Peter James - Not Dead Yet

And just how often would Roy be there? That was one of her biggest concerns. She knew just how wedded to his work he was. In her job at the mortuary there was a constant stream of sudden deaths, which police officers had to attend. Whenever the name Roy Grace came up, she heard nothing but positive comments. He seemed universally liked and respected. He was a good man, she knew that – just one of the countless reasons why she loved him.

But there was one shadow to their relationship. He was a great copper, but would that mean he’d be a great father?

Would he be there for their child’s first Nativity play – or would he be tied up on a murder investigation? And on Parents’ Evening? Sports Day?

When they talked about it he always dismissed her concerns, reminding her that his father had been a police officer, yet had always managed to find the time to attend the things that had mattered. But he had not been a homicide SIO who didn’t know what was going to happen in thirty minutes’ time, let alone thirty days’.

Roy constantly assured her that their life together was more important than his work. But was that true? And did she even want that to be true? Would she really want a murder enquiry to suffer because Roy was more interested in spending time playing with his child?

One of Cleo’s friends was married to a high-flier and she hardly saw him, particularly after the second baby was born. He would arrive home after both infants were asleep, eat dinner, and then crash out in the spare room so he wasn’t woken by the baby’s constant demands for food.

Did the baby actually know yet she had a father?

Another worry that she had right now was the vandalization of her car.

Roy had told her he knew who had done it, and that he had ensured it would never happen again. But there was always going to be the danger of retribution against any police officer by an aggrieved criminal. That was something she knew she would have to live with – and be a little bit vigilant all of the time.

But she had another, even deeper, worry. Roy’s missing wife Sandy.

Cleo found it hard to get him to talk about her, and yet she felt the woman’s presence all around her. During the early days of their relationship, Roy had invited her back to his house. They’d made love in his bedroom and she’d stayed the night, but had barely slept a wink. She had fully expected the door to fly open at any moment, and this attractive woman to appear, staring at them contemptuously.

Sure, Roy had assured her that his relationship with Sandy was long dead, and that’s how she regarded it. But there was always the nagging doubt in her mind.

‘What if?’

‘If?’

It gave her some comfort that Roy was having his wife declared legally dead. Ten years on. But that would not stop her reappearing if she were still alive. And how would Roy react then?

He claimed that it was over, and nothing would change that.

But what, Cleo wondered, if she had been abducted by some crazy guy. How would Roy react if Sandy appeared now, escaped from some deranged kidnapper? Surely he would be morally obliged to take her back? Regardless of what he said…

Cleo was not a person who would normally wish anyone dead, but sometimes she fervently wished that Sandy’s body would turn up. So at least Roy would have closure. And they could move on with their lives free and clear of any shadows.

She sat in the shadows on the shaded side of the street, where she had been parked for over two hours. But at least darkness was falling, finally. It was 9.30 p.m. Once she used to love these long summer days. But today the daylight was just a major nuisance.

The interior of the small rental car reeked of cheeseburger and greasy fries. Through the windscreen she had a clear view of the entrance to the gated townhouse development where Cleo Morey lived. On the radio, the sound turned low, the Rolling Stones were singing ‘Under the Boardwalk’.

The song took her back to one of their many disagreements about so many things. She preferred the version sung by The Drifters. They had argued over who wrote it. She claimed it was Kenny Young and Arthur Resnick, who were part of that group. But Roy insisted it was The Rolling Stones.

‘ Mama, mir ist langweilig ,’ said her son, in the passenger seat beside her. He had red all around his mouth, and was busily dipping a cluster of French fries into the mess of ketchup at the bottom of the carton.

‘ Mein Schatz, wir sind jetzt in England. Hier spricht man Englisch! ’ she said.

He shrugged. ‘Yah? Okay. I’m bored.’ Then he yawned.

She stroked his forehead, affectionately. ‘ Sehr gut! ’

He turned his head and looked at her quizzically. ‘You said people speak English here, now you speak German yourself. Huh!’ He picked up the huge carton of Coke and sucked noisily through the straw.

Sometimes, when the boy made her really irritated, she would think – although never say to him – I left Roy for you? I must have been crazy.

But that was the truth. Or at least part of the truth. She had left Roy Grace because she had found out she was pregnant with their child. The child they had both wanted so badly; the child they had been trying to have for almost eight years. It was so ironical. She had found out she was pregnant, finally, just days after she had made the decision that she did not want to spend the rest of her life married to Roy Grace. Married to Sussex CID. Subordinate to Sussex CID.

She knew that the moment Roy found out she was pregnant, she would be stuck; for a long time; for a life sentence; even if they parted, she would have to share the child with him for ever. As a result of a windfall inheritance from an aunt, which she did not tell Roy about, she was independently well off. She could afford to leave. And she did.

She didn’t say a word to her parents, whom she despised. Did not tell anyone. Instead she went into hiding with the only people who had ever given her a feeling of self-worth. The only people who, she felt, regarded her as someone in her own right, and not someone defined by who had given birth to her, or who had married her.

For the first time in her life, she had been her own person. Not her parents’ daughter, Miss Sandy Balkwill. Not her husband’s wife, Mrs Roy Grace. She had her new name, which she had borrowed from her maternal, German grandmother. Her new identity. Her whole new life ahead of her.

Sandy Lohmann.

Sandy Lohmann was a woman who had cleared everything from her head: the husband who constantly let her down because he had to go to a crime scene; the father who let her down because he could never tell the truth about a damned thing in life; the mother who’d never had an opinion of her own.

The Scientologists operated the Clear , under their universal banner, THE BRIDGE TO TOTAL FREEDOM. They had helped her to clear the past out of her mind, and look at the world through fresh eyes. And they had helped her to look after the baby.

It was while living in their headquarters near East Grinstead in Sussex that she had met Hans-Jürgen Waldinger. He had subsequently persuaded her to move with her infant son to Munich, where he introduced her to the organization he had helped to establish, called the International Association of FreeSpirits. The organization offered similar mental regeneration to the Scientologists, but in what she felt was a less aggressive – and costly – process.

She had found Waldinger very attractive. And still did. But living with him had not worked out. She rapidly ended up arguing and rowing with him just as much as she had done with Roy. In the end she had moved into an apartment of her own.

So what the hell was she doing back here?