Left You Dead

by James, Peter

  ‘I hope you have some positive news about Bruno – we’re all thinking of you.’

  As Grace ended the call, a tear from one eye trickled down his cheek. Then his phone rang.

  It was Cassian Pewe.

  ‘Roy?’ His voice was all charm and sympathy. But there was something else underlying his tone that unsettled Grace. ‘I’ve just heard the terrible news about Bruno. God, I’m so sorry. Please take whatever time out you need. There are moments in life when family has to come first. I’ll speak to your team and tell them to give you whatever space you need.’

  ‘Very good of you, sir.’

  ‘Keep me updated on Bruno’s progress, will you?’

  ‘Yes, sir, thank you, of course. I’m on my way to see him now.’

  ‘We’re all praying for you – for him.’

  Cleo was already standing outside the front door, head bowed against the drizzle. Trundle jumped out and held the rear door open for her. She climbed in, her face white, gripped Grace’s hand and hugged him tightly. ‘Darling, this is so dreadful, any news?’

  He shook his head, then they both sat in silence as the car headed out through the mortuary gates.

  ‘Bruno is young,’ she said. ‘Kids are more supple than adults, they have a far higher chance of surviving impacts.’

  But he was barely listening to her. He was thinking about something Pip Edwards had told him on the way here, that a witness had told the police at the scene that she’d seen the boy on his phone at the side of the road moments before the collision.

  He was trying to think back to the last conversation he’d had with Bruno, in his car just a few hours ago, before he’d dropped him at school.

  Education’s a joke, don’t you think? I can learn more from Google than any teacher can tell me.

  Is there any point in dreaming anything? Look at my mother. The teachers aren’t worth it. But is anything in life worth it?

  Some while later, after Grace had dropped his son off and seen him enter the gates, Bruno had left school during break time and stepped out into the road in the path of a car.

  So many bad memories returned. Sandy, Bruno’s mother, had died after being hit by a taxi in Munich.

  Surely this couldn’t be happening again?

  Bruno had to survive this, he had to.

  He was still deep in troubled thought when they arrived at the Emergency Department entrance to the hospital, pulling up beside a row of ambulances.

  42

  Tuesday 3 September

  A staff nurse with a yellow plastic tag reading Hello my name is Nadine, who had been waiting for Roy and Cleo, escorted them through the normal mayhem of the Emergency Department receiving area. Roy felt in a daze being here as he numbly followed, past the hectic reception counter, screened-off beds, patients on trolleys in the corridor waiting to be processed, and into the quiet, bland calm of a Relatives’ Room, spritzing their hands at a sanitizer dispenser before entering.

  The nurse gave them a form for Bruno’s medical history and a consent form, told them the A&E consultant would be along to see them in a short while and offered to get them drinks. Grace gratefully asked for a strong black coffee and Cleo a glass of water.

  As she left, they sat down in front of a coffee table sprinkled with a bunch of magazines and children’s books. Cleo read the consent form while Roy read through the medical history form, feeling utterly helpless. Bruno had been with them for such a short time, during which his health had been fine, apart from a cold in February, and he knew very little about his son’s previous medical history. All Sandy had said in her suicide note that she had written him was that she was worried about him. But no more.

  Had he had appendicitis? Tonsillitis? Any operations? He had no idea at all. He looked up at a row of information posters on the walls, but took none of them in. Memories of the surreal time he’d visited Sandy in hospital in Munich, when she was in a coma, were flooding back. Bruno surely couldn’t go in a similar way to his mother.

  This nightmare was unfolding before his eyes. He felt bleak and close to tears. That poor, troubled little boy. Sure, he was strange, but wouldn’t any child be, after his upbringing with his erratic mother? Roy had really hoped that giving him a stable, loving family life would eventually change him. And it would, dammit. Bruno was going to survive this and if – no, when – he came out of hospital they would make even more of an effort with him, do whatever it took. Maybe, he wondered silently, he should quit his job and properly be around for him?

  The door opened, interrupting his thoughts, and the nurse came back in with their drinks. She set the coffee down in front of him and said apologetically, ‘I’m afraid it’s from a machine – I added an extra shot of espresso to try to make it stronger.’

  He thanked her, signed the consent form and explained about his lack of knowledge of Bruno’s medical history. She was sympathetic and told them not to worry. Just as she departed with the forms, a stocky, balding man in his early fifties, dressed in green scrubs, came in. He had a kindly face and a professional aura that instantly inspired confidence.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Grace?’ he asked with a trace of a Brummy accent.

  ‘Yes,’ Roy Grace replied. He recognized the man, they’d met before on a couple of occasions: once when his officer EJ Boutwood had been crushed by a van and badly injured, and the other time when the American hitman, Tooth, had been brought in here after being hit at high speed by a bicycle. Adrian Burton, Senior Intensive Care Consultant. ‘Good to see you again,’ Grace said.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. I just wanted to let you know that your son is in the hands of four consultants here: a paediatrician, an intensive care specialist, an A&E consultant and an orthopaedic consultant. We’ve got Neurosurgery and Radiology waiting to review him.’

  ‘How is Bruno? What can you tell us about him, so far?’ Grace asked.

  Burton wrung his hands together absently, which Grace, from all his knowledge of body language, did not interpret as a good sign. ‘Well, at the moment he is being assessed by the radiologist, who is carrying out a trauma CT. Your lad has head injuries and a possible fractured skull, but we don’t know enough at this stage. We need to see the extent of his internal injuries before I can give you a real indication of his condition.’

  ‘Can we go and see him?’ Cleo asked.

  ‘Not just at the moment. I’ll let you know as soon as you can, and I’ll take you to him.’

  ‘Dr – Mr Burton,’ Cleo said. ‘Please be honest with us. Is Bruno going to survive?’

  There was an uncomfortable moment in which the assurance seemed to drain from the consultant’s demeanour. ‘Ordinarily I would do my best to give a positive prognosis. But I know from your lines of work you are both strong people, so I’m not going to dress this up – I assume that’s what you want from me? Honesty?’

  ‘It is,’ Grace said.

  Cleo nodded in agreement.

  ‘OK. Bruno’s been admitted with a very weak pulse. Our initial assessment is that he has massive internal bleeding – probably from a ruptured spleen, which can be dealt with if that’s the case. More of a concern is the potential brain damage, along with other internal damage, and we won’t know that until the CT scan is done. But what I will say, to give you something positive, is that youngsters like Bruno are able to absorb remarkably high levels of impact, compared to adults.’

  ‘As I keep hearing,’ Grace said, more harshly than he intended.

  His reassuring smile returning, Adrian Burton said, ‘I’ll be back with an update as soon as I have it but it’s likely to be at least an hour or so. Meanwhile, please do be assured your son is in the very best hands. We’re fortunate in having all our senior consultants on duty today.’

  43

  Tuesday 3 September

  For the next twenty minutes, Roy paced up and down the room like a caged, distressed animal, barely saying a word, consumed by his own thoughts.

  His phone rang. He was
about to silence it when Cleo said, ‘Take it, darling.’

  After a moment’s hesitation, he answered.

  It was Glenn Branson. ‘What news, boss?’

  ‘Nothing so far, just waiting. I’ll let you know when we find out anything.’

  ‘We’re all here for you. As I said, don’t worry about anything at work, we’re taking care of it.’

  ‘Thanks, mate.’ He fought hard to hold back tears. ‘What’s happening at the coalface?’ He glanced at his watch. It was just gone 1 p.m.

  Cleo remained seated, staring into space. She was finding it impossible to concentrate on anything.

  ‘Norman and Jon have headed back over to the custody centre, and Paternoster’s solicitor is on his way, too. We’ll see his reaction to the cat litter surprise – not.’

  ‘Yes. You’ll call me?’

  ‘If you want? Are you sure?’

  ‘I am,’ he said emphatically.

  ‘There’s another development – look, I don’t want to be bothering you at this time, boss.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell you when to leave me alone. I’m sure Bruno will be just fine, he’s in the best hands.’ He caught Cleo’s eye and she nodded encouragement back.

  ‘Louise Soper spoke to the Collision Investigation Unit at Shoreham and they suggested it would be best if she took the Paternosters’ car, along with someone from Digital Forensics, over to the main BMW dealership, where they have all the diagnostic kit to interrogate the onboard satnav. She’s now done this and reported back. There’s something very interesting and possibly significant. Several things actually.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Well, the first is the timing of that photograph of Eden Paternoster in front of the lake at Parham House. Her husband claimed it had been taken this past Sunday afternoon, the first of September. But Aiden Gilbert has already established from the digital date stamp that he was lying, and it was actually taken over a week earlier, at 1.50 on Saturday August twenty-fourth. You know that already, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, EJ, who has been working with me, now has corroboration from the diagnostics team at Chandlers. The BMW’s satnav log, which records all journeys whether it is activated or not, shows it travelled to Parham House that afternoon, and was there, stationary, during the exact time this photograph was taken. This is further corroborated by Aiden Gilbert’s analysis of Niall Paternoster’s phone. The plot of its movements matches exactly that of the BMW. As does the plot of Eden Paternoster’s phone. Which indicates that the couple actually drove there together, in this vehicle, eight days before he maintains he took the photo of her. And this is doubly confirmed by Louise’s interrogation of the ANPR cameras. These corroborate all the BMW’s movements, with further evidence from two Highways Authority traffic-flow cameras. The examination also confirms the journey to Parham House from Niall’s account of what happened this past Sunday.’

  Grace thought for a moment about the ramifications of this. Was Paternoster thinking his lie about the photograph date wouldn’t be found out?

  Branson continued, ‘We’ve heard back from our enquiries at Parham House and there’s no CCTV or records to confirm either Niall or Eden were there on either weekend. And there’s more. This is where it gets even more significant.’

  Grace took a sip of the coffee. It was hot and very slightly fizzed the tip of his tongue.

  ‘The Outside Enquiry Team spoke to the Paternosters’ immediate neighbour, to the north of their house. An elderly, retired woman who they described as something of a busybody – but with all her marbles. She said that around 6.30 p.m. last Thursday, August twenty-ninth, she was out weeding her lawn and could smell – and hear – the Paternosters were having a barbecue in their back garden. Some while later, she can’t remember exactly when, she heard them having a terrible row. She said that wasn’t unusual, she’d often hear them arguing about something or other, but she said this one was particularly bad. They were screaming at each other and at some point it sounded like one of them had hit the other. She’d been so worried that she’d seriously contemplated calling the police, but she didn’t want the Paternosters to think of her as the nosy, interfering neighbour, so she’d left it and went indoors – there was something she wanted to catch on television.’

  ‘Did she hear anything more?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Not of the row, no. But what she did hear, she said, because she’s a light sleeper, was the Paternosters’ car starting up at 2.10 a.m. She was precise about the time, she said, because it woke her and she looked at her alarm clock. She heard it drive off. She was surprised because it was unusual, although she hadn’t thought too much of it, as she knew from her occasional chats over the garden fence with the Paternosters that Niall often worked night shifts driving a taxi.’

  He paused before continuing, sounding increasingly excited. ‘Now get this. The plot of the BMW’s satnav and of Niall Paternoster’s phone indicate he departed from their Nevill Road home at 2.11 a.m. and headed north-east towards Ashdown Forest – also confirmed by two ANPR cameras. He arrived at a location we’ve identified as a car park on the edge of dense woodlands at 2.48 a.m. and remained static in that vicinity for just over an hour. From there he travelled to Shoreham Harbour, arriving at 4.35 a.m., heading to a point that we’ve identified as the east mole of the harbour breakwater. Niall Paternoster’s phone was then shown as leaving the BMW and heading down to the end of that mole, returning to the BMW minutes later.’

  ‘Taking in the early morning sea air?’ Grace ventured.

  Cleo looked up at him, puzzled, then got up, walked around the room and sat back down again.

  ‘A normal thing to do in the middle of the night, wouldn’t you say, boss?’

  ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ Grace replied flippantly.

  ‘The BMW and Niall Paternoster’s phone returned to the locale of the Paternoster home at 5.02 a.m.’

  Grace thought this information through carefully before replying again. ‘The couple had a row. It ended with what the neighbour thought might be a blow. Then in the middle of the night Niall Paternoster drives to a forest. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

  ‘Deposition site?’

  ‘Unless he has a particular interest in forest wildlife,’ Grace replied. ‘Then he drives to the harbour. A second deposition site?’ He frowned. ‘I’m trying to make sense of the timeline here. The previous Saturday they drive to Parham House and take photographs. The following Thursday they have a row, which a neighbour hears, and suppose he kills her. Did he dismember her, which might account for the blood at the house? He then drives out into the forest and buries part of her body. The rest he dumps out to sea at the end of the harbour, where there are strong currents. Four days later he reports her missing, giving the explanation that she went into a Tesco store to buy cat litter and vanished off the face of the earth. Am I missing anything?’

  ‘I think we’re on the same bus,’ Branson replied.

  ‘We need an underwater search team to check out the area around the harbour mouth. But it’s strongly tidal.’

  ‘It was an ebb tide at that time, boss, which means that anything he dumped in the sea would be carried some way out.’

  Grace was pensive for some moments. ‘Ashdown Forest?’ He knew, from experience, that some parts of Sussex were more conducive to burying a body, or body parts, than others. Much of the county was on chalk, which made digging a grave deep enough to conceal a body a challenging task, even more so during the summer months when the soil was dry and hard.

  Thirty miles south of London, located in the north of Sussex, Ashdown Forest had originally been created as a medieval hunting forest soon after the Norman Conquest. More recently it was the home of Winnie-the-Pooh. And with its sandy soil, it was a very easy place to dig a grave.

  Few domestic murders were ever planned meticulously in advance and from what he had seen of Niall himself, a man with a clearly volatile temper, and from what the neighbour had r
eported, this had all the hallmarks of a classic and tragic argument gone too far. If he had murdered his wife, Ashdown Forest would have been geographically perfect for Niall Paternoster. The internal police statistics on deposition sites showed that normally killers would drive their victim’s bodies a maximum of thirty miles from the crime scene, wanting as short a journey as possible for fear of either being stopped and searched or having a crash.

  Ashdown Forest, with its mix of open heathland and dense woods, spread over a wide area, made it tricky to search, and Grace wanted this done quickly. With the current warm weather, a body would decompose rapidly, making the task of forensic examination increasingly hard. There was also the risk, in woodlands, of foraging animals carrying off body parts for food and clothing items for nests and lairs. If the killer was fortunate, a body in a shallow woodland grave could be completely gone in just a few weeks. And if the body was already dismembered, which is what this sounded like, that could happen much faster – in just days.

  Grace went through a mental checklist, rattling off items to Branson. ‘After the POLSA has made the assessment, get the team to search the immediate area of the forest car park. Get the handlers to bring cadaver dogs. At the same time, put a drone up to do a wider sweep.’

  Human bodies were heavy to carry, so if Eden had been buried intact, her body was likely to be close to the car park. But if it was only body parts he was carrying, Niall could have ventured much further away. ‘Deploy the volunteer search team – see if you can get them out today. And one other thing: we may well need the help of the pollen lady, depending on what’s found in the forest. If it’s what we expect, pollen evidence on the foot pedals of his car and on his shoes might help put him at the scene.’

  ‘All noted, boss. I don’t think your good buddy, the ACC, will be happy sanctioning the cost of the dive team and all this as well.’

  Ever since Sussex Police’s own dive team, the Specialist Search Unit, had been dismantled, they now used the services of a private firm. They were highly effective but didn’t come cheaply.