Not Dead Yet

They don’t have time for each other any more. They hardly ever make love any more. Their lives are consumed by their kids. I don’t want that to happen to us. Surely we can be good parents, but still find the time for each other? Get the car you want, not the one that you think will be most practical. We can adapt. Bump will have to learn to fit in with us!’

He smiled again and drank some more of the Martini. On an empty, caffeine fuelled stomach it was hitting the spot, making him more relaxed by the second. It suddenly occurred to him how incredibly understanding Cleo was. If he’d arrived home to Sandy at midnight on a Friday, with the knowledge that he was going to have to work over the weekend, she would have been sound asleep, and extremely bolshie when he’d disturbed her, leaving for work at dawn the next morning. But there was total understanding from Cleo, who was herself liable to be called out in the middle of any night, weekday or weekend.

‘You know, the other thing that’s troubling me is…’ he paused as Humphrey jumped up on the sofa beside them and then rolled on his back in his favourite position, belly up, expecting his tummy to be rubbed yet again. Grace obliged.

‘What’s troubling me is – ’ he kissed Cleo’s soft cheek – ‘I love you so much,’ he said.

‘Oh, is that what’s troubling you?’

‘Uh huh, maybe.’ He kissed her again. Then again, feeling increasingly pleasantly woozy as he drank some more of the massive Martini. ‘I love you and I can’t get enough of you.’

‘You never read what it said on the tin,’ she said, smiling. ‘Use Cleo sparingly with caution.’

‘I’m a bloke, I don’t read instructions.’

He stared into her eyes for some moments, then at the rest of her face. It was true, what he had read, that women could blossom in pregnancy. She looked even lovelier than ever.

‘Yep, well, I’m a female, so I read instructions and warning labels. But luckily for you I missed the one that said, Engaging with Detective Superintendent Roy Grace could make you dangerously horny.’

‘I think I must have missed a similar one about you.’

‘So?’ she leaned across, kissed him on the lips, then lowered her hands between his legs, and pressed, provocatively. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘I thought – you know – that we weren’t meant to-?’

‘We’re not, Detective Superintendent,’ she said. Then she grinned. ‘Well, not really. Are you hungry?’

‘No, just horny.’

She kissed him again. Then after a moment, she said, ‘Tell me something.’

‘What?’ he murmured.

‘When you made love to Sandy, what did you think of? I mean – who did you think of?’

‘Who?’

‘Was it always her – her naked body that aroused you? Or did you think of other women?’

‘It was a long time ago,’ he said.

She kissed each of his eyes. ‘Don’t be evasive, I’m interested.’

He shrugged. ‘I guess in the early days it was her. But later on, probably other women, too.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t recall.’

‘Movie stars? Models?’

‘Some.’

‘And when we make love? It can’t be attractive to make love to a plump woman with blue veins all over her breasts. Who do you fantasize about now?’

‘You,’ he said. ‘You are a complete and utter turn-on for me.’

‘You’re lying, Grace.’

‘I’m not!’

‘Yeah? Prove it?’

He gently lowered her right hand down his body. Her eyes widened in surprise and she smiled seductively.

‘I rest my case,’ he said.

She kissed him again. ‘Not sure I want you having any rest, not for a little while, my love!’

17

He was angry.

Not many people knew more about anger than he did. That world-class superbitch, formerly known as his wife, and once upon a time – incredibly – his blushing bride, had made him go on an anger management course.

There were all kinds of anger. Like the frustration you got at a damned parking machine that took your coin and didn’t give you a ticket back. Like the silent fury you felt when you saw a lout toss litter from a car window. Like the neighbour below you throwing a party that went on playing loud music into the night.

But nothing he had learned on that course taught him how to deal with the rage that burned inside him now. The anger of being screwed, right royally, totally and utterly. Of having the one big break in your life taken away from you.

People couldn’t do that and get away with it.

But the thing was, they did, all the time.

When that happened some people shrugged their shoulders in defeat. Some went to lawyers, and all that happened then was they got more broke and the lawyers got more rich. He didn’t have that kind of money. Maybe it was the kind of case that a lawyer might take pro bono.

But he didn’t have the time.

He wasn’t going to sit back and accept it and let them get away with it. He wasn’t going to bend over and hold out a pot of Vaseline to them. He was going to do something about it. He didn’t know what yet. Nor how.

Don’t get angry, get even.

He had made a start. He’d bought a plane ticket.

He was going to make the bastards regret this.

They taught him an old Chinese proverb at the anger management course. Before you seek revenge, first dig two graves.

He’d dig as many graves as he needed. If one was for himself, that was fine by him. Shovels were easy to buy. And he was going to need it anyway, he didn’t have long to live.

18

At 8 a.m. Roy Grace sat in his office, with his Policy Book open in front of him. Every Senior Investigating Officer kept one, and if at any point they were required to account for their actions on a major crime investigation, by any subsequent review of their case, they could refer back to it.

An important part of the entries into Grace’s Policy Book was his hypothesis for the motives of any murder and how the victim came to meet his or her death.

His first note today was:

1. No arms, no legs/head. Organized crime? Killed by unknown person.

2. Drugs deal reprisal?

3. Person known to police – get rid of identity?

There was a whole raft of other motives, but in his view, none that led to this kind of mutilation of a corpse.