She turned the page again. Then froze.
    She stared at the printed words, unable to believe her eyes, translating each of them into English inside her head.
    She read them, then reread them.
    Then she just stared at them again, as if she had been turned into a pillar of salt.
    It was an advertisement. Not big, just one column wide and six centimetres deep. The wording read:

    SANDRA (SANDY) CHRISTINA GRACE
    Wife of Roy Jack Grace of Hove, City of Brighton and Hove, East Sussex, England.
    Missing, presumed dead, for ten years. Last seen in Hove, East Sussex. She is five feet, seven inches tall (1.70 metres), slim build and had shoulder-length fair hair when last seen.
    Unless anyone can provide evidence that she is still alive to Messrs Edwards and Edwards LLP at the address beneath, a declaration will be sought that she is legally dead.

    She continued staring, reading it, rereading it, then rereading it again.
    And again.

36
    ‘Do you know what I’m really looking forward to?’ Cleo asked. ‘What I’m absolutely craving?’
    ‘Wild sex?’ Roy Grace said hopefully, giving her a sideways grin.
    They were in the car, heading home from hospital, and she looked a thousand times better. The colour had returned to her face and she looked radiant. And more beautiful than ever. The rest in hospital had clearly done her good.
    She ran a finger suggestively a long way up his thigh. ‘Right now?’
    He halted the car at traffic lights on Edward Street, almost in view of John Street Police Station – known colloquially as Brighton nick .
    ‘Probably not the best place.’
    ‘Wild sex would be good,’ she conceded, continuing to stroke the inside of his thigh provocatively. ‘But at a risk of denting your ego, there is something I desire even more than your body right now, Detective Superintendent Grace.’
    ‘And what might that be?’
    ‘Something I can’t have. A big slice of Brie with a glass of red wine!’
    ‘Terrific! I’m in competition with cheese for your affections?’
    ‘No competition. The cheese wins hands down.’
    ‘Maybe I should take you back to the hospital.’
    She leaned across and kissed him on the cheek. Then, as the lights turned green, she pressed her fingers even further into his thigh and said, ‘Don’t take it badly.’
    As he drove forward, he pouted in a mock-sulk and said, ‘I’m going to arrest every sodding piece of Brie in this city.’
    ‘Great. Put them in the cooler for after Bump is born and I’ll devour them. But I will devour you first, I promise!’
    As he turned south into Grand Parade and moved over into the
right-hand lane, with the Royal Pavilion ahead of him to the right, Grace was aware of a sudden feeling of euphoria. After all his fears for Cleo and their baby these past few days, everything suddenly seemed good again. Cleo was fine, back to her normal cheery, breezy self. Their baby was fine. The bollocking from ACC Rigg suddenly seemed very small and insignificant in comparison. The two-bit petty crook van driver, Ewan Preece, would be found within days, if not hours, and that would put Rigg back in his box. The only thing that really mattered to him at this moment was sitting beside him.
    ‘I love you so much,’ he said.
    ‘You do?’
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘You sure about that? Even with my big tummy and the fact that I prefer cheese to you?’
    ‘I like your big tummy – more to love.’
    She suddenly took his left hand and held it to her abdomen. He could feel something moving, something tiny but strong, and he felt a lump of joy in his throat.
    ‘Is that Bump?’
    ‘Kicking away! He’s telling us he’s happy to be going home!’
    ‘Awwww!’
    Cleo released his hand, then pushed her hair back from her forehead. Grace stopped in the right-turn lane, in front of the Pavilion.
    ‘So have you missed me?’ she said.
    ‘Every second.’
    ‘Liar.’
    ‘I have.’ The lights turned green and he drove across the junction and doubled back around the Old Steine. ‘I’ve kept busy googling buggies and baby names.’
    ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about names,’ she said.
    ‘And?’
    ‘If it’s a girl, which I don’t think it is, I like Amelie, Tilly or Freya best so