Dead Like You

At least he had everything back now. It felt like he had his life back.

Best news of all, he’d had a call from the people who owned this boat, to say that they would be staying on at least two more years in Goa now. That made him very pleased.

Life suddenly felt very good. Very peaceful.

And it was a rising tide. Nothing like it.

Uh-huh.

122

Friday 20 February

Darren Spicer was feeling in a good mood. He stopped off at the pub, which had become his regular staging post on his way back home from work, for his now customary two pints with whisky chasers. He was becoming a creature of habit! You didn’t have to be in prison to have a routine; you could have one outside too.

He was enjoying his new routine. Commuting to the Grand from the night shelter – always by foot, to save the pe

They had a date tomorrow. It was difficult in the evenings, because of having to be back for lock-in, but tomorrow they would be spending all day together. She shared a room in a little flat up off the Lewes Road and, giggling, had told him her room-mate was going to be away for the weekend. Tomorrow, with luck, he reckoned, they’d be shagging all day.

He had another whisky to celebrate, a quality one this time, a single malt, Glenlivet. Mustn’t drink too much, he knew, because arriving back at St Patrick’s drunk was a sure way to get thrown out. And now he was getting close to his coveted MiPod. So just the one Glenlivet. Not that money was no object – but the old cash situation was improving all the time.

He’d managed to get himself on to room maintenance at the hotel, because they were short of staff. He had a plastic pass key to get him into every guest room in the building. And he had today’s takings from the room safes he’d opened up tucked in his pocket. He’d been cautious. He was going to keep his promise to himself to stay out of prison this time for good. All he took was a tiny fraction of any cash he found in the safes. Of course he had been tempted by some of the fancy watches and jewellery, but he’d stuck to his guns, and was proud of his self-discipline.

In these past four and a half weeks, he’d stashed away nearly four grand in his chained suitcase in the locker at St Patrick’s. Property prices had come down, thanks to the recession. With what Tia earned, and with what he could put down as a cash deposit in, say, a year’s time, he should be able to buy a little flat somewhere in the Brighton area. Or even move right away to somewhere a lot cheaper. Perhaps warmer.

Perhaps Spain.

Maybe Tia would like to be in a warm country.

Of course it was all a pipe dream. He hadn’t talked about any future with her yet. The thought of hopefully shagging her tomorrow was about as far as he had got. But he felt good about her. She gave off a warmth that made him feel happy every time he stood near her or talked to her. Sometimes you needed to go with your instincts.

And his instincts, ten minutes later, as he turned right off Western Road into Cambridge Road told him that something was not good.

It was the shiny silver Ford Focus estate double-parked almost outside the front door of the St Patrick’s night shelter, with someone sitting in the driving seat.

When you spent your life trying not to get nicked, you developed a kind of second sense, your ante

Shit.

Fear crashed through him. For an instant, he debated whether to turn and run, then empty his pockets. But he’d left it too late. The burly, bald, black detective who was standing in the doorway had already clocked him. Spicer decided he’d have to try to bluff it out.

Shit, he thought again, his dream fading away. And tomorrow’s shag with sweet Tia. The grim, green walls of Lewes Prison closing around his mind.

‘Hello, Darren,’ Detective Sergeant Branson greeted him, with a big cheery grin. ‘How’s it going?’

Spicer looked at him warily. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Yeah.’

‘Wonder if I could have a word with you.’ He pointed at the door. ‘They’re letting us use that interview room – OK with you?’

‘Yeah.’ Spicer shrugged. ‘What’s this about?’

‘Just a little chat. Got a bit of news I thought you might like to hear.’

Spicer sat down, shaking, very uneasy. He couldn’t think of any news that Detective Sergeant Branson could bring him that he would like to hear.

Branson closed the door, then seated himself across the table, facing him. ‘Du

Spicer looked at him warily.

‘I mentioned to you there was a reward, right? Fifty thousand pounds? For information leading to the arrest and conviction of the man who attempted to attack Mrs Dee Burchmore? Put up by her husband.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Well, I’ve got good news for you. It looks like you’re in line for it.’

Spicer broke into a grin, relief flooding through him. Incredible relief.

‘You’re shitting me?’

Branson shook his head. ‘Nope. Actually, Detective Superintendent Grace, the SIO, has put your name forward himself. It’s down to you that we’ve potted our suspect. He’s been arrested and charged.’

‘When do I get the money?’ Spicer asked incredulously.

‘When he’s convicted. I think a trial date’s been set for this autumn – I can let you know when I have the details. But there’s not much doubt we’ve got the right man.’ Branson smiled. ‘So, sunshine, what are you going to do with all that loot? Shove it up your nose, right, as usual?’

‘Nah.’ Spicer said. ‘I’m going to buy a little flat, you know, as an investment for the future. I’ll use the money towards the deposit. Magic!’

Branson shook his head. ‘In your dreams. You’ll spend it on drugs.’

‘I won’t. Not this time! I’m not going back inside. I’m going to buy a place of my own and go straight. Yeah.’

‘Tell you what, invite us to your house-warming. Just to prove you’ve changed, all right?’

Spicer gri

‘I don’t embarrass easily.’

Spicer shrugged. ‘Fifty grand. Incredible! Fucking incredible!’

The DS fixed his eyes on the old lag. ‘You know what? I heard they didn’t bother changing the sheets in your cell. They know you’re going to be back.’

‘Not this time.’

‘I’ll look forward to the invitation. The Governor of Lewes Prison will know where to send it.’

Spicer gri

‘Just the truth, sunshine.’

Gle