1
Inspector Jack
Gannet drove into Saltsea-on-Sea along the coast road. Today’s sun
(not that he believed it to be a new one every day) was already
climbing merrily in the sky. It was a beautiful morning. Shame it
was about to be spoilt by the Lucky Lady and her cargo – one very
unlucky lady. One very dead lady. Jack Gannet sighed, this job
didn’t get any easier. Jack Gannet had been in the force longer
than he cared to remember. He was a straightforward, old-fashioned
kind of detective. He had no strange tics or eccentricities – he
didn’t do crosswords, he wasn’t Belgian, he certainly wasn’t a
woman. He was a man suited to his profession. What he wasn’t, was
happy. He didn’t want to be dealing with a dead body on a glorious
morning like this. Especially not on an empty
stomach.
Madame Astarti
didn’t know about the dead body yet. She was having some trouble
opening her eyes. They were glued shut by sleep and mascara and one
too many gins in The Crab and Bucket last night with Sandra and
Brian. Madame Astarti sighed and groped blindly around on her
bedside table for her lighter and a packet of Player’s No.6 and
inhaled deeply on a cigarette. She loved the smell of nicotine in
the morning.
Seagulls were clog-dancing on the roof above her head, heralding a brand new day in Saltsea-on-Sea. Through a gap in the curtains she could see that the sun was the colour of egg-yolks. Sunrise, she thought to herself, a little daily miracle. It would be funny, wouldn’t it, if it didn’t happen one morning? Well, probably not very funny at all really because everything on earth would die. The really big sleep.