Looking Good Dead

her. He did not know who else to phone or what to do.
    Jessica laid her face against Lady’s and kissed her. ‘I love you, Lady. We’re going to make you better.’
    There was no response from the dog.
    Max knelt down also and laid his face against the Alsatian’s midriff. ‘We all love you, Lady. You’ll have to get up soon otherwise you’ll miss breakfast!’
    None of them had had any breakfast, Tom realized suddenly. It was half past nine.
    ‘When Mummy comes back she’ll know how to make her better,’ Jessica declared.
    ‘Yes, of course she will,’ Tom said flatly. ‘You guys must be hungry – what would you like? French toast?’
    Kellie always made the kids French toast on Sundays.
    ‘You don’t make it very well,’ Max said. ‘You always burn it.’ He stood up, picked up the remote and began surfing the channels.

    ‘I could try not to burn it.’
    ‘Why can’t Mummy make it?’
    ‘She will do,’ he said, struggling. ‘I could make you some – to keep you going until she gets back?’
    ‘Not hungry,’ Max said grumpily.
    ‘You want some cereal?’
    ‘You always burn it, Daddy!’ Jessica said, echoing her brother.
    ‘Can we go to the beach today, Daddy?’ Max asked. ‘Mummy said we could if it was nice – and I think it is nice, don’t you?’
    Tom stared leadenly through the window. It looked glorious: blue sky, all the promise of a fine early summer’s day. ‘We’ll see.’
    Max’s face fell. ‘Awww. She promised!’
    ‘Did she?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Well, we’ll ask her when she comes home what she’d like to do today, shall we?’
    ‘She’ll probably just want to drink vodka,’ Jessica said without looking up.
    Tom wasn’t sure if he had heard correctly. ‘What did you say, darling?’
    Jessica continued stroking the dog.
    ‘Jessica, what was that you said?’
    ‘I saw her.’
    ‘You saw Mummy doing what?’
    ‘I said I wouldn’t tell.’
    Tom frowned. ‘You wouldn’t tell what?’
    ‘Nothing,’ she said sweetly.
    The doorbell rang.
    Max ran out into the hallway, shouting excitedly, ‘Mummy! Mummy! Mummy’s home!’
    Jessica sprang to her feet and followed her brother. Tom was right behind them.
    Max pulled the front door open, then stared up in glum surprise at the tall black man in the shiny leather jacket and blue chinos who was standing there. Jessica stopped in her tracks.
    Tom did not like the expression on the detective’s face one bit.

    Glenn Branson knelt down to bring his face to the same level as Jessica’s. ‘Hello!’ he said.
    She fled back towards the kitchen. Max stood his ground, staring at the man.
    ‘Detective Sergeant Branson,’ Tom said, a little surprised to see him.
    ‘Could I have a word with you?’
    ‘Yes, of course.’ Tom gestured for him to come in.
    Branson looked at Max. ‘How you doing?’
    ‘Lady won’t wake up,’ the little boy said.
    ‘ Lady? ’
    ‘Our dog,’ Tom explained. ‘I think she has a bug.’
    ‘I see.’
    Max lingered.
    ‘Why don’t you get some cereal for you and Jessica?’ Tom suggested.
    Reluctantly Max turned and trotted back into the kitchen.
    Tom closed the front door behind the detective. ‘Do you have some news?’ He was still puzzled by Jessica’s remark about the vodka. What did his daughter mean?
    Talking quietly, Glenn Branson said, ‘We’ve found the Audi estate you said your wife was driving. It was burned out, torched, probably by vandals, up on Ditchling Beacon earlier this morning. We did a check on the chassis number – it’s registered in your name.’
    Tom stared at him open-mouthed in shock. ‘Burned out?’
    ‘I’m afraid so, yes.’
    ‘My wife?’ Tom started shaking uncontrollably.
    ‘There was no one in it. Happens all the time at weekends. Cars get nicked by joyriders, then they set light to them, either for fun or to get rid of their prints. Usually both.’
    It took some moments for it to sink in properly. ‘She was driving the babysitter home,’ he said. ‘How the hell could it have been nicked by joyriders?’
    The Detective Sergeant had no answer.

47
    The City of Brighton and Hove had so many different faces, Grace thought, and so many diverse people. It seemed that some cities were divided into different ethnic communities, but here in Brighton and Hove it was more like different sociological communities.
    There were the genteel elderly, in their mansion blocks or sheltered housing, who on summer days could be seen watching the cricket at