Dead Tomorrow

have to be at a tutorial this afternoon at three,’ his wife said. ‘Could you pick the kids up and be with them until I get home?’
    ‘Ari, I’m on an operation.’
    ‘One minute you’re complaining I don’t let you see the kids, then, when I ask you to look after them for just a few hours, you give me crap about being busy. You need to make your mind up. Do you want to be a father or a policeman?’
    ‘Shit, that’s not fair.’
    ‘It’s perfectly fair, Glenn. This is what our marriage has been like for the past five years. Every time I ask you to help me to have a life of my own, you pull the I can’t, I’ve got a job on number, or, I’ve got an urgent operation on , or, I’ve got to see Detective Superintendent Roy Sodding Grace .’
    ‘Ari,’ he said. ‘Please, love, be reasonable. You’re the one who encouraged me to join the force. I don’t get why you’re so fucking angry about it all the time.’
    ‘Because I married you,’ she said. ‘I married you because I wanted a life with you. I don’t have a life with you.’
    ‘So what do you want me to do? Go back to being a bouncer? Is that what you want?’
    ‘We were happy then.’
    The turn-off was ahead of him. He indicated, then waited for a cement truck that was racing down from the opposite direction, thinking how simple it would be to pull out in front of it and end it all.
    He heard a click. The bitch had hung up on him.
    ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Fuck you!’
    He drove in through a timber yard, past massive planks piled high on either side of him, and saw the quay of Aldrington Basin directly ahead. Slowing to a crawl, he dialled his home number. It went straight to the answering machine.
    ‘Oh, come on, Ari!’ he muttered to himself, hanging up.
    Parked to his right was a familiar vehicle, a massive yellow truck, emblazoned with the Sussex Police logo and the wording SPECIALIST SEARCH UNIT in large blue letters along the side.
    He parked just behind it, tried Ari once more and again got the answering machine. Then he sat for a moment, pressing his fingers against his temples, trying to ease the pain that was like a vice crushing his skull.
    He was stupid, he knew. He should have had an early night, but he hadn’t been able to sleep, not for ages now,since he had left home. He’d sat up late on the floor of Roy Grace’s living room, alone and tearful, going through his friend’s music collection, drinking his way through a bottle of whisky that he’d found–and needed to remember to replace–playing songs that brought back memories of times with Ari. Shit, such good times. They had been so much in love with each other. He was missing his kids, Sammy and Remi. Desperately missing them. Feeling totally lost without them.
    His eyes misty with sadness, he climbed out of the car into the cold, wet, salty wind, knowing he needed to put on a brave face and get through today, the way he had to get through every day. He took a deep breath, sucking in air that was thick with the smells of the sea, and fuel oil, and freshly sawn timber. A gull cried overhead, flapping its wings, stationary against the headwind. Tania Whitlock and her team, all wearing black baseball caps marked POLICE in bold lettering, red waterproof windcheaters, black trousers and black rubber boots, were loading gear into a tired-looking deep-sea fishing boat, the Scoob-Eee , that was moored alongside the quay.
    Even here in the shelter of the harbour basin, the Scoob-Eee was rocking from the choppy waves. On the far side of the harbour was a cluster of white petroleum storage tanks. Beyond them, steep grass banking rose up to the main road and a row of houses.
    The DS, dressed in a cream raincoat over his beige suit and tan, rubber-soled yachting shoes, strode over to the team. He knew them all. The unit worked closely with the CID on major crimes, as they were trained in search techniques, especially in difficult or inaccessible places, such as sewers, cellars, river banks and even burnt-out cars.
    ‘Hi, guys!’ he said.
    Nineheads turned towards him.
    ‘Lord Branson!’ said a voice. ‘Dear fellow, welcome aboard! How many pillows will you be requiring on your bed?’
    ‘Hello, Glenn!’ Tania said pleasantly, ignoring her colleague as she lugged a large coil of striped yellow breathing and communication lines over to the edge of the quay, and handed them down to another of her colleagues on the boat.
    ‘Where do you think you’re going dressed like