Dead Tomorrow

do?’
    She screwed up her face in thought, looked very pensive for some moments, as if performing some massive mental calculation, then nodded. ‘Uh huh. Yep!’
    ‘I’m going to buy you a ring, this weekend.’
    She looked at him, with her big round eyes, like an excited schoolgirl. Then she grinned and nodded.
    ‘Yes, I want a big, fuck-off bling thing, covered in rocks!’
    ‘I’ll buy you the biggest, most fuck-off bling thing in the world. If the Queen ever sees you, she’ll eat her heart out!’
    ‘Talking of eating, Detective Super, I’m cooking you stirfried scallops.’
    That was just his favourite dish. ‘You’re amazing.’
    She raised a finger. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Never forget that!’
    ‘And so modest.’
    ‘That too.’
    He glanced down at the tome beside her and read the author’s name. Jean-Paul Sartre.
    ‘Good book?’
    ‘Actually yes. I just read something he wrote that could apply to both of us–before we met.’
    ‘Uh huh?’
    Cleo picked the book up and flicked backto one of the tagged pages.
    ‘Tell me.’
    ‘It was something about if someone is lonely when they are on their own, then they’re keeping bad company.’ She looked at him. ‘Yes?’
    He nodded. ‘Very true. I was. I was in totally crap company!’
    ‘So,’ she said, ‘at what time does my darling fiancé want to eat?’
    He pointed at his briefcase. ‘Somewhere this side of midnight?’
    ‘I’m feeling rather horny. I had in mind a bit of an early night…’
    ‘Half an hour?’
    Pouting her lips seductively, she stopped at one of the tagged pages. ‘Did you read this passage, about satiating desires? Apparently if you refuse to satisfy them, then your soul can become infected.’ She put the book down. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t like me to have an infected soul, would you, Detective Superintendent?’
    ‘No, I really wouldn’t want you to have one of those at all.’
    ‘I’m glad we’re on the same page.’
    Reluctantly dragging himself away from her, Roy lugged his bag up the wooden stairs and went into Cleo’s den, which he had now more or less seconded as his office-away-from-the-office. On the desk sat a City Books plastic carrier. Stuck to it was a Post-it note with his name scrawled on in Cleo’s writing. He removed a book with a picture of a racehorse on the cover. It was entitled Eclipse .
    He remembered Cleo telling him her father was mad on horseracing and she was ordering a book forhim to give as a present.
    He put it carefully to one side, then from his bag he took out a wodge of papers, the first of which bore the Sussex Police shield and the wording, beneath, SUSSEX POLICE. HQ CID. M AJOR C RIME B RANCH . O PERATION N EPTUNE . L INES OF E NQUIRY . Next he took out his red ring-binder S TRATEGY F ILE , followed by his pale blue, A4-sized I NVESTIGATOR’S N OTEBOOK , in which he had written up his notes from all the briefing meetings on Operation Neptune , including this evening’s.
    Five minutes later, Cleo came silently into the room, kissed him on the back of his neck and placed a cocktail glass, filled to the brim with a vodka martini, on the desk beside him.
    ‘Kalashnikov,’ she said. ‘It will make you very fiery.’
    ‘I already am! How’s your soul?’ he whispered.
    ‘Fighting off infection.’ She kissed him again, in the same place, and went out.
    ‘This book, Eclipse –is it the one I’m giving to your father for Christmas?’ he called after her.
    She came back in. ‘Yes. It will get you about a thousand brownie points with him. Eclipse was the most famous racehorse ever. He’ll think you’re very smart knowing that.’
    ‘You’d better brief me some more.’
    She smiled. ‘Why not read the book?’
    ‘Duh!’ he said, slapping his forehead. ‘Hadn’t thought of that!’ He peered more closely at the cover, at the author’s name. ‘Nicholas Clee. Was he a famous jockey?’
    She shook her head. ‘No, I have a feeling he was a tennis player originally, but I may be wrong.’ She went out again.
    He read through his notes from the briefing, marking up significant new developments for his MSA, from which she would amend the Lines of Enquiry , prior to tomorrow morning’s briefing meeting.
    They still had no suspect, he thought. Feedbackfrom the United Kingdom Human Trafficking Centre was that there was no evidence of any persons being trafficked into the UK for their organs–something that had been confirmed, so far at any rate, from the