Grace looked up with a start to see the tall detective towering over him. ‘Ever heard of that basic courtesy, knocking?’
‘Yeah — didn’t want to wake you. Old people can die from sudden shocks.’
Grace gave him a smile. ‘Haha.’ Then he looked him up and down. ‘Have you got a part-time job as a lighthouse?’
‘What?’
Branson was attired at this moment in a slim-fit, shiny, chocolate-coloured suit and a yellow tie that looked luminous. Grace pointed at it. ‘Could be useful at night in a power cut.’
‘Is that why you wanted to see me — to be rude about my rig?’ Branson sat down on the chair in front of the desk, swinging it round, as was his custom, and sitting astride it, folding his arms over the back and staring quizzically at his boss.
‘Looks like your jolly to Lyon is happening,’ Grace told him.
‘That means I have to eat one of those stinky Andouillette sausage things? And frog’s legs and snails?’
‘If the French police offer you their hospitality and take you to a Lyon restaurant, it would be rude to refuse. Don’t want you messing up our entente & cordiale!’
Branson wrinkled his face. ‘Yech.’
‘Don’t screw up this one, mate!’
Glenn Branson stared back at him. ‘I’m not planning to screw up, yeah?’
‘Crisp is a twister. Don’t let him start sweet-talking you.’
‘I’m not planning to have sex with him.’
Grace grinned. ‘You’re not his type, so I wouldn’t worry. And just to ensure you’re not there for any romance, I’m sending Norman Potting with you.’
‘Norman? He’s my date for this trip?’
‘I want two of you there. Norman’s still hurting badly from Bella’s death. I think it would do him good to have a break for twenty-four hours. Not that I’d wish your company on my worst enemy.’
‘You’re a bundle of laughs this morning. Remember that night we watched The Last Detail at your place, when Ari had thrown me out?’
Grace frowned. ‘Rings a bell.’
‘Jack Nicholson and Otis Young had to escort a young sailor — Randy Quaid — to jail. Yeah?’
Grace nodded. ‘Yes, I seem to remember you said it was one of your favourite films. So what’s your point?’
‘It was about bringing a prisoner back.’
‘Nicholson and Young took Quaid to a brothel, didn’t they?’
‘See! Your memory’s still good. Not bad at all for an old man.’
‘Sod off! And don’t come back telling me you took Crisp to a brothel because you felt sorry for him.’
Branson raised his hands in the air. ‘Joking!’
‘I don’t find anything funny about a man who killed five, and probably a lot more, women. Just so you know.’
‘Me neither.’
‘OK, speak to Tony Case and get him to sort out the travel arrangements. I’m told you can take a Eurostar train to Lille and then a train from there to Lyon.’
His phone rang again. It was Marcel Kullen. It was the second of the calls he had been awaiting this morning.
Asking him to hang on for a moment, then covering the receiver with his hand, he said to Branson, ‘OK? Alles ist klar?’
The DI got the message and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ Kullen said. ‘But I thought you must know that Sandy’s condition is improved a very little. Perhaps you would like to come over and talk to her?’
Grace thought for some moments. ‘Yes, yes, I would like to. I — the next few days are difficult as I have to deal with something — but I’ll see how quickly I can do it.’
‘Jah. You let me know. She’s not in such a hurry to make her last journey.’
Grace smiled at the German’s gallows humour. ‘I’ll call you as soon as I know.’
‘Good.’ Kullen paused for a moment and the silence was palpable. Roy Grace could sense his hesitation. Then he added, ‘Roy, I just want to say, I think you are making a good decision to come. It is the honourable thing to do.’
‘I hope so, Marcel.’
He hung up, and called Glenn Branson again. ‘Glenn, I need to ask your advice on something — could you come back in?’
As Glenn sat back down opposite him, Grace told him the news from Germany. ‘What the hell do you think I should do?’
‘Shit, mate! Oh, shit!’ He was silent for a few seconds. ‘Bloody hell. God. What does Cleo think?’
‘She doesn’t know.’
‘What?’ Branson was silent again, thinking. ‘You’ve always known in your heart, haven’t you? That she’s still alive?’
‘Have I?’
The detective inspector stood up, walked around the desk and gave him a hug. As Grace breathed in his pungent aftershave, Glenn said, ‘Yes. You know you have. You’ve got to tell Cleo.’
‘What the hell do I tell her?’
Branson went back round, sat down in front of him and leaned forward so they were eyeball to eyeball. ‘How about the truth?’
Grace stared back at him. ‘I’m scared of losing everything.’
‘Cleo’s a smart lady. I’m sure she also believes in her heart that Sandy is still alive, out there somewhere. Look, you can see how much she loves you, everyone can. But I can also see fear in her eyes sometimes. The fear that it might not last. The fear of what would happen if Sandy suddenly walked back into your life.’
‘I’ve told her many times that it wouldn’t make any difference. That I love her more than I now realize I ever loved Sandy.’
‘And she believes you?’
‘I think so.’
‘OK, so now’s your chance to show her.’
‘What do you mean?’
Glenn Branson raised his hands in the air. ‘Look, shit, what do I really know? I loused up big time with my marriage. I’m not really a good person to give advice. But I’m going to give you some anyway.’
Grace smiled at him. ‘OK?’
‘You go home today and you tell Cleo. You need to tell her immediately. And, mate, you offer to take her with you to Germany, to meet Sandy.’
An email pinged on Grace’s screen, but he ignored it. ‘Are you off your rocker? Take Cleo to meet Sandy?’
‘It’s like so many things, mate. What you have in your imagination is worse than the reality, nothing we see can ever be as scary as what we imagine. Like that scene in Psycho with Janet Leigh being slashed to death behind the shower curtain. Hitchcock was clever. You don’t actually see very much at all. You see the dagger striking again and again. You see blood. But you don’t see her naked body being slashed to ribbons — that’s all in your mind.’
Grace looked at him quizzically.
‘Ever since Cleo and you became an item, from her point of view there were three of you — you, her and the ghost of Sandy. She’s probably lain in bed with you every night since you fell in love imagining what would happen if Sandy returned. Show her the truth. Take her to meet the monster.’
‘What if it backfires on me?’
‘There’s only one way it could backfire on you. And that’s if you stood over Sandy’s hospital bed and realized you were with the wrong person. Is that going to happen?’
‘No,’ Grace said, emphatically. ‘Not in a million years.’
‘So you have a golden opportunity. If you truly love Cleo, as I know you do, this is the only chance you might ever have. Slay your demon.’
‘What if Cleo—?’
‘Trust me. She won’t. She won’t say no.’
As Branson departed again, closing Grace’s office door, leaving him in turmoil, his phone rang.
‘Roy Grace,’ he answered.
It was the Coroner’s Officer, Michelle Websdale.
‘Ah, Detective Superintendent?’