by James, Peter
Ignoring him, the DI continued with the caution.
‘Which way exactly do the straps go around my chest?’ Fox asked, facetiously. ‘And you haven’t pointed out the emergency exits.’
111
Saturday 1 June
Roy Grace let himself and Humphrey into the garden after a morning walk, went over to the hen house and lifted the lid of the first of the three nesting boxes, trying to ignore the sour reek. Two eggs of different sizes, one brown and one blue, nestled in the straw.
‘Good girls! I’ll tell your keeper, Bruno!’ he called out to them, gently lifting each egg out and placing them in a bowl. He retrieved a further three from the next two boxes and headed back towards the house with the triumph of a crusader returning home laden with booty.
Strolling in shorts and flip-flops across the freshly mown lawn, he felt, suddenly, an almost intoxicating happiness. It was moments like this when he wished he could freeze time and hold them in his mind forever. He stopped and stood, looking at their cottage and the hill, dotted with sheep, that rose up behind. It was coming up to 9 a.m. and the clear, cobalt sky looked set to deliver the forecaster’s promise of a fine weekend. There was just one major cloud and it wasn’t in the sky.
Cassian Pewe.
Even when he’d given the ACC the news that poor Stuie Starr’s murder was pretty much cleared up, there was no thank you, simply an admonishment that two murders in Sussex within such a short period of time did not make good headlines. A litany of anger from him then followed, blaming Grace for failing his team by not anticipating Starr’s attack on Gready.
Maybe Pewe was right, he reflected, perhaps as the leader he should have done. But how? Police officers had been described by a former Met Commissioner as ‘ordinary people doing extraordinary things’. True sometimes, Grace thought. But we’re not superhuman.
He was at a loss how to deal with Pewe. The ACC had welcomed him back from his secondment to the Met with open arms, only to immediately stab him in the back and return to his former hostile attitude. A few years ago, when they’d been on equal rank, Grace had risked his life to save Pewe’s, when the front of his car had gone over the edge of a cliff and the vehicle hung precariously. There had been little more than grudging gratitude afterwards.
Was there something in psychology, he wondered, some innate pride perhaps, that could turn people against those who had saved their lives?
It hadn’t helped their relationship that he subsequently found a discrepancy that nearly resulted in Pewe being investigated by Professional Standards, and which had sent him fleeing back to the Met, from where he had originated, with his tail between his legs.
Grace had scarcely been able to believe it when he was told by the Chief Constable less than a year later that Pewe was returning, and in a senior rank. The Chief told Roy that Pewe had assured him he felt no animosity towards him. How wrong that had turned out to be.
He decided to try to put Pewe from his mind for now and enjoy the weekend with his family. Bruno had asked him to cook French toast today and that’s what he planned to do. Then they were going to take a picnic to the beach.
A sudden squawking and clucking behind him made him turn and look at the chicken enclosure. Anna was pecking Isobel furiously, before strutting off in what looked like a huff. He smiled, fascinated by their little world. He loved watching how busy they were, rushing around in short bursts, eyeing the ground beadily for a speck of corn or mixed seed they might have missed.
After the endless daily horrors of human violence, in the papers, on television and, all too often, like poor Stuie Starr, on a tray in the mortuary, the simple act of walking Humphrey over fields, or picking an egg out of a nesting box, he found incredibly grounding and calming.
Not that he was starry-eyed or naive about hens, or any other aspects of Mother Nature. Chickens could be as vicious as any humans, with domestic violence – as he had just witnessed – an almost daily occurrence in the enclosure. People said violence was just human nature, but it wasn’t, it was all nature – and you didn’t have to go far to see it. The local wood half a mile away was, in its densest part, a war zone of plants and trees trying to strangle each other.
As he walked in through the kitchen patio doors he heard the sound of a vehicle, and an instant later Humphrey, barking furiously, catapulted himself across and through the living area. They’d sealed up the letter box a while ago, as the dog would rip everything that came through to shreds.
Cleo, seated at the breakfast bar, eating a bowl of cereal, was studying her course work. Noah lay on the floor watching a cartoon on television and giggling intermittently.
‘I think that was Mr Postie,’ she said.
‘I’ll go check.’
‘No wait, I need to speak to you quickly about that call from Bruno’s headmaster. I really think we should be proactive. Let’s get him properly assessed by the psychologist for everybody’s piece of mind, they might be able to help integrate him better. We don’t want the school ringing us up every five minutes about him.’
He nodded. ‘Look, darling, I know where you are coming from, but he’s not a bad kid and maybe the school is being oversensitive.’ He paused, thoughtfully. ‘Or maybe I’m just protective of him. If it helps us move forward, let’s do it.’
‘Thanks, it would. Oh, just a thought, now your investigation is over, will you have a chance to call my OU mate Alison and chat with her daughter – you know, she wanted to learn about jury service and nobbling for her dissertation?’
‘It’s on my list! I’m sure there’s not much I can tell her that she couldn’t find out online. As I said, it hardly ever happens. I’ve never had a case, but of course I’ll ring her.’
Humphrey continued barking. Roy put the eggs on the table, walked to the front door and calmed the dog down. He heard a vehicle driving away and opened the door a crack, not wanting Humphrey to race out and chase it. The lid of the free-standing mail box was raised and he saw that a couple of the motoring magazines he subscribed to had been delivered, along with some letters held together by a rubber band.
He carried the letters back and plonked them on the kitchen table, then took a knife from a drawer and began sliding the envelopes open.
‘Anything interesting?’ Cleo asked.
He was about to say there wasn’t, when he picked up a small, flimsy envelope that was hand-addressed. It reminded him, darkly, of one he’d had some years back, containing a death threat from a particularly nasty drug dealer he’d put away. He slit it open and removed the equally flimsy folded sheet of paper.
At the top was written,
HMP Ford. Prisoner No 768904
He frowned again, then realized, even before he read the signature, who it was from. His former friend and colleague Guy Batchelor.
Last year Guy had panicked when a woman with whom he was having an affair threatened to go public. She’d ended up dead in a bathtub, and Guy hadn’t exactly helped his claim that it was an accident when he’d tried to cover his tracks and later escape arrest. But all the same, and despite his loathing of any cop who brought the force into disrepute, Grace couldn’t help feeling some sympathy for the man. He had a lovely wife, an equally lovely daughter, he’d been on a rising career path and he’d had everything going for him. Prison was not a good place for a police officer to be. In terms of prisoner loathing, they didn’t rank far below paedophiles.
He read the letter. It was brief. Guy’s handwriting was, as ever, neat.
Roy,
Hope this finds you well. Not much to report here, other than waiting for the appeal hearing against the length of my sentence. Other prisoners haven’t been as nasty to me as I feared – so far, anyway.
I’m writing because I may have something of interest about our mutual friend. No names mentioned because all these letters are read, but I know you were interested in doing something with that church bench. I may be able to help you. Perhaps you could come over – I can promise you it won’t be
a wasted journey.
All my best to you and all the team – hey, I miss you all.
Guy
‘From a secret admirer?’ Cleo asked with a grin. ‘Not very classy taste in headed paper.’
‘I don’t think they have Harrods stationery departments in British prisons,’ he said and handed her the letter.
She read it then frowned. ‘All very cryptic – what is he talking about? What church bench?’
‘I’ve no idea, I’m trying to figure it out.’
She gave him a sideways look and grinned. ‘Pew?’
He raised a finger. ‘Genius! Of course!’
‘I thought you were supposed to be the detective.’
‘Yep, well, it’s my weekend off!’
‘So what’s his reference to Pewe, exactly, meaning?’
Grace smiled. ‘It may be he has found out something – got the goods on him. He’s always known the crap I’ve had to take from him. I will definitely pay Guy a visit, next week if I can.’ He smiled again. ‘The weekend just got even better! Something to look forward to afterwards – I’m very nicely intrigued!’
‘Perhaps we could go to church tomorrow – we haven’t been to a normal service since before we got married. Might be good to take Noah and Bruno?’
‘Really? I don’t want to get in the way of a thunderbolt aimed at our little Antichrist upstairs.’
She punched him. ‘You are terrible!’
‘And I can just about cope with one Pewe – don’t want to spend my Sunday surrounded by dozens of them.’
‘Stop it!’
He went over to a cupboard and removed a jar of coffee. ‘Any tea or coffee, darling?’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks, I’m fine. So, tell me, do you think Gready’s wife was in the know?’
He shrugged. ‘Honestly, I’ve no idea. She refused to give evidence and abandoned him during the trial – she seemed to have made her mind up that he was guilty. It’s the age-old question, was the partner really innocent? I’ve heard that she has made a substantial donation to the Down’s Syndrome Association. Interesting to know when she had this epiphany – blood money?’ Roy said cynically.
‘What about the rest of the money, surely she doesn’t get to keep it?’
‘She won’t lose anything under the Proceeds of Crime Act because he is dead, but there might well be civil action – Customs and Excise, the police, that sort of thing.’
‘Imagine if she didn’t know, Roy? First, she’s lost her husband, now she stands to lose her reputation.’
He nodded. ‘Twenty years ago, I might have imagined that she genuinely didn’t know. But less so these days.’
‘Because twenty years as a copper has turned you into a sceptical bastard?’ she said, with a teasing smile.
‘No, life’s about making choices. She chose a wrong ’un.’
‘And what about me?’ Cleo asked. ‘What did I choose?’
He grinned back at her. ‘I’m far too modest to say.’
GLOSSARY
ANPR – Automatic Number Plate Recognition. Roadside or mobile cameras that automatically capture the registration number of all cars that pass. It can be used to historically track which cars went past a certain camera, and can also create a signal for cars which are stolen, have no insurance or have an alert attached to them.
CID – Criminal Investigation Department. Usually refers to the divisional detectives rather than the specialist squads.
CPS – Crown Prosecution Service.
CSI – Was SOCO. Crime Scene Investigators (Scenes of Crime Officers). They are the people who attend crime scenes to search for fingerprints, DNA samples etc.
CSM – Crime Scene Manager.
DIGITAL FORENSICS – The unit which examines and investigates computers and other digital devices.
FLO – Family Liaison Officer.
HOLMES – Home Office Large Major Enquiry System. The national computer database used on all murders. It provides a repository of all messages, actions, decisions and statements, allowing the analysis of intelligence and the tracking and auditing of the whole enquiry. Can enable enquiries to be linked across force areas where necessary.
IOPC – Independent Office for Police Conduct.
OSCAR-1 – The call sign of the Force Control Duty Inspector, who has oversight and command of all critical incidents in the initial stages.
PM – Postmortem.
POLSA – Police Search Adviser.
RSOCU – Regional Serious & Organized Crime Unit.
SIO – Senior Investigating Officer. Usually a Detective Chief Inspector who is in overall charge of the investigation of a major crime such as murder, kidnap or rape.
CHART OF POLICE RANKS
Police ranks are consistent across all disciplines and the addition of prefixes such as ‘detective’ (e.g. detective constable) does not affect seniority relative to others of the same rank (e.g. police constable).
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
With every novel I write, I’m always overwhelmed by the kindness of so many people who help me get the facts and descriptions of their professions and worlds accurate. I’m a stickler for accuracy in my research, so if I have got anything wrong please forgive me – and I’m sure you’ll let me know!
It’s always difficult to single out any particular person or group of people who have given me the most help, but I have found to my good fortune that with every novel, I seem to stumble, by luck or synchronicity, into either one person or, in this case, a small group of people, who have helped me beyond and above anything I have any right to expect.
In Find Them Dead, for the first time I’ve entered the world of a major court case, which has entirely its own language, culture and procedures. I am very deeply indebted to Resident Judge Her Honour Christine Laing QC, Judge Paul Tain QC, and Crown Advocate Richard Pedley, all of whom have tirelessly read the manuscript and made corrections, as well as happily taking my numerous calls on so many aspects of legal procedure. I honestly could not have written this novel without them. Nor without the immensely generous help of Juliet Smith JP, former High Sheriff of East Sussex, who opened so many doors for me.
Further invaluable legal help came from Anthony Burton CBE, Richard Cherrill, Moira Sofaer, Clive Sofaer, His Honour Paul Worsley QC, and also from staff at Lewes Crown Court, with particular thanks to Sally Burr, Lynda Pennicard-Nicholls and Denise Stonell.
Equally crucial for me is getting all aspects of policing accurate, and for this novel I’m indebted to both Sussex and the London Metropolitan Police. For many years I have had the immensely kind and generous support of Sussex Police and Crime Commissioner Katy Bourne, and the Sussex Chief Constable Giles York QPM, and many officers and support staff serving under them. I’m listing them, as well as Surrey and Sussex Major Crime Team officers and Met officers, in alphabetic order (and please forgive any omissions):
Sgt Peter Barnes, Chief Superintendent Lisa Bell, Inspector James Biggs, PC Matt Colburn, PC Ana Dark, Inspector Paul Davey, Financial Investigator Emily Denyer, DC Jenny Dunn, PC Philip Edwards, Inspector Mark Evans, CSI James Gartrell, Aiden Gilbert in Digital Forensics, DCI Rich Haycock, Inspector Dan Hiles, PC Dave Horton, Joseph Langford, DC Martin Light, Superintendent Paula Light, Chief Superintendent Nick May, Chief Constable of Kent Alan Pughlsey QPM, DCI Andy Richardson, Acting Inspector Andy Saville, Detective Superintendent Nick Sloan, James Stather in Forensic Services, DS Phil Taylor, Detective Superintendent Jason Tingley, PC Richard Trundle, and DI Bill Warner. And Beth Durham, Sue Heard, Jill Pedersen and Katie Perkin of Sussex Police Corporate Communications.
A big thank you, also, to Theresa Adams, Martin Allen, Susan Ansell, Graham Bartlett, Alan Bowles, Nick Cameron, Clare Davis, Sam Dawson, Peter Dean, Sean Didcott, Martin and Jane Diplock, Simon Drabble, Jonathan Gready (whose name I ‘borrowed’ for one of the main characters!), Anna Hancock, Ron Harrison, James Hodge, Terry Hooper, Claire Horne, Haydn Kelly, Rob Kempson, Gary and Rachel Kenchington, Paul Khan, Gerry M
aye, Adrian Noon, Ray Packham, Julia Richardson of Galen Myotherapy, Kit Robinson (role model for Noah Grace!), Alan Setterington, Helen Shenston, Dick Smith, Orlando Trujillo, Mark Tuckwell, and Coroner’s Officer Michelle Websdale.
A very special thank you also to my mentor Geoff Duffield, my amazing editor, Wayne Brookes, and the team at Pan Macmillan – to name just a few: Jonathan Atkins; Sarah Arratoon, Anna Bond, Lara Borlenghi, Emily Bromfield, Stuart Dwyer, Claire Evans, Samantha Fletcher, Anthony Forbes Watson, Lucy Hine, Hollie Iglesias, Daniel Jenkins, Rebecca Kellaway, Neil Lang, Rebecca Lloyd, Sara Lloyd, James Long, James Luscombe, Holly Martin, Guy Raphael, Alex Saunders, Jade Tolley, Kate Tolley, Jeremy Trevathan, Charlotte Williams and Natalie Young.
And everyone at my fabulous UK literary agency, Blake Friedmann: Lizzy Attree, Isobel Dixon, Sian Ellis-Martin, Julian Friedmann, Hana Murrell, James Pusey, Conrad Williams and Daisy Way. My US agent, Mitch Hoffman, at the Aaron M. Priest Literary Agency. And a very special shout-out to my fabulously gifted UK PR team at Riot Communications: Preena Gadher, Caitlin Allen and Emily Souders.
I’m blessed with a very close-knit and creative team around me, whom I jokingly – and perhaps no so jokingly – call Team James! Dani Brown, Mark and Debbie Brown, Kate Blazeby, Linda Buckley, Chris Diplock, David Gaylor, Lara James, Sarah Middle, Amy Robinson, Mark Tuckwell and Chris Webb.
I do often wonder if I’d not have the good fortune to meet a young DI, David Gaylor, back in 1997 (who rose to become Detective Chief Superintendent), whether Roy Grace would ever have happened. We work together closely on the planning and every stage of the development of each book. He’s not quite my slave driver but he never lets me slacken the pace!
Last, but first of all, my beloved wife Lara. She is the first person to read every word I write, and she has judgement I completely trust, not just on how the story is going, but on how I’m portraying anything of a sensitive nature. She supports me and the team tirelessly, and with endless enthusiasm and wisdom. Even in my toughest moments with each book – and there are always some – she never lets my spirits flag.
