Dead Tomorrow

Then he grinned. ‘One good thing about your car wreck, that awful music you had in there will have gone with it!’
    Grace opened a drawer in his desk, removed a small, grimy-looking Jiffy bag and tipped six CDs on to his desk. ‘Sorry to disappoint you!’
    ‘I thought your Alfa plunged eight hundred feet?’
    ‘It did, but the tide was out–I managed to get these back when they recovered the wreckage.’
    Branson shook his head disappointedly. ‘So anyway, when are you getting new wheels?’
    ‘Still waiting on the insurance. Nick Nicholl’s wife’s got a little motorbike she never uses now–a Yamaha–I think it’s an SR 125. I thought I might buy it from them and use that fora while. Do my bit for the environment. Except Cleo’s not too happy about the idea.’
    Branson grinned.
    ‘What’s funny?’
    ‘ Electra Glide in Blue– you ever see that film? About a motorcycle cop?’ Then his phone rang.
    He answered immediately, standing up and moving away from the desk. ‘Glenn Branson.’ Nodding an apology to Grace, he continued, ‘Brian–hi–I’m actually just across the corridor from you, in Roy Grace’s office. Yeah, both cigarette butts, cos I want to know if it’s the same person, which would indicate he was there for a while, or two different persons. OK, brilliant. Thanks!’
    He sat back down again, then gave Grace another curious look. ‘You can’t hide it, mate.’
    ‘Hide what?’
    ‘You look like the cat that’s got the cream. What’s up?’
    Roy shrugged, then couldn’t stop himself from grinning.
    ‘You and Cleo?’
    He shrugged again, grinning even more.
    ‘You’re not–not–not…’ he asked, his eyes widening. ‘Is there something I should know? As your friend, right?’
    Grace suppressed a smile. Then he nodded. ‘We got engaged last night. I think.’
    Branson almost vaulted his desk. He threw his arms around his friend and gave him a massive bear hug.
    ‘That’s just wicked! The best news! You got yourself a great lady! I’m really happy for you!’ He released Grace, shaking his head, beaming. ‘Like, wow!’
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘So, have you set a date?’
    He shook his head. ‘I’ve got to go and do the meet daddy bit and formally ask him. Her family’s all a bit posh.’
    ‘So you’llbe able to retire and help run the family estates?’
    Grace grinned. ‘They’re not that posh!’
    ‘Wicked!’ Branson said.
    ‘And you? What’s happening?’
    Glenn’s face fell like a dropped barometer. ‘Don’t ask. She’s shagging someone. Just don’t go there. I need to talk to you, man, I need your help, but later. We’ll have a drink to celebrate–and perhaps a chat?’
    Grace nodded. ‘What are you going to do about Christmas?’
    ‘I don’t know. I don’t frigging know.’ He suddenly turned away sharply, and Roy could hear his voice break. ‘I–I can’t–I can’t not spend it with Sammy and Remi.’
    Roy realized that Glenn had turned away so that he could not be seen crying.
    ‘Catch you later,’ Branson said, choked, and headed for the door.
    ‘Want to stay and chat?’
    ‘No, later. Thanks.’
    He pulled the door shut behind him.
    Grace sat still for a few moments. He knew that what Glenn was going through must be hell, made all the worse by this time of year, with the dark, gloomy nights and Christmas looming. But it sounded, from all he had heard, that the marriage problems were terminal. Once Glenn accepted that, however bad the pain, then at least he could start the process of moving forward again with his life, instead of living in a hopeless limbo.
    He was tempted, for a second, to go after his friend, who clearly needed to talk. But at this moment, he had to get on with his job. Ignoring another ping from his computer, he turnedhis attention back to his notes from the briefing meeting.
    He stared at the list he had started making, beneath the heading Lines of Enquiry .
    Then his internal phone rang. He picked up the receiver. ‘Roy Grace.’
    It was Ray Packham, from the High-Tech Crime Unit. ‘Roy,’ he said. ‘You asked me to do a trawl on the Net for organ brokers?’
    ‘Yup.’
    ‘Well, I’ve got something that may be interesting for you. There’s an outfit in Munich, in Germany, called Transplantation-Zentrale GmbH. They’re advertising themselves as the world’s largest brokers of human organs. My boss here, Sergeant Phil Taylor, did a spell in the Interpol office a few years ago. He knows the guy on the