Not Dead Yet

in the Argus , but in this one, Gaia was giving Roy Grace a kiss on the cheek.
    He read the first paragraph of the story:
    Rock legend, Gaia, in Brighton to shoot her latest movie, The King’s Lover , has been repaying the City’s top homicide cop, Detective Superintendent Roy Grace, for successfully foiling an attempt on her life, by secret love trysts with him in her hotel suite. The couple are pictured above about to enjoy a romantic candlelit dinner.
    ‘This is unbelievable!’
    ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It is. I just can’t believe you’d do this, Roy.’
    ‘Darling, listen! This is bullshit, complete and utter bullshit! I can explain!’
    ‘Great. I am all ears. Explain!’
    Then, suddenly she gripped her abdomen and screamed out in pain, all the colour draining from her face. ‘Roy, oh my God, oh my God!’

124
    The obituary in the Argus read:
    GRACE. Noah Jack
    On July 2nd. Died tragically shortly after birth. Much loved son of Roy and Cleo. Private funeral for family only.

125
    Roy Grace had tears in his eyes as he watched Cleo cradling their son, in her bed in the maternity ward of the Royal Sussex County Hospital. The baby’s pink face was all scrunched up, his eyes were closed, his lips formed a tiny rosebud. Thin tufts of wavy fair hair lay across his head. He was dressed in a pale blue V-neck cotton top, embroidered with a mouse wearing striped shorts.
    It was incredible, he thought, unable to take his eyes off him. His son. Their child. He breathed in the sweet smells of freshly washed skin and baby powder. Looked at Cleo, tresses of her hair lying across the shoulders of her nightdress, her face filled with so much love and care.
    Then his phone rang. As he answered it, he stepped away from the bed and went out into the corridor. It was Glenn Branson.
    ‘I’m so sorry, mate, we’re all gutted.’
    ‘Gutted? What’s happened?’
    ‘Well, you know – I thought the baby was doing fine – then we saw it in the Argus this morning. I don’t know what to say. How’s Cleo?’
    ‘Hang on a sec, saw what in the Argus ?’
    There was a moment of awkward silence. ‘Well – the obit, right?’
    ‘Obituary?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Who’s died?’
    There was another silence. ‘Your baby, right? Noah Jack Grace?’
    ‘What? Are you serious?’
    ‘Got it on my desk right in front of me. Everyone’s in tears here.’
    ‘Glenn, there’s been a mistake. We had a horrendous couple of days. Noah was born with breathing difficulties – wet lung syndrome, they called it. They weren’t sure if he was going to make it.’
    ‘Yeah, you told me. But, you know, you said he was getting stronger.’
    ‘He was all intubated and wired up in an incubator at first – neither of us was allowed to touch him. But he’s fine now, Cleo’s holding him; hopefully we can take him home soon.’
    ‘So who the hell screwed up with the obituary?’ Glenn asked.
    ‘I can’t believe this. You’re sure?’
    ‘I’ve got it in front of me in black and white.’
    ‘Shit. I’m going straight down to the shop to get one. I don’t think anyone’s screwed up. Obituaries don’t get put in by mistake,’ Grace said grimly. Inside, he was shaking.

126
    Freedom for Amis Smallbone, among other things, meant being able to enjoy some of life’s simple pleasures. One of them had always been sitting at a table under the Arches on the seafront, right by the beach, staring out at the sea and the Palace Pier and the passing totty.
    By night, this area was rich pickings for the network of drug dealers he once controlled, but on a fine summer morning it was mostly tourists promenading along, enjoying the views, the beach, the bars, cafés, shops and other seaside attractions.
    And there were few things he enjoyed more than his first coffee of the day with the Argus newspaper. Especially when an endless procession of skimpily dressed girls were strutting past at eye level.
    With his cigarette in his mouth, smoke curling up between his eyes, he flicked through the pages, aware he still had years to catch up on in this town. He saw an interview with the Chief Constable talking about cuts he was having to make and read the piece with little sympathy. There was talk of a new hospital. A bunch of drug dealers in Crawley, a couple of whom he knew, had been arrested in a raid the police had been working on for ten months.
    His eyes widened a little and he read this story carefully. Could be a business opportunity had opened