Dead Simple

she gave him a friendly prod in the arm. ‘Don’t be mean! Carry on with your story.’
    ‘They had a tiny terraced cottage, but right opposite was quite a grand house – a townhouse, four storeys high. There were two very sweet old ladies who lived there, and they were always sitting in a big bay window on the top floor, and they’d wave at us every time we saw them. When I was fourteen my aunt and uncle sold their house and emigrated to New Zealand, and I didn’t go back there for about eight years. Then, in the spring of the summer that Sandy and I got married, I was taking her on one of those kind of meet the ancestors tours – and I thought it would fun to show her Cowes and the place where I’d spent so many happy holidays as a kid.’
    He paused to light a cigarette, clocking Cleo’s frown of surprise, then continued. ‘When we got to my uncle’s house, the beautiful townhouse opposite was in the process of being demolished – to make way for an apartment building. I asked the workmen what had happened to the two old ladies and they introduced me to the property developer – he’d lived in Cowes all his life and knew just about everyone. He told me the house had been empty for over forty years.’
    He paused to drag on his cigarette. ‘There had been two old ladies, sisters – both had lost their husbands in the First World War, the story goes. They became inseparable, then one was diagnosed with cancer and the other decided she didn’t want to go on living alone. So they both gassed themselves in that top room, sitting in the bay window. That was in 1947.’
    Cleo sat for some moments, thinking. ‘You never saw the old ladies outside?’
    ‘No – I was young – just a kid. I suppose at the time it never occurred to me that they were always indoors. I supposed that some old people did just stay indoors.’
    ‘And your uncle and aunt?’
    ‘I spoke to them about it afterwards – called them in New Zealand. They said they used to wave at this blank window just to humour us – they thought these two old ladies were our imaginary friends!’
    ‘And they were real to you?’
    ‘I looked them up in the newspaper archives. There were photographs of both of them – unmistakable. Absolutely no question in my mind – these were the two old ladies I had waved at – and who had waved at me every day for a week, for ten years of my childhood.’
    ‘Amazing! That’s a pretty convincing story,’ she said. ‘So what is your explanation?’
    He noticed her glass was empty. ‘Another?’
    ‘Oh, why not!’ she said. ‘But it’s my turn to buy.’
    ‘I kept you waiting and hour and twenty minutes – I’m buying the drinks. No argument!’
    ‘So long as I can buy them on our next date – deal?’
    They locked eyes, both smiling. ‘Deal.’
    Then she tapped the table impatiently with her manicured finger. ‘So, come on, what is your explanation?’
    Grace ordered Cleo Morey a third vodka and cranberry, then said, ‘I have several theories about ghosts.’ After a brief pause, he added, ‘What I mean is, I believe there are different types of ghosts—’
    He was interrupted by the beeping of his phone.
    Apologizing to Cleo, he answered with a curter than usual, ‘Grace speaking.’
    It was DC Boutwood in the Incident Room. ‘Sorry to bother you, sir. There has been a development. Are you on your way back yet?’
    He looked at Cleo Morey, loath to tear himself away, and said with more than a trace of reluctance, ‘Yes, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’

74
    In the studious atmosphere of the Incident Room time barely intruded. At five past ten, when Grace walked back in, all the desks were almost fully manned. At the Operation Salsa work station, Nick forked his way through a Chinese takeaway, Bella munched on an apple, and Emma-Jane sat glued to her computer screen, sipping a carton of Ribena through a straw. For a moment none of them noticed him.
    ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’
    Immediately all three of them looked up. Bella Moy said, through a mouthful of apple, ‘Glenn’s had to rush home – some problem with the babysitter. He’ll be back shortly.’
    ‘Great! Is that the development you wanted to tell me about?’
    DC Boutwood looked at him nervously; the junior on the team, she hadn’t yet spent enough time with him to know when he was being funny and when he was in a temper. She was wise to be cautious – at this moment it was borderline and he was very