Left You Dead

93

As Roy Grace left Pewe’s office, his private phone rang. It was Cleo. He answered walking down the stairs. ‘Hi, darling.’

‘How’s your day going?’ She sounded strangely on edge.

‘Not great, tell you in a moment, just hang on.’ He hurried along the ground-floor corridor, past the offices of several senior officers and support staff who worked in the handsome Queen Anne building that gave the HQ its name, Malling House, and out into daylight. ‘Just been properly dicked about by you-know-who again, even after everything we’re going through. Such an idiot,’ he said quietly, although safely out of earshot now.

‘You won’t be for much longer, hopefully.’

‘Nope. How are you? You OK?’

‘I was OK, until a boy, a year older than Bruno, was brought in — went under the rear wheels of a twenty-tonner yesterday on an electric scooter.’

‘The one I read about in the Argus?’

‘That’s it. I told the team I was sorry — I just couldn’t handle it. I’ve come home.’ She began crying. After a few moments, through sobs, she said, ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be disturbing you.’

‘Of course you should. I couldn’t have handled that either, certainly not at the moment. I’ll be home as early as I can.’

‘No,’ she said, her voice on the edge of cracking. ‘Stay as long as you need, keep your mind occupied — there’s no point sitting at home dwelling... I just needed to get away.’

There was a brief silence as Roy walked on up the hill towards his office, then, sounding a little more composed, Cleo said, ‘I’ve just spoken to the funeral director — Mr Greenhaisen. Subject to a couple of lab reports from Bruno’s postmortem that she’s waiting on, the Coroner is happy to release his body tomorrow. The vicar of All Saints, a lovely man, says he could fit the funeral in on Monday, September the thirtieth.’

‘Thanks, that’s good news.’

‘He’s given me a list of stuff we need to go through — we can discuss all that tonight when you get back. We’ll need to decide on the music and whether anyone should do a eulogy.’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I can’t immediately think who.’

‘Maybe you could say a few words?’

‘OK, we’ll discuss it later. I really do want this to be a private family affair. I’ve a feeling bloody Pewe is planning to come and I want to keep him out.’

‘I’ve just had Bruno’s headmaster on the phone. The school are already conducting their own investigations and it appears Bruno got out over the gates. He asked me to pass on his sincere condolences and said that he and several teachers would like to attend, and perhaps some of Bruno’s schoolmates.’

I didn’t know Bruno had any mates, Grace nearly said, but he held it back. ‘OK, I love you.’

‘Love you, too,’ she said forlornly.

He ended the call just as he reached the entrance to the Major Crime suite and made his way to his office, his mind swirling with thoughts both about the impending funeral and his meeting with Pewe.

He made himself a coffee, putting the milk in the mug first and then the coffee before adding the water, something Sandy had taught him, insisting it tasted better that way — and she was right. He used the time it took for the kettle to boil to start focusing back on the investigation.

Carrying the mug through to his office, he sat at his desk, glanced through his emails, then called Glenn Branson and Jack Alexander, in turn, asking them to come to see him right away.

When both detectives were seated in front of him, he told them of the developments following his meeting with Pewe. Neither of them, nor any other members of his team, had any inkling about the ACC’s impending fate.

‘What planet is he on?’ Branson retorted. ‘So we have to take over from Surveillance ourselves?’

‘Yes, as best we can.’ Grace tapped his screen. ‘I have the tracker on Niall Paternoster’s rented Fiesta showing — currently stationary outside their home in Nevill Road. Aiden Gilbert’s doing some wizardry and it should appear on all the team’s laptops and phones. Glenn, I’m giving you the action of organizing a rota for this weekend of three team members to man the observation post, as discreetly as possible, to confirm when he drives away from the house. We will have his whereabouts on our screens.’

‘Will do, boss.’

Grace turned to Alexander. ‘Jack, I need you—’

He was interrupted by his job phone ringing again. Raising an apologetic hand to the two detectives, he answered. It was Emily Denyer.

‘Sir,’ she said, ‘I’ve been going through the documents seized from the Paternosters’ house by the Search Team. There’s a solicitor’s letter regarding a will made by Eden Paternoster. It was hidden under the paper lining of a drawer in an antique bureau which appears to be her writing desk and where she keeps all her private papers along with a life insurance document.’

‘How recent was this document?’

‘It’s dated March seventeenth of this year.’

‘What’s the gist of it?’

‘It’s pretty simple really. I think you’ll find this interesting, sir — any death benefit was to be paid out to Rebecca Watkins.’