Dead Man's Grip

by Peter James

  ‘It was,’ Bella Moy said.

  ‘So – so why would they be murdered?’ A vortex of fear was swirling inside her.

  ‘We don’t know, Mrs Chase,’ Glenn Branson replied. ‘This could just be an extraordinary coincidence. But the police have a duty of care. The inquiry team have made a threat assessment and we believe your life may be in danger.’

  This could not be happening, Carly thought. This was a sick joke. There was going to be a punchline. There was some kind of subtle entrapment going on. Her lawyer’s mind was kicking in. They’d come in order to scare her into some kind of confession about the accident.

  Then Glenn Branson said, ‘Mrs Chase, there is a range of things we can do to try to protect you. One of them would be to move you away from here to a safe place somewhere in the city. How would you feel about that?’

  She stared at him, her fear deepening. ‘What do you mean?’

  Bella Moy said, ‘It would be similar to a witness being taken into protective custody, Mrs Chase – can I call you Carly?’

  Carly nodded bleakly, trying to absorb what she had just been told. ‘Move me away?’

  ‘Carly, we’d move you and your family under escort to another house, as a temporary measure. Then, if we feel the threat level is going to be ongoing, we could look at moving you to a different part of England, change your name and give you a completely new identity.’

  Carly stared at them, bewildered, like a hunted animal. ‘Change my name? A new identity? Move to somewhere else in Brighton? You mean right now?’

  ‘Right now,’ Glenn Branson said. ‘We’ll stay here with you while you pack and then arrange a police escort.’

  Carly raised her hands in the air. ‘Wait a second. This is insane. My life is in this city. I have a son at school here. My mother lives here. I can’t just up sticks and move to another house. No way. Certainly not tonight. And as for moving to another part of England, that’s crazy.’ Her voice was trembling. ‘Listen, I wasn’t part of this accident. OK, I know, I’ve been convicted of driving over the limit – but I didn’t hit the poor guy, for Christ’s sake! I can’t be blamed for his death, surely? The traffic police have already said so. It was said in court today, as well.’

  ‘Carly,’ Bella Moy said, ‘we know that. The dead boy’s parents have been given all the information about the accident. But as my colleague has said, Sussex Police have a legal duty of care to you.’

  Carly wrung her hands, trying to think clearly. She couldn’t. ‘Let’s clarify this,’ she said. ‘The driver behind me, in the white van, you say he is dead – that he’s been murdered?’

  Glenn Branson looked very solemn. ‘There’s not any question about it, Mrs Chase. Yes, he has been murdered.’

  ‘And the lorry driver?’

  ‘Not any question about his death either. We’ve carried out intelligence as best we can on the dead boy’s family and, unfortunately, they are fully capable of revenge killings such as this. Dare I say it, these things are part of their culture. It’s a different world they inhabit.’

  ‘That’s fucking great, isn’t it?’ Carly said, her fear turning to anger. She suddenly felt badly in need of a drink and a cigarette. ‘Can I get either of you something to drink?’

  Both officers shook their heads.

  She sat still for a moment, thinking hard, but it was difficult to focus her mind. ‘Are you saying there’s a hit man, or whatever they’re called, hired by this family?’

  ‘It’s a possibility, Carly,’ Bella Moy said gently.

  ‘Oh, right. So what are the other possibilities? Coincidence? It would be a big, bloody coincidence, right?’

  ‘One hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money, Mrs Chase,’ DS Branson said. ‘It is indicative of the parents’ anger.’

  ‘So you’re saying my son and I might need to move away from here? Get a new identity? That you’ll protect us for the rest of our lives? How’s that going to work?’

  The two detectives looked at each other. Then DS Moy spoke. ‘I don’t think any police force has the resources to provide that level of protection, Mrs Chase, unfortunately. But we can help you change identity.’

  ‘This is my home. This is our life here. Our friends are here. Tyler’s already lost his dad. Now you want him to lose all his friends? You seriously want me to go into hiding, with my son, tonight? To consider quitting my job? And what if we do move house – and then county? If these people are for real, don’t you think they’re going to be able to find us? I’m going to spend the rest of my life in fear of a knock on the door, or a creak in the house, or the crack of a twig out in the garden?’

  ‘We’re not forcing you to move out, Carly,’ Bella Moy said. ‘We’re just saying that would be the best option in our view.’

  ‘If your decision is to stay we will give you protection,’ Glenn Branson said. ‘We’ll provide CCTV and a Close Protection Unit, but it will be for a limited period of two weeks.’

  ‘Two weeks?’ Carly retorted. ‘Why’s that – because of your budget?’

  Branson raised his hands expansively. ‘These are really your best two options.’ Then he picked up the envelope and removed a document from it. ‘I need you to read and sign this, please.’

  Carly looked down at it. Seeing it in print sent an even deeper chill swirling through her.

  70

  APPENDIX F – SUSSEX POLICE

  ‘Osman’ Warning

  Notice of Threat to Personal Safety

  Mrs Carly Chase

  37 Hove Park Avenue

  Hove

  BN3 6LN

  East Sussex

  Dear Mrs Chase

  I am in receipt of the following information, which suggests that your personal safety is now in danger.

  I stress that I will not under any circumstances disclose to you the identity of the source of this information and whilst I cannot comment on the reliability or otherwise of the source or the content of this information, I have no reason to disbelieve the account as provided. I am not in receipt of any other information in relation to this matter nor do I have any direct involvement in this case.

  I have reason to believe, following the deaths of Ewan Preece, the driver of the van which collided with cyclist Tony Revere, and Stuart Ferguson, driver of the lorry which also collided with Tony Revere, that your own life is in immediate and present danger from revenge killings ordered by person or persons unknown and carried out by person or persons currently unknown.

  Although Sussex Police will take what steps it can to minimize the risk, the Police cannot protect you from this threat on a day-by-day, hour-by-hour basis.

  I also stress that the passing of this information by me in no way authorizes you to take any action which would place you in contravention of the law (e.g. carrying weapons for defence, assault on others, breaches of public order) and should you be found to be so committing you will be dealt with accordingly.

  I therefore suggest that you take such action as you see fit to increase your own safety measures (e.g. house burglar alarms, change of daily routines etc.). It may even be that you decide that it is more appropriate for you to leave the area for the foreseeable future. That is a matter for you to decide.

  If you wish to provide me with full details of the address at which you will be resident I will ensure that the necessary surveys can be undertaken by police staff to advise you regarding the above safety measures.

  I would also ask that you contact the Police regarding any suspicious incidents associated with this threat.

  Signed

  Detective Superintendent Roy Grace

  Time/Date

  5.35 p.m. Wednesday 5 May

  * * *

  I .................. acknowledge that at ...... hrs on ............ 20 ...

  the above notice was read out to me by ..............................

  of Sussex Police

  Signed .......................................................................................r />
  * * *

  * * *

  Signed by Officer reading notice to ..........................................

  Time/Date .......................................................................................

  Signed by Officer witnessing reading .......................................

  Time/Date .......................................................................................

  * * *

  Carly read it through. When she had finished she looked up at the two officers.

  ‘Let me understand something. Are you saying that if I don’t agree to move, that’s it, I’m on my own?’

  Bella Moy shook her head. ‘No, Carly. As DS Branson explained, we would provide you with a round-the-clock police guard for a period of time – two weeks. And we would put in CCTV surveillance for you. But we cannot guarantee your safety, Carly. We can just do our best.’

  ‘You want me to sign?’

  Bella nodded.

  ‘This isn’t for me, is it, this signature? It’s to protect your backsides. If I get killed, you can show you did your best – is that about the size of it?’

  ‘Look, you’re an intelligent person,’ Glenn Branson said. ‘All of us at Sussex Police will do what we can to protect you. But if you don’t want to move away, and I can understand that, and I imagine you don’t want to be locked away in a secure panic room, then what we can do is limited. We’ll have to try to work together.’ He placed his card in front of Carly on a coffee table. ‘Detective Sergeant Moy will be your immediate contact, but feel free to call me twenty-four-seven.’

  Carly picked up her pen. ‘Great,’ she said, as she signed it, sick with fear, trying hard to think straight.

  71

  Roy Grace lay in bed beside Cleo, tossing and turning, wide awake, totally wired. He’d been at the mortuary until 2 a.m., when the postmortem on the lorry driver was finally completed. At least he’d managed to persuade Cleo to go home early, so she’d left shortly before midnight. He now lived in constant fear that Cleo would have another bleed at any moment. Potentially a life-threatening one, for herself and for their baby.

  Nadiuska De Sancha had been unavailable and they’d been saddled with the pedantic Home Office pathologist Dr Frazer Theobald for the post-mortem. But although slow, Theobald was thorough, and he had provided some good, immediate information regarding the unfortunate victim’s death.

  The bright blue dial on the clock radio, inches from Grace’s eyes, flicked from 3.58 a.m. to 3.59 a.m., then after what seemed an interminable time to 4.00 a.m.

  Shit.

  He faced a long, hard day in front of him, during which he would need to be on peak form to manage his expanding inquiry team, to cope with the inevitable quizzing from Peter Rigg and to make important decisions on a revised press strategy. But most importantly of all, the absolute number one priority, he had to safeguard a woman who could be in imminent life-threatening danger.

  He looked at the clock radio again: 4.01.

  The first streaks of dawn were breaking over the city. But there was a deepening darkness inside him. How the hell could you fully protect someone, short of locking them away in a cell, or walling them up in a panic room? She wasn’t willing to leave her home, which would have been the best option, and he could understand her reasons. But the buck stopped with him to make sure she was safe.

  He thought again about the sight of Ewan Preece in the van. And the grisly spectre of Stuart Ferguson on the hook. But it was those cameras he was thinking about most. Particularly the second one.

  The transmission range was only a few hundred yards. Which meant that the killer had to have been waiting nearby with a receiving device – almost certainly in a vehicle. Grace could understand it would have been difficult to retrieve the camera in the van, but surely he could have gone back for the second one? The two cameras, waterproof and with night vision, were worth a good thousand pounds each. A lot of money to throw away.

  Who was this killer? He was clever, cunning and organized. In all of his career, Grace had never come across anything quite like this.

  The filming reminded him of a case he had worked on the previous summer, involving a sick, snuff-movie ring, and it had crossed his mind he could be in the same terrain here, but he doubted it. This was about revenge for Tony Revere’s death. The driver with his lorryload of frozen seafood being executed in the smokery left little room for doubt.

  The pathologist estimated that Ferguson would have been dead in under two hours in the cold store and probably less than that. If the killer had been waiting nearby and picking up the transmission, and presumably waiting until the lorry driver was dead, why had he not retrieved the camera?

  Because he hadn’t wanted to take the risk? Had he been disturbed by someone arriving there? Or a passing police patrol car perhaps? Or was it to leave a message – a sign – for someone? Just a cynical message for the next victim? This is what is going to happen to you and money is no object . . .

  Had the killer sat in his car, watching the transmitted images of Ferguson wriggling, shivering and steadily freezing to death for two hours? Frazer Theobald said that the man’s skin was partially burned and he had smoke inhalation in his lungs, but not sufficient to have asphyxiated him. The hook through his jaw and out beneath his eye would have been agonizing but not life-threatening. His death in the cold store would have been excruciating.

  What might this sadist be planning for Carly Chase?

  Detective Investigator Lanigan’s team were interviewing the Revere family, as well as Fernanda Revere’s brother, who had assumed the position as official head of this crime family following his father’s incarceration, but Lanigan was not optimistic about getting anywhere with them.

  Grace sipped some water, then as gently as he could turned his pillows over, trying to freshen them up.

  Cleo was not sleeping well either, finding it hard lying on her left, with a pillow tucked under her arm, as she had been instructed, as well as needing to go to the loo almost every hour. She was asleep now, breathing heavily. He wondered if reading for a few minutes might calm him down enough to get to sleep. On the floor, a short distance from the bed, their puppy, Humphrey, a Labrador and Border Collie cross, was snoring intermittently.

  Moving slowly, trying not to disturb Cleo, he switched on the dimmest setting of his reading light and peered at the small pile of books on his bedside table, half of them bought on his colleague Nick Nicholl’s recommendation.

  Fatherhood. From Lad to Dad. The New Contented Little Baby Book. Secrets of the Baby Whisperer.

  He picked up the top one, Fatherhood, and continued reading from the place he’d marked. But after a few pages, instead of calming down, he became increasingly concerned about the burden of responsibility of fatherhood. There was so much to take on board. And all that on top of his police workload.

  From the moment Cleo had first given him the news that she was pregnant, he had determined that he would be an involved and committed parent. But now, reading through these books, the time and responsibilities required of him seemed daunting. He wanted to commit that time and he wanted those responsibilities, but how was it all going to be possible?

  At 5.30 he finally quit trying to sleep, slipped out of bed, went into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. His eyes felt like he’d been rubbing them with sandpaper. He wondered whether a short run would perk him up, but he felt just too tired. Instead, pulling on his tracksuit, he decided on a walk around the block, focusing his thoughts on the day ahead, and taking Humphrey, who had insisted on joining him, on his lead. Then he dosed himself up on coffee, showered and dressed, and drove to the office.

  He arrived there just before 7 a.m., drank a Red Bull and made a phone call to the senior officer of the Close Protection Team that was concealed outside Carly Chase’s house. To his relief, all had been quiet.

  For this past night, at any rate.

  72

  �
��I want you all to know,’ said Roy Grace at the start of the 8.30 a.m. briefing in MIR-1, ‘that I am not a happy sodding bunny.’

  Everyone in the room was already up to speed on the murder of the lorry driver. Major developments in an inquiry of this scale were passed around instantly.

  Taking a sip of his coffee and looking down at his notes, he went on, ‘Item One on my agenda is the ongoing series of leaks coming from someone to our friend Kevin Spinella at the Argus. OK?’

  He looked up at thirty-five solemn faces. Yesterday afternoon’s horrific discovery had shaken even the most hardened of this bunch. ‘I’m not accusing any of you, but someone has leaked to him about Preece’s hands being superglued to the steering wheel of his van. It is either a member of this inquiry team, or the Specialist Search Unit, or an employee at Shoreham Harbour, or one of the team in the mortuary. At some point I’m going to find that person and, when I do, I’m going to hang them out to dry on something even more painful than a meat hook. Do I make myself clear?’

  Everyone nodded. All those who worked with Roy Grace knew him to be even-tempered and placid, someone who rarely lost his head. It startled them to see him in a temper.

  He took another sip of his coffee. ‘Our media strategy could be vitally important. We believe a professional contract killer is here in Brighton, in all probability hired by the Revere family in New York to avenge their son’s death. We need to manage the media extremely carefully, both to try to get assistance from the public in finding this killer before he strikes again and to avoid any possible impact on the community.’

  ‘Sir,’ said DC Stacey Horobin, a bright-looking young woman in her early thirties, with fashionable straggly brown hair, who had been newly drafted into the inquiry team, ‘what exactly are your concerns on community impact?’