Dead Tomorrow

back?’
    Branson’s face fell. ‘You throwing me out?’
    ‘I could murder a coffee. You could make me a coffee in lieu of the next month’s rent. Deal?’
    ‘Bargain. Could have this one but it’s got sugar in it.’
    Grace wrinkled his face in disapproval. ‘Kills you, that stuff.’
    ‘Yeah, well, sooner the better,’ Branson said bleakly, and disappeared.
    Five minutes later Branson was sitting on one of the chairs in front of the Detective Superintendent’s desk, cradling his mug of coffee. Grace peered dubiously at his. ‘Did you put sugar in this?’
    ‘Oh shit! I’ll make you another.’
    ‘No, it’s OK. I won’t stir it.’ Grace stared at his friend, who looked terrible. ‘Did you remember to feed Marlon?’
    ‘Yeah.’ He nodded pensively. ‘Me and Marlon, we’ve bonded. We’re like soulmates.’
    ‘Really? Well, don’t get too close to him.’
    Marlon was the goldfish Grace had won at a fairground nine years ago and the fish was still going strong. It was a surly, antisocial creature that had eaten every companion he’d bought for it. Although the six-foot two-inch detective sergeant was probably beyond even that greedy creature’s appetite, he decided. Then he quickly glanced back at the screen, noting a sudden update on the cars broken into in Tidy Street. Two youths had been arrested breaking into a car directly beneath a CCTV camera around the corner, in Trafalgar Street.
    Good, he thought with some relief. Exceptthey would probably be released on bail and be back on the streets again tonight.
    ‘Any developments in the Branson household?’
    A few months ago, in an attempt to salvage his marriage, Branson had bought his wife, Ari, an expensive horse for eventing, using compensation he had received for an injury. But that turned out to have resulted in little more than a brief truce in a terminally hostile relationship.
    ‘Any more horses?’
    ‘I went over last night to see the kids. She told me I’ll be getting a letter from her solicitor.’ Branson shrugged.
    ‘A divorce lawyer?’
    He nodded glumly.
    Grace’s sadness for his friend was only slightly tempered by the realization that this meant Branson would be lodging at his house for a considerable time to come–and he did not have the heart to throw him out.
    ‘Maybe we could have a drink tonight and chat?’ Branson asked.
    Much though he loved this man, Grace responded with a less than enthusiastic, ‘Yup, sure.’ His chats with Glenn about Ari had become interminable, always going over and over the same ground. The reality was that Glenn’s wife not only no longer loved him, but didn’t even like him. Privately, Grace thought she was the kind of woman who would never be satisfied with what she had in any relationship, but each time he tried to tell his friend that, Glenn responded defensively, as if he still believed there was a solution, however elusive.
    ‘Actually, tell you what, mate,’ Gracesaid, ‘are you busy this morning?’
    ‘Yeah–but nothing that can’t wait a few hours. Why?’
    ‘Got a body hauled up by a dredger yesterday. I put DI Mantle in charge, but she’s on a course up in Bramshill Police College today and tomorrow. Thought you might like to come to the post-mortem.’
    Branson’s eyes widened as he shook his head in mock disbelief. ‘Boy, you really know how to treat someone when they’re down, don’t you! You’re going to cheer me up by taking me to see a floater having a post-mortem, on a wet November morning. Man, that’s guaranteed to be a laugh a minute.’
    ‘Yep, well, it might do you good to see someone worse off than yourself.’
    ‘Thanks a lot.’
    ‘Besides, Nadiuska’s performing it.’
    Quite apart from her professional skills and her cheery personality, Nadiuska De Sancha, the forty-eight-year-old Home Office pathologist, was a striking-looking woman. A statuesque redhead with Russian aristocratic blood, she looked a good decade younger than her years and, despite being happily married to an eminent plastic surgeon, enjoyed flirting and had a wicked sense of humour. Grace had never encountered any officer in the Sussex Police Force who did not fancy her.
    ‘Ah!’ Branson said, perking up suddenly. ‘You didn’t tell me that bit!’
    ‘Not that you are so shallow it would have made any difference to your decision.’
    ‘You’re my boss. I do whatever you tell me.’
    ‘Really? I’ve never noticed.’

25
    Sergeant Tania Whitlockshivered as a