Dead Tomorrow

most regularly.
    On the far side of the harbour he saw a large fishing boat, its navigation lights on, chug away from its berth. The water was almost black.
    He heard doors open and slam behind him, then a chirpy voice said, ‘Cor, you’re going to cop it from the missus if you’re late. Wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, Roy!’
    He turned to see Walter Hordern, a tall, dapper man, who was always smartly and discreetly attired in a dark suit, white shirt and black tie. His official role was Chief of Brighton and Hove Cemeteries, but his duties also included spending a part of his time helping in the process of collecting bodies from the scene of their death and dealing with the considerable paperwork that was required for each one. Despite the gravitas of his job, Walter had a mischievous sense of humour and loved nothing better than to wind Roy up.
    ‘Why’s that, Walter?’
    ‘She’s goneand spent a bleedin’ fortune at the hairdresser’s today–for the party tonight. She’ll be well miffed if you blow it out.’
    ‘I’m not blowing it out.’
    Walter pointedly looked at his own watch. Then raised his eyes dubiously.
    ‘If necessary I’ll put you in charge of the sodding investigation, Walter.’
    The man shook his head. ‘Na, I only like dealing with stiffs. You never get any lip from a stiff. Good as gold, they are.’
    Grace grinned. ‘Darren here?’
    Darren was Cleo’s assistant in the mortuary.
    Walter jerked a thumb at the van. ‘He’s in there, on the dog-and-bone, having a barney with his girlfriend.’ He shrugged, then rolled his eyes. ‘That’s wimmin for you.’
    Grace nodded, texting his:
    Ship not here yet. Going to be late. Better meet u there. XXX
    Just as he stuck his phone back in his pocket, it beeped twice sharply. He pulled it back out and looked at the display. It was a reply from Cleo:
    Don’t be 2 late. I have something to tell you.
    He frowned, unsettled by the tone of the message, and by the fact that there was no ‘ X ’ on the end. Stepping out of earshot of Walter and DI Mantle, who had just climbed out of the car, he called Cleo’s number. She answered immediately.
    ‘Can’t talk,’ she saidcurtly. ‘Got a family just arrived for an identification.’
    ‘What is it you have to tell me?’ he said, aware his voice sounded anxious.
    ‘I want to tell you face to face, not over the phone. Later, OK?’ She hung up.
    Shit . He stared at the phone for a moment, even more worried now, then put it back in his pocket.
    He did not like the way she had sounded at all.

11
    Simona learned toinhale Aurolac vapour from a plastic bag. A small bottle of the metallic paint, which she was able to steal easily from any paint store, would last for several days. It was Romeo who had taught her how to steal, and how to blow into the bag to get the paint to mix with air, then suck it in, blow it back into the bag again and inhale it again.
    When she inhaled, the hunger pangs went.
    When she inhaled, life in her home became tolerable. The home she had lived in for as far back as she could, or rather wanted to remember. The home she entered by scrambling through a gap in the broken concrete pavement and clambering down a metal ladder beneath the busy, unmade road, into the underground cavity that had been bored out for inspection and maintenance of the steam pipe. The pipe, thirteen feet in diameter, was part of the communal central-heating network that fed most of the buildings in the city. It made the space down here snug and dry in winter, but intolerably hot during the spring months until it was turned off.
    And in a tiny part of this space, a tight recess between the pipe and the wall, she had made her home. It was marked out by an old duvet she had found, discarded, on a rubbish tip, and Gogu, who had been with her as far back as she could remember. Gogu was a beige, shapeless, mangy strip of fake fur that she slept with, pressed to her face, every night. Beyond the clothes she wore and Gogu, she had no possessions at all.
    There were fiveof them, six including the baby, who lived here permanently. From time to time others came and stayed for a while, then moved on. The place was lit with candles, and music played throughout the days and nights when they had batteries. Western pop music that sometimes brought Simona joy and sometimes demented her, because it was always loud and rarely stopped. They argued about it constantly, but always it played. Beyoncé was singing