Dead Tomorrow

cadaver. The photographer walked out to the storage area to start working on close-ups of the wrapping and binding.
    ‘Do you think he could have drifted in the currents from a designated burial-at-sea area?’ Grace asked Tania.
    ‘It’s possible,’ she said, breathing in through her mouth, trying to ignore the stench. ‘But those weights are pretty heavy, and we’ve had mild weather conditions recently. I can get you a plot done, showing where it might have come from with lesser weights on, if that would be helpful.’
    ‘It might be. Could it be a burial at sea where they got the position wrong?’
    ‘A possibility,’ she said. ‘But I’ve checked with the Arco Dee . They found him fifteen nautical miles east of the designated Brighton and Hove burial-at-sea site. It would be a pretty big error.’
    ‘That’s what I’m thinking too,’ he said. ‘We have a fairly precise position where he was brought up from, right?’
    ‘Very accurate,’ the Sergeant said. ‘To within a couple of hundred yards or so.’
    ‘I think we should take a look at what else might be down there, as quickly as possible,’ Grace said. ‘Do you have time to start today?’
    Tania looked at theclock on the wall and then, as if mistrusting it, at her chunky diver’s watch. Next she glanced at the window. ‘Sunset is about four o’clock today,’ she said. ‘Ten miles out in the Channel, the sea’s going to be quite choppy–we’d need to rent a bigger dive boat than our inflatable for working out there. We have about three hours of daylight left. What I suggest is we get a dive boat sorted for first light in the morning–this time of year there are a few deep-sea fishing charter boats that don’t have many customers. We can start at dawn. But in the meantime, we can get out to the area in the inflatable and buoy it off, to make sure the dredgers don’t disturb anything else down there.’
    ‘Brilliant!’ he said.
    ‘That’s what we’re here for!’ she said, feeling a lot more cheerful than when she had arrived. She could get all that organized and still make it home in time to prepare the meal.
    Turning to Glenn Branson, Grace said, ‘You look a bit peaky.’
    He nodded. ‘Yeah. Does it to me every time, this place.’
    ‘You know what you need?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘A spot of sea air! A nice cruise.’
    ‘Yeah. A cruise would be very nice.’
    ‘Good!’ Grace gave him a pat on the back. ‘You’re going on one tomorrow morning with Tania.’
    Branson screwed up his face and pointed at the window. ‘Shit, man, the forecast’s crap! I thought you meant the Caribbean or something!’
    ‘Start with the Channel. It’s a good place to get your sea legs.’
    ‘I haven’t even gotany yachting gear!’ he moaned.
    ‘You won’t need any, you’ll be larging it on the first-class deck!’
    Tania eyed Glenndubiously. ‘The forecast’s not great. Are you a good sailor?’
    ‘No, I’m not,’ he said. ‘Believe me!’

27
    There had beenno deterioration in Nat’s condition overnight, which was one blessing, Susan thought, trying to find positive things as she sat on her long vigil beside his bed. But there had been no improvement either. He continued to be a silent stranger, propped up at his thirty-degree angle, wired and plumbed into the almost bewildering array of life-support and monitoring apparatus.
    The round institutional clock on the wall said ten to one. Nearly lunchtime, which would not mean much to Nat, or to most of his fellow patients here in the ITU. The nutrients entered his body all day and night through a constant trickle down the nasogastric tube. And suddenly, despite her tiredness, Susan smiled at a thought. She was always chiding Nat for being late for meals. His hours as a medic at the hospital were utterly erratic and often, with no prior warning, he had to stay on late into the night. But even when he was at home, he always had just one more email to check, darling! whenever she called out to him that lunch or dinner was on the table.
    Well, at least you are not late for your meals in here , she thought, and smiled again wistfully. Then she sniffed, pulled a tissue from the pocket of her jacket and dabbed away tears that were rolling down her cheeks.
    Shit. This cannot be how it ends. Surely not?
    As if in agreement, or to give her reassurance, the baby kicked inside her.
    ‘Thank you, Bump,’ she whispered.
    Since the consultant, dressed in an open-necked shirt and grey