Not Dead Yet

Then he kissed her. ‘God, I love you so much,’ he said.
    ‘I love you too,’ she said. ‘But it’s no good you coming to bed on an empty stomach – I don’t want to lie here listening to it rumble all night!’ She kissed him. ‘There’s a Marks and Sparks fish pie on the worktop. Give it a few minutes in the microwave – it says how many on the pack. And there are some peas in a saucepan – just bring them to the boil.’
    ‘You spoil me!’
    ‘You’re worth spoiling. So, did you save the world tonight?’
    ‘Probably.’
    ‘That’s what I love about you, Detective Superintendent Grace. Your modesty.’
    He kissed her again. ‘It sort of comes naturally!’
    ‘Oh yes? By the way, Humphrey refused to go out. He needs to do his business – if we don’t want a prezzie on the carpet in the morning!’
    ‘I’ll take him for a walk. Do you still want the telly on?’
    ‘You can turn it off, please, I’m going to try to sleep, if I can convince Bump! Don’t forget about that Gaia documentary I recorded.’
    ‘I had forgotten – thanks for reminding me.’
    He went downstairs, clipped the lead on Humphrey’s collar with some difficulty, while the overjoyed creature kept jumping up and down licking his face. Then he took a plastic bag from under the kitchen sink, crammed it into his pocket and led the dog out of the front door.
    Humphrey squatted the moment they were in the cobbled courtyard.
    ‘Wait!’ Grace hissed.
    The dog took no notice, defecating firmly and proudly, as a neighbour wheeled his bicycle past. ‘Hope you’re going to pick that up,’ the man mumbled.
    Grace scooped it up, dearly tempted to push it through the rude cyclist’s letterbox. Then he threaded his way with Humphrey through the narrow streets of the North Laine district of Brighton, heading for his favourite part of the city, the seafront itself, and the promenade beneath the Arches. He deposited the bag in a designated bin, relieved that at least now the dog had performed, he would be able to let it off the lead.
    As he walked, he was deep in thought. Thinking about the email. Was the man under the chandelier the sender? He read it again on his BlackBerry.
    I still cannot believe how you cut me dead. I thought your whole point in coming to England was to see me. I know you love me, really. You’re going to be sorry you did that. Very sorry. You made me look a fool. You made people laugh at me. I’m going to give you the chance to apologise. You are soon going to be telling the whole world how much you love me. I will kill you if you don’t.
    It chimed but it didn’t fit. ‘I thought your whole point in coming to England was to see me.’ That did not make sense in the context: ‘You made people laugh at me. I’m going to give you the chance to apologise. You are soon going to be telling the whole world how much you love me. I will kill you if you don’t. ’
    Drayton Wheeler’s actions were just not consistent with that. These weren’t the words of a man who believed his story or hisscript had been ripped off. Unless he was a totally confused crazy. Also, from what he knew, an American would have spelled apologise with a z not an s .
    Was sacrificing his life to save Gaia’s child some kind of desperate gesture to make Gaia love him?
    It was a dark night but the rain was still holding off. There were dozens of people out and about. He walked in the shadow of the Palace Pier, so preoccupied he barely even clocked it as the place where he and Sandy, some twenty years ago, had had their first kiss.
    He called Humphrey, clipped his lead back on, then, still deep in thought, he headed home.

100
    Twenty minutes later, Roy Grace put the fish pie into the microwave, switched on the hob and placed the saucepan of peas on top. Then he took his Policy Book out of his briefcase and sat down on the sofa to update it. Humphrey entered into a life-or-death tussle with a squeaky stuffed elephant on the floor.
    It was 12.30 a.m. and he felt wired. He picked up the Sky remote and clicked through the saved programmes until he saw the one Cleo had recorded for him on Gaia, and clicked on it.
    Squeak-squeak-squeak, grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Humphrey’s tussle continued.
    He scooped his food on to a plate, put it on a tray with a napkin and cutlery, and a glass of Spanish Albarino from the fridge, and sat back down. For the next twenty minutes as he ate, tuning out the dog, Gaia’s life unfolded in front of him. From the