Left You Dead

111

‘Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead!’

Roy Grace opened his eyes to see Cleo standing over him. Although the curtains were still drawn, the room was light. He blinked several times. ‘Hey.’

‘Any idea what time it is?’

He shook his head. He had no idea at all.

‘Midday!’

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.’