Find Them Dead

76 Monday 20 May

‘Hi, Paul,’ Roy Grace said. He nodded to Glenn and put the phone on loudspeaker. ‘How are you? Missing me already?’

The Inspector replied, sounding serious. ‘Actually, yes, guv, we all are. Got to figure out a way to tempt you back to the Met. But that’s not why I’m calling. It’s about Dr Crisp.’

‘Our happy fugitive!’

‘Yep, well, I’m afraid he’s not such a happy bunny now.’

‘Tell me?’

‘He was identified on CCTV by one of the Met Super Recognizer Unit, walking along the Thames Embankment in the direction of Waterloo Bridge earlier today. Three cars and the helicopter were deployed — two cars on the south of the bridge and one to the north. As he reached the bridge the two officers in the car to the north approached him. He did a runner across it. When he saw the car blocking off the south exit, he jumped over the parapet into the river.’

‘Shit. Did he get away again?’

‘Not this time, Roy. People underestimate the current in the Thames. If you jumped off the north bank at Waterloo at certain times, you’d be carried down to the Albert Bridge long before you reached the south bank. The River Police pulled him out a mile east of Kew Bridge. Dead. Drowned.’

Grace heard the last few words in numb silence. Dead. Drowned.

It took him some moments to process this. ‘You’re absolutely sure it is him, Paul?’ He caught Branson’s shocked expression.

‘We’ve had fingerprint identification and we’ve sent DNA off, but it’s him, Roy, I’m certain — and there’s a very obvious eye injury. I’ll send you a couple of photographs.’

Roy Grace didn’t know whether to be happy or to cry. The monster had escaped justice — in a way. In doing so, Crisp had denied the families of the victims, as well as his last intended victim, the closure of seeing him brought to justice.

Roy Grace was not a religious man. But there were times in his life when he envied those who did have faith. Those who believed in the afterlife.

His mind dwelled for a moment on the concept of the Akashic Records — a theory that, after you died, you were held to account. The Akashic Records replayed every thought, emotion and intent you ever had throughout your life on earth and you had to explain what exactly you had done with your time — just how you had used the amazing privilege of life that you had been granted.

And to be punished accordingly.

It was at times like this he so wished the idea were true. That Dr Edward Crisp, instead of rapid oblivion in the dark, cold current of the Thames, would be made to stand up and squirm as all the horrors he had inflicted on fellow human beings were replayed to him.

‘Very obliging of him, Paul,’ he said. ‘Too bad he didn’t drown in a sewer, which would have been more fitting.’

‘From what I know about him,’ the Met Inspector said, ‘he’d have polluted any sewer.’

Glenn Branson grinned. Grace smiled too, thinking fast. Suddenly, a whole chunk of his workload had gone. No Crisp trial.

Ending the call, he said, ‘I’d better tell our dear ACC.’

‘Please let me listen in!’ Branson said.

‘Be my guest!’ Grace dialled, and felt smugly pleased when he answered, almost immediately. It wasn’t often that Roy Grace actually looked forward to talking to Cassian Pewe. This was one of those rare occasions.

‘Yes, Roy?’

‘I thought you’d appreciate an update on Dr Crisp.’

‘What do you have?’

Grace informed him what he had been told by Inspector Davey. When he had finished, Pewe was uncharacteristically silent for some moments. Then he retorted, ‘At least this resolves the budget issues, Roy.’

‘Actually, sir, I have good news for you on your budget front.’ He winked at Glenn Branson.

‘You do?’ Pewe said, suspiciously.

‘Very good news indeed.’

‘Are you going to keep me in permanent suspense or tell me?’

‘As he died in London, all costs of his postmortem and disposal of his body are down to the Met. I thought you’d be pleased to hear that, sir.’

‘I’d be a lot more pleased if he’d never escaped in the first place.’

‘He wouldn’t have, sir, if you’d allocated the funds for the guard on him I’d recommended.’

Pewe’s response was to slam down the phone on him.

Grace turned to Branson. ‘Good to know Sussex Police have another happy customer!’

‘You need to watch it, matey, one day that bastard’s going to have your arse.’

‘He loves me. He just doesn’t know it.’

‘Or show it,’ Branson cautioned.

‘I feel the love!’

‘In your dreams.’

Grace smiled. Then his thoughts became serious. He shouldn’t be glad about Crisp, but he was. Perhaps because the man had once tried to kill him and had failed. All he really felt was a twofold relief, firstly that there was one monster less in the world, and secondly, that Crisp’s early departure had left him free to concentrate on catching up on everything he had missed during these past six months.

But his hopes of that were dashed by the next call that came in.

It was from Sussex Police Inspector Mark Evans, the duty Oscar-1.

‘Hi, guv,’ he said, very polite as always. ‘Welcome back to Sussex!’

‘Thanks, good to be back.’

‘We all missed you. Am I right you’re the on-call SIO this week?’

‘Yes, I am, Mark, what’s up?’

Evans told him.