Dead Tomorrow

up the client file and jotted down a number.
    As soon as they were gone, she pulled off her headset, took her mobile phone from her bag, altered the setting to Number Withheld , then dialled the mobile phone of her most loathsome client of all.
    He answered warily, after the third ring, in his deep, treacly voice.
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘Reg Okuma?’
    ‘Who is this, please?’
    Keeping her voice down to barelyabove a whisper, she said, ‘Lynn Beckett, from Denarii.’
    Suddenly his whole tone changed. ‘My beautiful Lynn! Are you phoning me to tell me that we can now make beautiful love together?’
    ‘Well, I’m actually calling to see if I can help you with your credit rating. We’re making some special Christmas offers to our clients. You owe thirty-seven thousand, eight hundred and seventy pounds, plus accruing interest, to the Bradford Credit Bank, yes?’
    ‘If that’s what you tell me.’
    ‘If you could raise fifteen thousand pounds right away, in cash, I think we’d be prepared to write off the rest of the debt for you, and give you a clean bill of health to kick off the New Year.’
    ‘You would?’ He sounded incredulous.
    ‘Only because it’s Christmas. We’re thinking about our year-end figures. It would be good for us to have closure with some key clients.’
    ‘This is a most interesting proposition for me.’
    Lynn knew he had the money. He had a history of defaulting on debts that went back more than a decade. He operated cash businesses–ice-cream vans and street-food stalls–then would obtain credit cards, max them out and plead he had no money. Lynn calculated he probably had hundreds of thousands of pounds stashed away in cash. Fifteen thousand would be small beer to him. And a bargain.
    ‘You told me yesterday you need to buy a car, for your new business venture, and that you can’t get any credit.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘So this could be a good solution for you.’
    He was silent for a long while.
    ‘Mr Okuma, are youstill there?’
    ‘Yes, my beautiful one, I like listening to your breathing. It helps to clarify my thinking, and it so arouses me. So, if it were–ah–possible for me to find this sum for you—’
    ‘In cash.’
    ‘It must be cash?’
    ‘I’m doing you a big favour. I’m putting my neck on the block on this one, to help you.’
    ‘I would like to reward you for this, beautiful Lynn. Perhaps I can reward you in bed?’
    ‘First I need to see the money.’
    ‘I think this kind of money–it will be possible. Oh yes. How much time can you give me?’
    ‘Twenty-four hours?’
    ‘I will call you back shortly.’
    ‘Call me on this number,’ she said, and gave him her mobile.
    When she hung up, she began shaking.

80
    Grace logged the date andtime in his notebook–6.30 p.m., Thursday 4 December–then he glanced down the lengthy agenda his MSA had typed for the fourteenth briefing of Operation Neptune.
    Several of his inquiry team, including Guy Batchelor, Norman Potting and Glenn Branson, were in a vociferous discussion about a disputed referee’s decision in last night’s big football game. Grace, who preferred rugby, had not seen it.
    ‘OK,’ he said, raising his voice and his hand, ‘let’s kick off.’
    ‘Very witty,’ Glenn Branson said.
    ‘Do you want a yellow card?’
    ‘I don’t think you’ll give me one when you hear my result. Two results, in fact. Want me to kick off first?’
    Grinning, Roy Grace said, ‘Fill your boots.’
    ‘Yeah, right, well–’ Branson picked up a sheaf of notes–‘first thing is that the Specialist Search Unit boys went out this afternoon to scan the area where the Scoob-Eee was last heard from. Despite the crap weather, they’ve found an anomaly on the seabed which is approximately the same dimensions as the Scoob-Eee . It’s the shape of a boat, lying in about a hundred feet of water, approximately twelve miles due south of Black Rock. It could of course be an old wreck, but they’re going to dive on it tomorrow, weather permitting, to take a look.’
    ‘Are you going with them, Glenn?’ DI Mantle asked.
    ‘Well…’ He soundedhesitant. ‘Given the choice, I’d rather not.’
    ‘I think you should,’ she said. ‘In case they find something.’
    ‘I’ll be a lot of use to them, flat on my back, puking.’
    ‘Always lie on your side or on your stomach if you’re throwing up,’ Potting said. ‘That way you won’t choke.’
    ‘Very helpful advice, Norman. Thanks, I’ll bear it in mind,’