Dead if You Don’t

94

Sunday 13 August

16.00–17.00

As Grace and Potting drove out of Konstandin’s driveway, the DS said, ‘He’s a piece of work, boss.’

Roy Grace sat in silence, immersed in his thoughts as they wound back up the hill. Eventually, he said, ‘His eye movements told me he was lying, Norman. Konstandin knows the man in the red cap. How much else does he know?’ He glanced at the time as his phone rang.

‘Roy, it’s Dan Salter, Digital Forensics — we’re at Boden Court and I’ve just found the burner phone that one of the ransom demands was sent from. Vodafone have come back to me on our request for information, and say it could be anywhere in the western part of Shoreham Harbour or Shoreham Beach.’

‘There’s no way they can pinpoint it any closer, Dan?’

‘I’m afraid not, sir — because the mast is on the coast, they can’t use triangulation.’

‘Thanks, Dan,’ Grace said, ending the call. ‘Fuck.’

Potting looked at him.

‘Anywhere in the western part of Shoreham Harbour or Shoreham Beach, Norman. Any thoughts? Any bright ideas about how we search about five miles of waterfront in the time we have left?’

Another call came in on his job phone.

‘Roy Grace,’ he answered.

It was DS Exton. ‘Sir, I’m at Shoreham Port.’

‘And?’ Grace asked, expectantly.

‘Not good news so far, I’m afraid. There’s around twenty possibilities, maybe more.’

‘Start working on them, Jon,’ he instructed.

‘I have, sir. Eliminated two already.’

‘Keep me posted.’

‘I will.’

Grace thought back to their encounter with Konstandin. The wily old bastard knew something and wasn’t telling, wasn’t responding to his threats. Why not?

He calculated the time.

Time they no longer had.

Seventy-five minutes.

He turned to Potting. ‘Norman, head to Shoreham, as fast as you can.’

‘Whereabouts in Shoreham, boss?’

‘If I knew I’d sodding tell you.’