by James, Peter
‘If you have good reason for what seems to me to be complete overkill, perhaps you might have had the courtesy to brief me first,’ Pewe said sullenly.
‘I’ve been a little busy today,’ Grace replied, a tad facetiously. ‘Forgive me for putting the police ethic, to serve and protect, above informing you what was happening. But with a possible crime-in-action and, in my view, a life at stake, I thought you would be big enough to park your ego and let me get on with my job.’
He could hear the barely restrained fury in Pewe’s voice. ‘Don’t push me, Roy.’
Push you? Grace thought, mindful of Guy Batchelor’s notebook sitting on the desk in his little office at home. I’ll push you. All the way over the cliff edge, like I should have done when I had the chance but instead I hung on to you to save your sodding life and risked mine doing it.
‘I’m not pushing you, sir, I’m merely trying to do my job. I appreciate that, under some circumstances, we would wait longer after someone was reported missing by their partner before elevating it to a misper enquiry. But in my judgement and after my risk assessment, we’re not looking for a misper.’
‘Really, Roy? So what are you looking for exactly?’ Pewe whined.
‘Proof of life – sir.’
25
Monday 2 September
There was a long silence. Finally it was broken by the ACC’s voice.
‘You’d better be right,’ Pewe retorted lamely.
Roy then ran through the lines of enquiry his team were following and gave Pewe an update. ‘So actually, sir, I hope I’m wrong,’ Grace said.
‘Meaning what exactly, Roy? You’re a homicide investigator through and through. Don’t pretend otherwise. I know you, and what you and all homicide investigators like more than anything is a good murder – what do you call it – a Gucci murder? You’re not hoping she’s alive at all, are you?’ he said snidely.
‘I am, for your reputation, sir. We need to keep the crime stats down, don’t we? To make you look good, right?’
‘I told you not to push me, Roy.’
‘Is that because you know just how far you might fall?’ Grace responded facetiously, killing the call with a broad smile.
Oh yes, he was enjoying this. He felt the way he did in the weekly Thursday-night poker games he used to attend whenever he could, with a bunch of police colleagues. The rare, incredibly exciting moments during those games when he held a pretty much invincible hand. A full house, Aces on Kings, four Aces or – something which had happened to him only once in all the years he had been playing – an unassailable Royal Flush. Ace, King, Queen, Jack, Ten of the same suit.
It was that Royal Flush he held now. And he was loving it.
As he re-entered the room, still smiling, his phone rang again. Certain it was Pewe, Grace rejected it and muted the phone.
He addressed the team. ‘We are finalizing the strategies for forensics, search and arrests, and establishing the key lines of enquiry which will be circulated. A crucial line of enquiry at this stage is the victimology. Speaking to Eden’s friends, work colleagues and family will be a critical part of this.’
He turned to Branson. ‘Glenn, we’ve heard Niall Paternoster’s account of dropping his wife off in the car park of Tesco Holmbush and her apparent vanishing. Despite all his supposed endeavours to contact her, as he told the officers who attended at his house this morning, and you and me subsequently, so far we have nothing to confirm that his missing wife is OK. He made a couple of comments, which I relayed to you, that gave me cause to believe all was not good between them.’
DS Exton raised a hand. ‘Boss, given the photograph’s analysis from Digital Forensics, do you think Eden Paternoster was even in the car at all yesterday afternoon?’
‘It’s a good question, Jon. My hypothesis at this point is no, his wife was never in the car. This is a cover story her husband’s made up and it all sounds very plausible – at least to him, in his mind. I think it is very possible Niall Paternoster murdered his wife sometime before Sunday afternoon. One urgent task for the Outside Enquiry Team will be contacting her employers again, Mutual Occidental in Croydon, for more information. Apparently, she has not been to work since Thursday of last week.’
He looked at Luke Stanstead. ‘Can you continue to develop the sequence of events and timeline and share it with the team?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Perhaps Paternoster hasn’t taken into account the CCTV coverage that the Tesco store has. There is clearly no evidence, from the footage or the staff interviews, that his wife was either in the car park or the store at the time he claims. All we know for certain, from the plotting of his phone, is that he drove to Parham House at the approximate times he told us, wandered around the grounds for three hours and then drove to the Tesco store before going home. There is nothing to support his assertion that his wife was with him during this time. And the evidence from Aiden Gilbert’s Digital Forensics Team indicates this. It’s my view that he is trying to mislead or misdirect us.’
There was a brief silence, broken after a short while by DC Hall. ‘The CCTV only covers limited areas, doesn’t it, boss?’
Grace nodded. ‘Yes, correct, Kevin.’
‘So she could have gone into the store without being detected?’
‘It’s possible but extremely unlikely. One of the photographs of the interior shows a camera in the aisle where the cat litter is kept.’ Grace turned and pointed at the specific photograph on the whiteboard. ‘If she’d gone in to buy cat litter, as he claims, she would have been picked up on CCTV in that aisle.’
Hall nodded.
Grace continued. ‘Another action I want is a check of the index of the Paternosters’ BMW with all ANPR cameras in Sussex, all speed and traffic light cameras, and with the Highways Authority cameras measuring traffic flow. We’ll see if there is any tally with a cell-site analysis of both of their phones.’ He made a brief note, then looked up again.
‘OK, everyone, from the evidence to date, I’m elevating Operation Lagoon from a missing person enquiry to a “no body” murder enquiry. My Policy Book will reflect my decision.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘DI Branson and I established earlier that Niall Paternoster drives a mate’s taxi mainly during unsociable hours – usually starting at midnight at weekends and 10 p.m. during the week. Let’s get that vehicle checked on the cameras, too. Velvet, team up with Polly.’ He turned to DS Potting and DS Exton. ‘Norman and Jon, I want you to go straight from this meeting and arrest Niall Paternoster on suspicion of murdering his wife. I will policy this decision and my reasons for making it, most important of which is the recovery of evidence that might be in the house. I don’t think we’ll require support from the Public Order Team – but if you meet resistance, we will deploy them. So I think we should have them standing by.’
Both officers nodded.
‘We’ll then see if we get anywhere interviewing him lawyered up.’ He turned to Gee. ‘Chris, I’d like you to attend as Crime Scene Manager.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I want you to draw up the forensic strategy. I need your team to look for any signs of bloodstains and cleaned-up blood. Have them look through all Niall Paternoster’s clothes.’ He turned and pointed at the photograph of him in Tesco yesterday. ‘Especially look for the clothing he was wearing yesterday, on the day he claimed she disappeared. Take anything you can find of hers – toothbrush, hairbrush, diary, the usual stuff – anything that might have her prints or DNA, for lab analysis. As we are treating the entire property as a crime scene, we all know the drill. It’s possible he might have killed Eden some days earlier, so organize a sidescan sonar search of anywhere that looks recently screeded, particularly the garden. Lorna, can you pick that up?’
‘Yes, boss,’ she said. ‘My POLSA colleague, Sergeant Barbara Onoufriou, can start work in the house, garden and any searches arising from our presence there.’
Grace turned back to Gee. ‘Chris, one thing in particular I want
you to look for is evidence of any missing bedding, in particular a duvet or duvet cover.’
Gee nodded, making another note.
‘Worried Mrs Paternoster might be out of her comfort zone, chief?’ Potting quipped.
It brought a few grins. Grace smiled at the DS. ‘Norman, I know you’ve tended to favour divorce in the past, but just supposing you decided to murder your wife, what would you have in your house that you’d utilize to carry her body out of your home and into your car, to take her to a deposition site?’
Potting thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know, boss – maybe a tarpaulin or a roll of spare carpet – or perhaps plastic sheeting?’
‘OK,’ Grace said. ‘Do you have any of those things in your home, Norman?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Exactly. What you do probably have is a duvet. Right?’
‘Yes,’ he replied hesitantly.
‘Duvet covers or curtains are the favoured items for a person who murders their partner to wrap the body in. They don’t like to see their dead lover’s face looking at them.’
Kevin Hall chipped in. ‘You’ve got to remember, boss, Norman’s a farmer’s son – he’s used to sleeping on straw.’
Grace grinned, then said, ‘Chris, look at the beds for any missing duvets, and the closets and airing cupboard for anything like a pillowslip with no duvet cover – they tend to come in sets. And check the curtains.’
Gee nodded.
‘Jack, can you contact the duty Inspector to set in motion a rota of scene guards?’
‘I have that on my list,’ replied Alexander, who was noting down all the actions.
‘Good stuff.’ Grace went on, turning back to Gee. ‘I noticed when DI Branson and I interviewed Paternoster that he was wearing an Apple Watch and a Fitbit. Arrange for those to be taken off him and sent to Digital Forensics when he’s booked in to the custody block.’
‘Absolutely, sir.’
Turning to DC Soper, he said, ‘As I requested, Louise, seize the BMW and have Collision Investigations examine its satnav and computer, and collate that with what the ANPRs show – they should reveal where it has been during the past two weeks. We may be looking for possible deposition sites for Eden’s body.’
‘Will do, boss.’
He turned to Emily Denyer. ‘I need you to find out everything about the couple’s finances. Any insurance policies on her life, anything that might indicate her husband having something to gain from her death.’
Then he briefed his Outside Enquiry Teams. ‘Go and talk to all the Paternosters’ immediate neighbours. See what they know about the couple – and, crucially, when any of them might have seen Eden. Maybe some of them had security cameras outside their houses. We need to establish the last confirmed sighting of her. We also need to check the CCTV in and around the stores at the Holmbush Centre. With the new information we have received regarding their phones, I want checks to be made at Parham House for both last Saturday and yesterday to see if there is any record of the Paternosters being there on either or both days. They are closed now but it needs to be done first thing in the morning.’
They all nodded.
He then dealt with the intelligence requirement, including database checks, family history and social networking activity, and asked DS Stratford to draw up the strategy, before turning to DS Alexander.
‘Jack, also get the team, when checking Parham House for both weekends, to look for any evidence they may have such as CCTV, ticket registration, visitor books, credit card receipts – see what that throws up.’
He finally addressed Stanstead again. ‘Luke, collate what the Intelligence Cell finds on both Niall Paternoster and Eden – any past criminal activity by either of them and as much background as you can get.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Grace made some notes, then looked up. ‘Any questions?’
Norman Potting raised a hand. ‘Chief, one thing we haven’t covered is the possibility of Eden Paternoster having an affair.’
‘Good point, Norman,’ Grace said. And nearly added, Especially coming from a man with your track record. ‘If that is the case, hopefully we’ll learn something from the interviews with her family and friends from our Outside Enquiry Teams.’ He looked around. ‘Any more questions?’
There were none.
‘OK, I will attend for the arrest. We’ll all meet back here at 8.30 a.m. tomorrow for reports on initial findings. Good luck, everyone.’
As the team filed out, several of them making space for Luke Stanstead to propel his wheelchair, Grace made further entries in his Policy Book. Then he checked his phone. There was a text from Cassian Pewe.
My office. 9 a.m. tomorrow.
He hesitated before replying. Just a small – tiny – victory that he knew would piss the ACC off even more.
No can do. Have to drop my son at school then have a briefing, after which I need to watch interview of murder suspect of Eden Paternoster. Might be able to make later.
To Grace’s slight disappointment, Cassian Pewe didn’t rise to the bait. Almost instantly, the ACC texted back a lame,
Understood. Let me know when you are free.
He didn’t bother to reply, turning his focus to the evening ahead. An arrest and a raid. He hated to admit Pewe was right in what he had said about homicide investigators liking nothing more than a Gucci murder case. This sure felt like one, and he was on fire.
26
Monday 2 September
Nevill Road had a suburban feel about it, Roy Grace always thought, slightly marred by it being a main thoroughfare in and out of the city. There were a few blocks of low-rise flats and a large school, but most of the houses were attractive, red-brick semis. The kind of affluent, middle-class neighbourhood where it was hard to believe anything bad could happen.
On this fine, late-summer evening, there was the smell of back-garden barbecues in the air. The tantalizing aroma came through the car’s open windows. They were parked several houses back from the Paternosters’ and Grace thought ruefully that he would have loved to be home right now, firing up their barbecue and enjoying an outdoors meal with Cleo and the family.
Glenn Branson gave an exaggerated sniff and nodded approvingly. ‘It’s making me hungry, boss,’ he said.
‘Everything makes you hungry!’ Grace grinned.
‘Yeah, well, I’m a growing lad!’ he said.
Grace reached across and patted the DI’s belly. ‘You sure are.’
‘Yeah, yeah. It’s actually my six-pack. You’re lucky to share your life with someone who cares about nutrition.’
‘Cleo’s actually made me care about it more, too, but I admit I still love the occasional steak even though we eat mostly veggie or fish.’
‘And bangers? And lamb chops?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘You need to be careful with fish – all that mercury.’
‘Seems to me it doesn’t matter what you eat, vegan, vegetarian, pescatarian or carnivore, you’re going to ingest chemicals that are crap for you,’ Grace said.
‘I wouldn’t worry about it, you’re long gone.’
‘Thanks, buddy.’
They watched in their mirrors as a white van pulled up behind them. On their radio they heard the voice of Inspector Julia Ford. ‘Public Order Team in situ, sir.’
‘Roger that, Public Order Team,’ Grace responded.
The heavies, in their body armour and visors, looking like Stormtroopers, were now here and ready if Niall Paternoster put up any resistance. But Grace doubted he would.
The rest of his team was in place in unmarked vehicles, parked up ahead of them, a short distance beyond the Paternosters’ house.
Adrenaline coursed through him. Raids like this were a big high. This was one of the reasons he’d never gone for further promotion – and he was already at a higher grade than an officer attending an operation like this should strictly be. But he didn’t care. The chance to seize a villain red-handed was the ultima
te buzz for him – and always would be.
He radioed Barbara Onoufriou, confirming that she was ready with her Search Team the moment Potting and Exton came out with Niall Paternoster. And confirmed with Chris Gee that he was ready to take command of the property as Crime Scene Manager.
Next he called up Potting on his radio. ‘Ready, Norman?’
‘Roger that, boss! Yes, yes.’
‘Good! Go, go, go!’
A few cars ahead, he saw the tall, lean, suited figure of Jon Exton emerge from the passenger door and stand on the pavement. He was joined moments later by the robust frame of Norman Potting. He watched as they conferred briefly, then walked down the pavement and stopped for a moment outside the front of the Paternosters’ house before striding up the steps to the front door. Potting pressed what looked like the doorbell and followed with a rap on the door.
Grace held his radio up in front of his face, his heart in his mouth. This was always the moment where something could go horribly wrong, such as the occupant opening the door with a gun in his hand. But he didn’t think so, not right now – they’d given Niall Paternoster no reason to expect what was about to happen.
He held his breath.
The door was opening.
27
Monday 2 September
‘If you’re trying to sell me something, I’m not interested. OK?’
Norman Potting stared back calmly at the angry man with untidy hair standing in the doorway, dressed in a crumpled T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. ‘Must be your lucky night, sir,’ he said. ‘We’re not.’ He held up his warrant card. ‘Detective Sergeant Potting and Detective Sergeant Exton from the Surrey and Sussex Major Crime Team.’
Niall Paternoster’s demeanour changed instantly. Anxiously, he blurted, ‘Have you any news of my wife? Eden? Has she turned up somewhere? Has she been found?’
‘Afraid not. Can we step into the house and have a word with you, sir?’ Potting replied.
