Dead Tomorrow

o’clock.’
    Inwardly he groaned. ‘Fine!’ he said.
    ‘I hope you have some progress to report,’ she added before hanging up.
    Have a nice evening , he mouthed. Then he opened the door.
    Cleo, ina man’s shirt over ripped jeans, was on her hands and knees on the wooden floor, playing who owns the sock with Humphrey. The dog was snarling, growling, whining, tugging away at the sock as if his life depended on it.
    ‘Hi, darling!’ he said.
    She looked up at him, without stopping her tug-of-war and without noticing the bottle he was brandishing.
    ‘Hi! Look, Humphrey, look who’s here. It’s Detective Superintendent Roy Grace!’
    He knelt and kissed her.
    She gave him a quick peck, but her concentration was on the dog. ‘Champagne!’ she said. ‘How nice!’ Then, squinting at the black ball of yapping fluff, she said, ‘What do you think of that, Humphrey? Detective Superintendent Roy Grace has brought us champagne! Do you think it’s a peace offering?’
    ‘Sorry I’m late–got held up after the briefing meeting.’
    She tugged the sock, hard. Humphrey slithered towards her, his paws failing to get traction on the polished oak boards. His jaws released the sock, then snapped back on it. Cleo looked up at Roy. ‘I’ve made you the best martini of your life! A fantastic new vodka I’ve discovered–Kalashnikov. It’s in the fridge.’ Then she added, ‘Lucky bastard, you’ll have to drink it for both of us!’
    She turned back to the dog. ‘He’s lucky, isn’t he, Humphrey? He gets here an hour later than he promised and he still gets a nice drink. And you and I have to drink water. What do you think of that?’
    Grace felt awkward suddenly. She seemed in a slightly distant mood.
    ‘It’ll go down nicely while I’m waiting for the champagne to chill!’ he said, trying to placate her.
    He showed her the bottle.
    Examining thelabel while continuing to tease Humphrey, she said, ‘Detective Superintendent, do you have wicked designs on me tonight?’
    ‘Very wicked!’ he said.
    ‘You know I shouldn’t drink.’
    ‘I checked on the Internet. The new thinking is that the occasional glass doesn’t do pregnant women any harm.’
    ‘And two?’
    ‘Two would be even better. One for you, one for the Bump.’
    She grinned, then looked down and patted her stomach. ‘What a thoughtful daddy!’ she said, mocking.
    Grace slung his jacket and his tie on to a sofa, then put the bottle into the freezer and opened the fridge door. A martini glass, filled to the brim, with an olive on a stick, sat there. He took it out, carried it through into the living room and drank some, then sat down on the edge of a sofa. The alcohol hit him like rocket fuel, giving him an instant lift.
    Humphrey let go of the sock and bounded towards him in a series of short hops.
    ‘Hey, you!’ He knelt and stroked the dog, which immediately responded by biting his hand playfully. ‘Ouch!’ He withdrew it.
    Humphrey looked at him, then jumped up and bit him again.
    Holding his martini clear, he said, ‘Fellow, you’ve got sharp teeth! You’re hurting me!’
    ‘Do you know what my father says about martinis?’ Cleo said.
    Humphrey ran back to the sock, tore it free from Cleo and began shaking it furiously, as if he was trying to kill it.
    ‘No. What?’
    ‘Ladies, beware of the dry martini, have two at the very most. For with three you will be under the table–and with four, you will be under your host!’
    Grace grinned. ‘So what does he say about vintage champagne?’
    ‘Nothing–he’s usually off his face with martinis before he gets to the champagne!’
    ‘I’m looking forward to meeting him.’
    ‘You’ll like him.’
    ‘I’m sure,’ Grace said, not at all sure how her posh father would take to a humble copper.
    He sipped again, and now the sharp, dry alcohol was really kicking off inside his head. Then his phone rang, again. Nodding an apology to her, he tugged it from his jacket.
    ‘Roy Grace,’ he answered.
    ‘Yo, old-timer!’
    It was Glenn Branson.
    ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘What do you want?’
    ‘Is this a good moment?’
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’
    ‘It’s OK,’ the DS said. ‘Just wanted to talk to you, about Ari.’
    ‘Can it wait until the morning?’
    ‘Yeah, tomorrow. No worries.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Tomorrow’s good,’ Glenn said,sounding terrible.
    ‘Tell me?’
    ‘Nah, tomorrow’s fine. Have a good one!’
    ‘I can talk.’
    ‘No. No, you