Dead Man's Time Read Online Free PDF Page B

which he
had only been to once. He really hoped he’d be able to make it. Then in the evening he and Cleo planned to go out for a meal for the first time since Noah had been born.
    It was mid-afternoon. He’d changed Noah’s nappy and Noah was now sleeping in his cot, with a white dummy in his mouth. Cleo was having a snooze in bed. Humphrey lay in his basket, a
rubber bone in front of his nose, still sulking away with jealousy about Noah, despite his master having taken him for a five-mile run along Brighton seafront early this morning.
    Roy Grace removed a lengthy form from a large envelope. After several months of having his house in Hove on the market, the estate agents had finally found a buyer for it. A woman with a small
boy, currently living in Germany. He had not met them, but she seemed serious and a date had been set for the exchange of contracts. The form was a detailed questionnaire about all aspects of the
property, from the woman’s conveyancing solicitor.
    Cleo’s house, where he was now living, was also on the market. Their plan was to pool the proceeds of the two houses and buy a property in the country, a short distance from Brighton,
where Humphrey could have a decent-size garden, and maybe even a field, to roam in.
    The only person not happy about the whole situation was his colleague and closest friend, Glenn Branson, who had been lodging at Roy’s house since splitting up with his wife. Poor Glenn
would have to find somewhere new to live; but it was time he moved on, got a place of his own and got his life back together.
    Just as Roy focused on the first item on the form, the house phone rang.
    He snatched the receiver, not wanting the ringing to wake Noah. ‘Hello?’ he answered quietly, hoping desperately this was not to do with work.
    The male voice at the other end spoke with a silky purr, and almost instantly, Grace felt relieved – and irritated.
    ‘Good afternoon. I’m calling because a good friend of yours told me to call you.’
    ‘Oh really, who was that?’
    ‘Gerard Scott.’
    ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone of that name.’
    ‘He says to pass on his very best wishes.’
    ‘I think you must have the wrong number.’
    ‘We’re saving him two thousand five hundred pounds a year off his heating bill.’
    ‘Really?’ Grace disliked the intrusion of telesales people, although he could not help having a tiny amount of sympathy for them, trying to make a living. ‘How?’
    ‘We have a representative working in your area next week. Perhaps I could make an appointment at a time convenient for you?’
    ‘A representative for what, exactly?’
    ‘Loft insulation.’
    ‘Loft insulation?’
    ‘We are England’s leading specialists. The insulation we put in is so effective it will have fully paid for itself in just nine years from savings on your fuel bills.’
    Quite apart from anything else, with their plans to move, Cleo wasn’t about to spend any money on this place that wasn’t absolutely necessary. Mischievously, he said, ‘Are you
aware you’re calling a crime scene?’
    ‘A crime scene?’
    ‘I need your name, address, date of birth and your connection with the murder victim. Are you willing to come voluntarily to Brighton police station to make a statement?’
    There was a sudden silence. It was followed by the click of the line disconnecting.
    Yesss!
Grace smiled at his small triumph. He looked down at his sleeping son.
    Moments later his mobile rang. He answered. It was the new duty Detective Inspector at Brighton’s John Street police station, who had replaced the recently promoted Jason Tingley. Any call
from him was unlikely to be good news.
    ‘Sorry to bother you, sir. We have a nasty tie-up domestic robbery in Withdean Road. A ninety-eight-year-old lady has been tortured. She’s been taken to the ITU at the Royal Sussex
County Hospital. Looks like her home may have been stripped of antiques and paintings.’
    Stepping away from Noah, to the