Dead Man’s Footsteps

79

Roy Grace went straight from the briefing meeting to his office and phoned Cleo, telling her he would be later than planned as he needed to finish off here, then go home and pack a bag.

He had been to New York on several previous occasions. A couple of them were with Sandy – once for Christmas shopping and once for their fifth wedding anniversary – but the rest of the times were for work, and he always enjoyed visiting the city. He was particularly looking forward to seeing his two police friends there, Dennis Baker and Pat Lynch.

He’d met them seven years ago when, as a Detective Inspector, he’d gone to New York on a murder inquiry. That had been the year before 9/11. Dennis and Pat were then officers in the NYPD, working in Brooklyn, and had been among the first police officers on the scene at 9/11. He doubted there were two men better qualified in the whole of New York City to help him find the truth about whether or not Ronnie Wilson had perished on that dreadful day.

Cleo was fine, all sweetness and light, just get here when you can. And, she assured him, she had a very, very, very sexy treat awaiting him. Knowing from past experience just how good her sexy treats were, he decided it would be well worth the dry-cleaning bill from little Humphrey’s dog training and projectile-vomitingsession.

He turned his attention first to his emails. He replied to a couple of urgent ones and decided to leave the rest for his plane journey in the morning.

Then, just as he was making a start on his paperwork, there was a rap on the door and, without waiting for an answer, Cassian Pewe came in with a pained expression on his face. He stood in front of Grace’s desk, suit jacket slung over his shoulder, top button of his shirt open, expensive-looking tie at half mast.

‘Roy, excuse me, sorry to bounce in on you, but I’m rather hurt.’

Grace raised a finger, finished reading through a memo, then looked up at him. ‘Hurt? I’m sorry. Why?’

‘I just heard you are sending DS Potting and DC Nicholl to Melbourne tomorrow. Is that right?’

‘Yes, absolutely right.’

Pewe tapped his own chest. ‘What about me? I started this. Surely I should be one of those going?’

‘I’m sorry – what do you mean, you started it? I thought all you did was take a call from Interpol?’

‘Roy,’ he said, in an imploring tone that suggested Grace was his very, very best friend ever, ‘it was my initiative that got everything moving so fast.’

Grace nodded, irritated by the man’s attitude and the interruption. ‘Yes, and I appreciate that. But you have to understand we operate on teamwork here in Sussex, Cassian. You’re in charge of cold cases – I’m running a live inquiry. The information you’ve given me may be very helpful and your swift action has been noted.’

Now fuck off and let me get on with my work, he wanted to say, but didn’t.

‘I appreciate that. I just think that I should be one of the team going to Australia.’

‘You are better off being deployed here,’ Grace said. ‘That’s my call.’

Pewe glared at him and, in a fit of sudden pique, snapped back, ‘I think you might regret that, Roy.’

Then he stormed out of Grace’s office.