Left You Dead

by James, Peter

  Sitting up with a start, he said, ‘What?’ He looked at the bedside clock for confirmation: 12.07 p.m. ‘Shit!’

  He’d planned to be in the office by 9 a.m., although he’d told his team members from last night to come in late.

  ‘Your buddy, Cassian Pewe, rang you a couple of hours ago. He sounded sweet as pie. Asked if you could call him back whenever it suited you.’

  ‘Ten years would suit me,’ he retorted. ‘That do? Although that would be too soon.’

  ‘So, he’s still not been arrested?’ She looked worried.

  Grace shook his head. ‘It’s taking longer than I thought – they’d normally jump on something like this as an absolute priority.’ He reflected for a moment. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have listened to Guy Batchelor. Perhaps evidence from a jailbird doesn’t cut the mustard so far as Professional Standards are concerned. In which case I’m going to be the fall guy here. And if that happens, my future in Sussex is toast. Anywhere else in England you fancy living?’

  She frowned. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘If Pewe remains here and gets to find out, which he will, that I’d presented evidence against him, then I don’t have a future with Sussex Police – not for as long as he’s here.’

  ‘You’ve always got the Met as an option.’ Cleo sat on the side of the bed. ‘Let’s get the funeral behind us and then worry about it, shall we? We’re not going to let that creep affect our lives. You said Alison Vosper would have you back in the Met like a shot. So even if you had to commute to London, we could still live here, couldn’t we?’

  ‘You’re right. Let’s deal with the funeral. Put everything else on hold until then.’

  She kissed him on the forehead. ‘Tell me about last night, what happened?’

  He hesitated. ‘I’ve got to go into work today.’

  ‘You’re not a machine, darling. Can’t you take the day off? It’s glorious out there. Let Glenn handle it today?’

  ‘There’s a slight problem with that.’

  ‘Oh?’

  He reflected for a moment on all he needed to do. ‘OK, I’ll leave it till later. Let me go for a run, then have a shower and a strong coffee, then I’ll tell you over brunch. Want me to make it? Poached eggs on crushed avocado on bagels?’

  She grinned. ‘Take it away, mon brave!’

  As she left the room, he reached for his phone, his arm painful, every bit of it aching. He dialled Branson’s personal phone. It rang twice, three times. Was he still in hospital?

  Then, to his relief, the DS answered.

  ‘I’m still alive, boss,’ he said. ‘Wow, you are one strong son-of-a-bitch.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a thank you.’

  ‘You’ll get a proper thank you when I see you. Meantime, don’t make me laugh, it hurts.’

  ‘I’ve been there, had busted ribs. I won’t make you laugh, I promise.’

  ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  ‘I promise!’ Grace grinned.

  ‘I called in and I had an update from Norman,’ Branson said. ‘Niall Paternoster’s dead, Rebecca Watkins has several broken bones and extensive bruising but she’ll survive. I’m sure we’ll finally get to the bottom of what’s been going on. Trust me, I’m a detective.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  He heard a loud cry of pain. Then, ‘Don’t make me laugh!’

  ‘Apologies,’ Grace said.

  ‘You might try to sound more sincere.’

  ‘Well, you might try to sound a little more grateful that I saved your life. How about losing some weight, so you’re a bit lighter next time I have to hang on to you over a cliff?’

  ‘Is that why you called me, to cover yourself in heroic glory?’

  ‘I should have bloody let you go!’

  There was a long silence. Then Branson said, ‘I love you, mate.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I quite like you, too.’

  Grace lay back against the pillows after he’d ended the call. He was now feeling fully alert. He called the Incident Room and asked to be put through to Jack Alexander.

  A few moments later he heard his voice. ‘Sir? How are you?’

  ‘Apart from my arms feeling like they’ve been pulled out of their sockets, I’m OK.’ And all set to face a shitstorm from the IOPC, he thought glumly. ‘As a priority I want you to speak to the ANPR team in the Control Room. I need to know more about the movements of Rebecca Watkins’s Range Rover, index Golf November Seven Zero Charlie Papa November, over the past two weeks. The vehicle was abandoned at the scene last night – or rather, this morning. I’ve a feeling that, also, if its satnav locations over the past couple of weeks are interrogated, it may provide useful information.’

  ‘I’ll be right on it, sir.’

  ‘I also need to know the movements of a Nissan Micra, index Bravo Delta Five One Sierra Mike Romeo over this same period, please.’

  ‘I’ll get straight on that too, sir.’

  ‘Top priority.’

  ‘Top priority.’

  ‘And, Jack, set up a team briefing meeting for 5 p.m. – I’ll be in before then.’

  ‘I will, sir.’

  112

  Friday 13 September

  Roy Grace, in shorts and a T-shirt, loped up the hill, accompanied by a delighted Humphrey. The Galen myotherapist who Humphrey had been seeing had warned him and Cleo that, with potential arthritis, any long run might be painful for the dog, but Grace was only going a short way and Humphrey seemed in his element.

  It was a bright day, with a clear sky, warm sun and a light breeze. He ran a little way along the top of the Downs and then back down, and as he reached the gate to their garden Humphrey gave him a look as if to say, Is that it?

  An hour later, showered, dressed and brunched, with the papers spread out between them, Roy and Cleo lounged back on the swing sofa in the garden, while Humphrey snored at their feet and the hens pootled all around.

  Finally, reluctantly, he picked up his phone and called Cassian Pewe.

  The ACC answered, all charm. ‘Roy, so good of you to call me back. I trust this is not inconvenient?’

  Swinging the seat back with his feet, Grace replied, ‘Not at all, sir.’

  ‘Good. So, last night you were back at our favourite haunt, eh?’

  Grace thought for some moments before responding. Then decided to put Pewe on the defensive. ‘Good old Beachy Head, where I saved your life?’

  He relished the hesitation in the man’s voice.

  ‘Exactly,’ he said finally. Another hesitation. ‘But, if I understand correctly, you did not obey my instructions, did you?’

  ‘You sanctioned the surveillance, sir.’

  ‘But you accept responsibility, correct?’

  ‘Correct, sir.’

  ‘Correct, Roy. A very good choice of words. Correct me if I’m wrong, but did your actions not result in the death of one person, the serious and possibly life-changing injuries to another and very nearly the loss of a member of your team?’

  ‘All completely correct, sir,’ Grace responded, unable to hold back the insolence in his voice. ‘But are you ignoring the fact that the first duty of a police officer is to protect and save lives, not solve crime?’

  ‘And you seriously think that’s what you were doing at Beachy Head last night?’

  ‘I do, yes, sir.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see what the IOPC have to say about that and whether they agree, which I very much doubt. I want you in my office at 9 a.m., sharp, Monday morning. I am seriously considering suspending you from your duties, pending investigation. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Enjoy your weekend, sir,’ Grace replied.

  113

  Friday 13 September

  Roy Grace was surprised – although not that surprised, knowing his friend’s resilience – to see Glenn Branson, his eyes red and his face lacerated, with three sticking plasters across his cheeks and forehead, entering the conference room for the 5 p.m. briefing.

  But he was even more s
urprised to be given an enthusiastic round of applause by the entire assembled group.

  Blushing and grinning, he took a seat, putting his briefing notes and Policy Book on the table and raising his arms in a gesture of thanks.

  ‘You are all looking at a hero!’ Glenn Branson said. ‘He saved my life last night – even if the bugger did trash my suit in the process!’

  ‘I’m sure we can get you a new one out of police funds,’ Grace replied with a smile and a wink.

  ‘Not when they find out it came from Gresham Blake. Proper expensive.’

  ‘Are you going to keep whinging?’ Grace asked mischievously.

  ‘Nah, I’ll get over it.’

  DS Alexander raised a hand. ‘Sir, we have a major update.’

  ‘Yes?’ Grace asked.

  ‘I’ve just heard from the interviewing officers and Eden is, surprisingly, cooperating fully with them and telling the whole story.’

  ‘Nice work,’ Grace said, relieved that at least one of Cassian Pewe’s gripes was now nixed.

  Grace turned to the Crime Scene Manager. ‘Chris, as Eden Paternoster is under arrest, I’d like you and Lorna to take Search and Forensics Teams to Woodbury Cottage, Chiddingly, and see what you can find.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Gee said.

  Emma-Jane Boutwood raised a hand. ‘Sir, there is one other small thing that’s come up.’

  ‘Which is, EJ?’

  ‘The Paternosters’ Burmese cat, Reggie,’ she said.

  There were a few smiles.

  ‘Has that changed its name, too, EJ?’ Grace asked facetiously. ‘And its hairstyle?’

  Several members of the team laughed.

  The DC smiled. ‘No, sir. But since Niall Paternoster was arrested, their next-door neighbour has been looking after it, popping in every day to feed it – she has a key. But she phoned earlier this afternoon concerned, because she’s off to Cornwall on Monday to stay with her daughter and her family for the next month. So we need someone to take care of it – unless Eden is going to get police bail and return to the house, perhaps?’

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ Grace said. ‘With the charges she’s facing, and her behaviour to date, she’s a flight risk. I think she’s going to be remanded in custody.’

  ‘In which case,’ EJ asked, ‘how are we going to look after the cat – another neighbour, perhaps? It’s quite a docile creature. If not, we’ll get it taken to a sanctuary – Raystede or somewhere like that.’

  Grace knew that Cleo would jump at the chance of having a cat, she had been talking seriously about getting one only recently when she’d seen rodent droppings in their utility room – and mentioned that a bag of Humphrey’s biscuits had been gnawed open. ‘I might be able to help out, EJ,’ he said. ‘I know it’s not correct procedure, but I’ll speak to my wife and get back to you. I just need to ask her how she thinks our dog would get on with a cat.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  114

  Monday 16 September

  Cleo was thrilled about the idea of fostering the cat, even if it only turned out to be for a short while. She told Roy that Humphrey seemed to get on really well with cats – he’d loved playing with both her sister’s cat and her parents’ two tabby cats. And maybe this one would sort out the mouse problems she was increasingly certain they had.

  Over the weekend, Grace had gone into the office several times, to arrange the interview strategy for Eden Paternoster and observe the interviews with Glenn Branson. He’d also briefed Norman Potting to arrange with the Magistrates’ Court a request for a warrant for further detention, which had been successful.

  EJ had checked there was a cat carrier basket in the Paternosters’ house, and Grace planned to pick Reggie up on the way home. As he drove into the Police HQ just before 8.30 a.m., he reckoned he might be going home in less than an hour’s time if ACC Pewe carried out his threat to suspend him when they met this morning.

  He parked behind the Major Crime building, then went into his office to check his email for any updates and, out of force of habit, the overnight serials – all the logged crime reports in the county.

  Then at 8.50 a.m., wondering what awaited him, but surprised how relaxed he felt about what could be a career-changing meeting in ten minutes’ time, he stepped back out into glorious warm sunshine. As he did so, his private phone pinged. It was a text from Cleo.

  Thinking of you XXX

  He texted three hearts back, then headed down the hill towards the rear entrance of Malling House, which housed the Sussex Police brass and their key support staff.

  As he approached, he was puzzled by the sight of two unfamiliar vehicles, dark-coloured Audi A6s, parked up outside the building. He clocked their licence plates, but neither were familiar, and he knew from memory the indexes of pretty much all of the local unmarked cars.

  He walked past them and was about to enter the door when a burly man in a grey suit came through it. He was followed by Cassian Pewe, his face chalky white, then another tall man in a blue suit bringing up the rear.

  ‘Good morning, sir!’ Grace said to Pewe breezily. ‘I’m here for our—’

  The ACC walked past stonily, without acknowledging him.

  An instant later, the man in the grey suit opened the rear door of one of the Audis. As Pewe entered the side behind the passenger seat, the burly man pushed the ACC’s head down protectively. Then he closed the door. Blue Suit opened the door on the far side, slid in behind the driver’s seat and pulled the door shut.

  Grey Suit then climbed into the driver’s seat. The car glided away, down towards the main entrance barrier, which rose as it approached. Then it was gone.

  Grace hesitated, uncertain what to do. Was this it? Clearly, Pewe had been arrested, he thought to his immense relief. Hadn’t he? It certainly looked like it.

  He wondered if the crew of the second Audi were searching his office.

  He turned and headed back towards the Major Crime building, unsure whether to be elated or worried. Then his phone rang.

  It was Alison Vosper.

  ‘Roy? How are you?’

  ‘Well, ma’am, I’m not entirely sure.’

  ‘I just wanted to let you know, before you heard it from anyone else, that we are arresting ACC Pewe – the evidence you gave us checked out. He has been suspended with immediate effect.’

  For a few seconds, Grace was speechless. ‘Thank you for telling me, ma’am.’

  ‘I know this may not change anything, Roy – other than perhaps doing myself no favours. But my offer to you of a job in the Met remains open.’

  ‘I appreciate that, ma’am. I really do.’

  ‘One day, perhaps? Call me any time, you know where to reach me.’

  ‘I really appreciate your faith in me.’

  ‘Until then, stay safe.’

  ‘And you, ma’am.’

  Moments after he ended the call, his phone rang again. It was Cleo. He answered and she sounded surprised.

  ‘Sorry, darling,’ she said. ‘I was just going to leave a message. Have you had your meeting with Pewe?’

  ‘No, he’s otherwise engaged.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning he’s just been driven off in the back of a car, under arrest.’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘Yessss!’

  ‘Oh my God! You’ve done it!’

  ‘Here’s hoping.’

  ‘You have, you’ve done it!!!’

  ‘With luck!’

  ‘I was just calling to say that when you collect Reggie – or before – could you swing by Tesco Lewes and pick up some cat litter?’

  ‘Yes, sure. Shall I get some cat food as well and some treats?’

  ‘Treats for you or Reggie?’

  ‘Haha!’

  ‘Just don’t vanish, eh?’

  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.

  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.

  PM – Postmortem.

  POLSA – Police Search Adviser.

  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

  Writing during a pandemic has not been without its challenges, but there have been positives as well: fewer distractions and travel, and being able to spend more time with our ever-expanding menagerie.

  As ever I owe thanks to so many people in so many fields, especially Sussex Police, the medical world and, for this book, the world of the car salesman! I always find it heartening that so many people are willing to take the time to share their knowledge, and even industry secrets and tricks of the trade in some cases, to help me get my novels to feel as authentic as possible.

  My most heartfelt thanks start with Sussex Police. To Police and Crime Commissioner Katy Bourne OBE, Chief Constable Jo Shiner, and to so many officers and support staff actively serving under them, as well as retirees from Sussex and other forces. I’ve listed them in alphabetical order and beg forgiveness for any omissions.