Peter James - You Are Dead

‘Yep, well I do now,’ he said.

‘You had a lucky escape — he was clearly a lousy shot.’

‘Glenn told me what you did, darling,’ Cleo said. ‘You are bloody nuts! A few inches in another direction and I might have been a grieving widow.’

‘How long have I been here?’ Roy Grace asked, feeling sudden panic.

‘Two days, darling,’ Cleo said.

‘What’s the date today?’ he asked.

Cleo gave him a chiding look. ‘December 23rd.’

‘What’s the time?’

She glanced at her watch. ‘Five past ten.’

‘Morning?’

‘Yes, morning!’

‘Shit!’ He tried to sit up — and instantly felt as if a red-hot poker was being pressed against his leg. ‘Yoowwwww!’ He closed his eyes, wincing. ‘I’ve got to go shopping!’ he said. ‘I’ve got tons of stuff to get — I have to get your card, your presents!’ And, he suddenly remembered, he’d got nothing yet for his godchild, Jaye, either.

‘There’s no way you’re going shopping today, old chap,’ the surgeon said. ‘Unless you’re planning on doing it online.’

‘You’re not seriously keeping me in here over Christmas? We’ve just moved into our new house — I–I’ve got to be at home with my family. I’ve got to get out and buy presents!’

‘I’ve got my present,’ Cleo said. ‘It’s you. You being OK, being alive, that’s the only present I need this Christmas.’

Grace stared up at her, despondently. ‘God, darling, I am so sorry.’

‘Remember what you told me when I was pregnant with Noah?’

He winced in pain again, then shook his head. ‘No, what?’

‘That your job was to catch and lock up the bad guys, to make the world a safer place for your unborn child and me. Well, that’s what you did. I may be mad as hell at you for putting your life at risk, but I’m proud of you. I don’t know many people who are married to real heroes. Noah and I will celebrate Christmas with you here in the hospital. It’ll be different from the one we planned. But hey, we’ll make it a good one. Right?’ She squeezed his hand.

He smiled up at her, blinking away tears, and squeezed her hand back. Then he heard the voice of the nurse, detached and bossy.

‘Your husband needs to sleep now.’

‘Darling, before you go, what’s happened to Crisp?’

‘I just know they’re still digging.’

Wednesday 24 December

Grace had had visitors all day, including his sister, and had nodded off watching the television. He was woken what seemed like only moments later by the gruff voice of Glenn Branson.

‘Happy Christmas, mate!’

He opened his eyes to see the tall hulk of the detective, in a sharp suit and even more dazzling tie than usual, reeking of alcohol and looking unsteady. He was holding a card in one hand and a massive bottle of champagne, with a blue ribbon around the neck, in the other. Next to him stood an attractive, fair-haired woman in a short black dress, leggings and high-heeled boots. She was holding a basket of fruit wrapped in cellophane with a sprig of holly on the top.

The Argus reporter, Siobhan Sheldrake, Grace realized. He looked up at them, wondering what the hell was going on. ‘Wassertime?’ he asked, still not fully with it.

‘One minute to midnight, Christmas Eve. Just call me Santa! Do you know how much rank I had to pull to be let in here?’ Branson said.

‘How are you feeling, Roy?’ the Argus reporter said.

‘No comment,’ he replied.

Was Glenn insane? What the hell was he doing here with this reporter?

‘Siobhan’s cool,’ Branson replied, reading his mate’s expression. ‘This is a social visit — she’s not writing it up. She’s already done her piece on you!’ He held up the front page of today’s Argus .

Grace stared at the headline.

Branson staggered sideways, got a grip on himself and put the bottle down on the table beside him. Then he touched Roy Grace’s face with his hand. ‘You OK?’

‘I haven’t thanked you properly yet, for getting me out of there,’ Grace said.

‘Yeah, and you managed to grab the headline!’ Branson retorted, sitting down on the side of the bed. ‘Hero bloody cop! Huh!’

‘You sodding yanked my arms out of their sockets!’

The tall detective grinned. ‘Yeah, bummer.’

Grace looked at him, moved his eyes over to the Argus reporter, then back to Glenn Branson. ‘Want to tell me what’s going on?’

‘Yeah. Siobhan and I–I know we’re a bit pissed. But I thought you ought to be the first to hear the news. We just got engaged.’

Thursday 25 December

In the years following Sandy’s disappearance, Christmas had been a meaningless time of year for Roy Grace, in which he’d preferred to work rather than try to be jolly with family.

Last year, for the first time, with Cleo, he had actually enjoyed it again. He had been looking forward to it so much this year in their new home in the country. He thought about a roaring open fire, walks in the country with little Noah in a carrier on his back. Instead, he was confined to this small single room, at the Royal Sussex County Hospital.

Every inch of shelf space, and the table beside his bed, was covered in cards — mostly from his work colleagues, along with a mass of flowers and baskets of fruit.

Reluctantly Cleo had left to take Noah home to bed. The television was on, a Christmas special of Downton Abbey . He watched Hugh Bonneville raising a toast. Then suddenly the door opened and Cassian Pewe walked in carrying a festive bottle-bag and a card. Yet again he was dressed in one of his loud-checked sports jackets, roll-neck sweater, cavalry twills and distinctly vulgar two-tone brogues.

‘Roy! Happy Christmas!’ he said in his nasally whine. ‘I had planned to come sooner, but you know what Christmas Day is like!’

‘Very nice to see you, sir.’ Grace did his best to muster a smile, and in truth was pleasantly surprised to see his boss.

‘Brought you a little something to cheer you up!’ He handed Grace the heavy bag and card.

‘Thank you!’

Pewe sat down on the chair beside the bed and Grace smelled the reek of an obnoxiously sweet cologne, perhaps a Christmas gift.

‘Nice work, Roy.’

‘Thank you.’

‘No, thank you. What you’ve done is over and above anything expected. You’ve shown the city of Brighton and Hove, the county of Sussex and the entire damned country what good policing really is. We are all proud of you, and indebted to you. You’re a hero!’

Grace waited for the negative punchline, but it didn’t come.

‘Last year you saved my life, Roy. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but it’s funny how life works out. I don’t want to go into the New Year feeling any tension between us — that’s why I’ve come to see you tonight. You’re a damned fine copper. You’re the best. I’m proud to be working with you, and I’m sorry if I doubted you in the past. OK?’ He held out his hand.

Grace shook it. Pewe’s handshake was limp and slimy. ‘OK!’

‘I’m sure you want to know the latest on the recovery of Crisp’s body. We’ve had some problems; the tunnel’s flooded from fractured pipes and it’s full of water and sewage that we’re pumping out but it’ll take a few days.

‘Now, as I understand it you’ve just moved home, but Operation Haywain has prevented you from helping out in any way — is that correct?’

‘Well, I suppose so. Luckily, I have an understanding wife.’

Pewe tapped his chest. ‘And an understanding ACC. I’m told you will be allowed home before the New Year. I understand you’ll be on a month’s sick leave, Roy. Spend some quality time at home, getting straight, and with your lovely wife and your baby son. And forget all about Major Crime. Come back on Feb 1st fully charged up — we’re going to be needing you in the New Year firing on all cylinders. Right?’