Dead Simple

Morey excepted.
    He hoped she was on duty again today. Ver y much hoped, as he walked over to the entrance and rang the bell. Moments later, to his delight, Cleo opened the door. Dressed as usual in her uniform of green gown, green apron and white boots – the only kit he had ever seen her in – she greeted him with a bright smile, seeming genuinely pleased to see him.
    And for a moment he stood, tongue-tied, like a kid on his first date with a girl he knows in his heart is out of his league. ‘Hi!’ he said, and then added, ‘We can’t go on meeting like this.’
    ‘I prefer you walking in, than to have you come in feet first,’ she said.
    He shook his head, grinning. ‘Thanks a lot.’
    She ushered him in to her tiny office with its pink walls. ‘Can I offer you some tea? Coffee? A cold drink?’
    ‘Can you do a full Cornish cream tea?’
    ‘Sure – scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream?’
    ‘And toasted tea cakes?’
    ‘Of course.’ She tossed her blonde hair back, her eyes never leaving his, very definitely flirting with him. ‘So, this is your idea of a relaxing Sunday afternoon?’
    ‘Absolutely. Doesn’t everyone take a Sunday afternoon drive out into the country?’
    ‘They do,’ she said, switching on the kettle. ‘But most people go to enjoy the flowers and the wildlife – not to look at corpses.’
    ‘ Really? ’ he feigned. ‘I knew there was something wrong with my life.’
    ‘Mine too.’
    There was a silence between them. An opportunity, he knew. The kettle made a faint hissing sound. He saw a trickle of steam from the plastic spout. ‘You told me you weren’t married – have you ever been?’ he asked. ‘Do you have a family?’
    She turned to look at him, resting her eyes on his, a warm, friendly, relaxed gaze. ‘You mean do I have an ex-husband, two-point-two children, a dog and a hamster?’
    ‘That sort of thing.’ Grace smiled at her, his collywobbles gone, feeling comfortable with her. Extremely comfortable.
    ‘I have a goldfish,’ she said. ‘Does that count as family?’
    ‘You do? Me too.’
    ‘What’s she called.’
    ‘It’s he. Marlon.’
    She burst out laughing. ‘That’s an absurd name for a goldfish.’
    ‘Luckily, he doesn’t know that,’ Grace responded.
    She shook her head, grinning broadly as the kettle came to the boil. ‘Actually, I think it’s great.’
    ‘So what’s yours called?’
    She teased him with her eyes for some moments, before saying, coyly, ‘Fish.’
    ‘ Fish? ’ Grace echoed. ‘That’s its name?’
    ‘ Her name.’
    ‘OK. Guess that’s easy to remember. Fish. ’
    ‘Not as smart as Marlon, ’ she said.
    ‘It’s OK, I like it. It has a certain something about it.’ Then he seized his chance, although the words came out clumsily. ‘Don’t suppose you’d like to meet up for that drink some time this week?’
    The warmth of her reply took him by surprise. ‘I would love to!’
    ‘Great. OK. When’s good – ah – I mean – how’s tomorrow?’
    ‘Monday’s are good for me,’ she said.
    ‘Great. Terrific! Um…’ He was racking his brains, thinking of somewhere to go. Brighton was full of cool bars, but right now he couldn’t think of one. Should they go to a quiet bar? A buzzy place? A restaurant? Monday nights were quiet. Maybe just a pub first time, he thought. ‘Whereabouts do you live?’ he asked.
    ‘Just up off the Level.’
    ‘You know the Greys?’
    ‘Of course!’
    ‘How about there – about eight?’
    ‘I’ll see you there.’
    The kettle shrieked and they both grinned. As she began pouring water into the pot, the doorbell rang. She went out of the room and came back in accompanied by the beanpole-tall frame of DC Nicholl, dressed in weekend casuals. ‘Good afternoon, Roy,’ he said, greeting his boss.
    ‘Want some tea. Great service here today.’
    ‘Earl Grey?’ Cleo asked. ‘Green leaf? Camomile? Darjeeling?’
    Looking confused, the young DC, who was always very serious, very earnest, asked, ‘Do you have any ordinary tea?’
    ‘One builder’s tea coming up,’ Cleo said.
    ‘So what do we think?’ Grace asked, getting to the point.
    ‘Gillian Harrison – Michael Harrison’s mother – is on her way here to identify the body,’ Nick informed him.
    ‘I’ve made him look presentable,’ Cleo said.
    ‘It was one of her skills, to take a body – however badly marked or mangled – and make it look as intact and peaceful as possible for when a