Not Dead Enough

‘I didn’t think it was Richard,’ she said, sounding strangely relieved, which annoyed him. He was being irrational, he knew, but there was a warmth in her voice whenever she mentioned her ex, which concerned him. As if it was over, but not really over completely. ‘Are you going to be working late?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know yet. I have the six-thirty briefing and will have to see what that throws up.’

‘What do you fancy for supper?’

‘You.’

‘How would you like me garnished?’

‘Naked, with just a lettuce leaf.’

‘Then get yourself over here as early as you can. I need your body.’

‘Love you,’ he said.

‘I quite like you too!’ she said.

Deciding to take advantage of the first free moment he’d had all day, Grace walked across to the PNC unit, at the far end of the building, where poor Janet McWhirter had spent so much of her working life.

Normally the large office area, with many of its team civilian computer staff, had a lively buzz of activity. But this afternoon there was a subdued atmosphere. He knocked on the door of one of the few enclosed offices. It had been Janet McWhirter’s room and now, according to the label on the wall, housed Lorna Baxter, PNC and Disclosure Unit Manager. He had known her, like Janet, for a long time and liked her a lot.

Without waiting for a reply, he opened the door. Lorna, who was in her mid-thirties, was heavily pregnant. Her brown hair, normally long, was cropped short into a clumsy monk’s fringe, which accentuated the weight that had gone on to her face, and although she was dressed lightly, in a loose floral-patterned dress, she was clearly suffering in the heat.

She was talking on the phone, but signalled at him cheerily to come in, pointing to a chair in front of her desk. He closed the door and sat down.

It was a small, square room, her desk and chair, two visitor chairs, a tall metal filing cabinet and a stack of box files just about filling it. There was a Bart Simpson cartoon pinned to the wall on his right with coloured drawing pins, and a sheet of paper on which was crayoned a large heart and the words, I Love You Mummy!

She ended the call. ‘Hey, Roy!’ she said. ‘Good to see you.’ Then she shrugged. ‘Bummer, isn’t it?’ She had a strong South African accent, despite having lived over twelve years in England.

‘Janet?’

She grimaced. ‘We were good friends.’

‘So what happened exactly? I heard that she fell in love with someone and was moving to Australia with him to get married.’

‘Yes. She was so happy. You know, she was thirty-six and had never really had a serious boyfriend before. I think she’d almost resigned herself to being single for the rest of her life. Then she met this fellow and he clearly shot the lights out for her. She was a changed person in weeks.’

‘In what way?’

‘She had a total makeover. Hair, clothes, everything. And she looked so happy.’

‘And then she wound up murdered?’

‘That’s what it sounds like.’

‘What do you – or anyone here – know about this man, her fiance?’

‘Not much. She was a very private person. I probably knew her as well as anyone – but she was a real closed book. It was a long while before she even admitted to me that she was dating. She didn’t say much about him, although she did let on that he was very wealthy. Big house in Brighton and a flat in London. The big but was that he was married. Planning to leave his wife.’

‘For Janet?’

‘That’s what he’d told her.’

‘And she believed him?’

‘Totally.’

‘Any idea what he did?’

‘He was in software,’ she said. ‘Something to do with rostering. A very successful company, apparently. He was opening up in Australia and decided he wanted to make a new life there – with Janet.’

Rostering. Grace was thinking hard. Rostering. That was the business Bishop was in. ‘Did she ever tell you his name?’

‘No, she wouldn’t tell me. She kept telling me she couldn’t give me his name because he was married, and