Free Dying for Millions by Judith Cutler

an eyebrow by a millimetre, enough to hint at his acute discomfort. DI Stephenson was a well turned out woman. Her make-up and hair were immaculate; her trousers were a make I’d rejected as too expensive even half-price in the sale. And they looked better on her than they ever would have on me, since she was about five-foot ten in her socks.
    â€˜Right,’ she said, ‘get all these people out of here, will you, Sergeant? I want to talk to Mr Rivers.’

Chapter Seven
    â€˜Everyone’s been reshuffled,’ Ian said. ‘And I can’t wait till I’m old enough to retire.’ He leaned against the corridor wall outside Andy’s room.
    He’d ushered us all out, though Andy plainly wanted me to stay, and he was supposed to be going back in to support the inspector. But he was clearly in no rush. His face was longer, more lugubrious and Eyoreish than ever: even the leather patches on his elbows were coming unstitched.
    â€˜When’ll Chris be back from Bramshill?’ I asked. ‘Not long, now, surely?’
    â€˜Another couple of weeks,’ said Ian, ignoring the clear implication that Chris and I must be in one of our off-periods. ‘And they’ll be after chaining him to a desk. Not supposed to run around getting their hands dirty any more, these Senior Officers.’ He snorted over the capital letters.
    I tutted. From within the room a voice summoned him; he raised depressed eyebrows, shrugged, and turned away.
    â€˜I ought to be in there with him,’ I said. ‘Andy. He’s my cousin.’
    â€˜I remember,’ he said, with forbearance. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ He patted me on the shoulder and went on, closing the door firmly behind him.
    I found myself dabbing my eyes: shock, I suppose. Griff and the bouncer were a few yards down the corridor, talking vigorously with Kerry and her young constable; Ollie and the others were sorting out the stage for a makeshift rehearsal. One of the backing singers would walk through Andy’s actions. Ollie had agreed with Ruth: the party would go ahead, for the sake of everyone involved.
    The door opened behind me. DI Stephenson was prepared to admit me to her presence, was she? I walked over to join Andy on the sofa, and then changed my mind; he was so pale I was afraid he might faint. Perhaps his blood sugar level was low after the shock. I went back to the door and summoned Griff.
    â€˜Go and get a couple of sandwiches, would you? There’s a cafe in the mall. Film-wrapped ones. Salad or cheese – he’s in vegetarian mode again.’ Then I remembered the breakfast bacon, but it wasn’t worth the complications of changing my mind.
    â€˜Not asking Sam to rustle something up, I notice.’
    â€˜He’s busy juicing,’ I said stupidly.
    Griff held my gaze steadily for a moment. ‘I think I take your meaning. And if I choose a couple of sarnies at random – and a couple for you, Sophie? – no one’ll be any the wiser. Right?’
    â€˜Right.’
    I wasn’t quite sure what I meant; all I’d thought of was feeding Andy. But perhaps – no, I couldn’t make sense of anything. I went back in, to DJ Stephenson’s obvious irritation. I should have explained first; it wasn’t like me to be as abrupt, as rude, as I’d obviously seemed. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I just thought Andy ought to eat.’
    She gestured me down to the sofa. Andy took my hand. She stood over us, studying her note pad. ‘Mr Rivers has had a number of implicit threats against his life. He tells me you are aware of another. Could you tell me in your own words, please?’
    I explained about the newspaper death notice. ‘If Andy hadn’t been against publicity I’d have tried to trace the person who inserted it. The
Evening Mail
people have a system to guard against hoaxes.’
    â€˜I’m sure such investigations will be safe