Need You Dead

21 Thursday 21 April

Andreas Thomas, the German lawyer whom Sandy had appointed as her executor, spoke reasonably good English, but Roy Grace sometimes found him hard to understand on the phone, and the conversation was a lengthy one as he had to ask him to repeat himself frequently.

The documentation allowing Sandy’s body to be repatriated to England had been completed, and a firm of funeral directors in Brighton had everything in hand. The funeral had been booked for the following Thursday at the vast Hove Cemetery, coincidentally where both of Sandy’s grandparents were buried. His own had been cremated at what Roy thought was the much prettier Woodvale. He had still not yet decided which of the options he would choose for himself. Neither appealed that much. It was something he knew he should confront but — and he knew it was stupid — it felt that to make the choice was almost inviting his own death.

Many German wills did not include funeral instructions because, Andreas Thomas explained, often they would not be discovered or read until many weeks after death. The lawyer agreed that burial would be the better option for Sandy.

The one grey area currently was Sandy’s substantial estate. A short while before she had left Roy, Andreas Thomas informed him, she’d had a windfall inheritance from an aunt that she’d kept secret, instructing the funds to be sent to a numbered Swiss bank account, clearly in preparation for leaving Roy. It could even have been this inheritance that gave her the courage to leave him, the lawyer speculated. Sandy had left clear instructions that almost her entire estate be put in trust to pay for private education for Bruno, until the age of twenty-one, when he would receive the balance of the money. The estate was now worth four million euros.

In the weeks before her accident, Sandy had been anxious to establish this trust and to Roy’s dismay had left instructions in her will for her parents to be appointed fellow trustees, along with the Munich lawyer.

Grace told the lawyer that he wasn’t worried about the money. He would take responsibility for Bruno, and bring him back to live with himself, Cleo and Noah, in England, and would put him into a good school — the money to pay for it could be sorted out in due course. He wanted to make sure he was in the driving seat on this one, not Sandy’s parents.

He arranged to meet Andreas Thomas at his office in Munich the following morning. As he ended the call, he was about to dial his travel agent when his work phone rang. It was the duty Ops-1, Inspector David Graham, known to everyone by his initials, DG, in the Comms department, which was housed in a modern block on the far side of the Police HQ campus from the Specialist Crime Command offices. A call from him was not going to be good news.

‘Roy, I was told you’re the on-call SIO — I thought you were off active duty for a while?’

‘I am, DG, but I’m covering for Kevin Shapland this week. What’s up?’

‘We’ve got a suspicious death. Woman in a bathtub in a block of flats in Hove. It was called in by an electrician who had apparently gone to the premises to carry out some rewiring work. A Response Unit attended, along with an ambulance crew, who declared her dead — sounds like she had been dead for a while.’

‘A while? Any idea how long? Days, weeks?’

‘No, but some hours — perhaps overnight.’

‘What about the cause of death?’

‘It looks like she might have electrocuted herself, but the officers attending were not happy about an injury to the back of her skull, and blood on the bathroom tiles, and requested supervision. Their sergeant attended and agreed with them, declaring it a potential crime scene. A senior CSI was called in, along with the duty divisional DI. There are a number of factors that make me think this looks like a job for Major Crime — can you attend and take command of the investigation, Roy?’

‘Have they got scene guards?’

‘Yes, in place.’

‘Good. We’ll need to inform the Coroner’s Officer.’

‘I’ve done that.’

‘Good. OK, if you let me have the address and any other details I’ll get there right away. What information do you have on the victim and what are the other factors you mentioned, DG?’

‘Her name is Lorna Jane Belling. She’s a domestic violence victim — white female, thirty-five, married and works from home, in Hollingbury, as a hairdresser. But the location where she has been found is a flat on Hove seafront, Vallance Mansions, where she has a monthly tenancy. It’s a run-down old block, with a landlord who’s had a ton of complaints over the years from his tenants. Health and Safety did an inspection a couple of years ago and reported him.’

‘So the landlord could be in the frame for a manslaughter charge?’

‘Well, possibly, but here’s one complicating factor. On Monday of this week a Response crew attended at this same woman’s marital home, following a violent assault by her husband, Corin Belling — his third reported assault on her in a year. He was subsequently arrested and the IDVA were notified and made contact with her. Then he was released on bail the following evening, just short of thirty-six hours, because his wife refused to press charges. It sounds like this flat in Hove might be her secret bolthole.’

‘Or love nest?’

‘Possible.’

‘Has the husband been informed?’

‘Under the circumstances, not yet, sir.’

‘Good, let’s keep it that way for now. Do we know where he works?’

‘A company called South Downs IT Solutions.’

Grace frowned. ‘That name sounds familiar.’

‘It should be, Roy! They used to be about three hundred yards from Sussex House — on that industrial estate — near the old Argus building.’

‘Duh! Of course.’

‘But they’re in Burgess Hill now.’

Grace immediately called Temporary DI Guy Batchelor, who was in the new Detectives’ Room, an open-plan area on the floor above, and asked him to come to his office right away.

Two minutes later Batchelor knocked on his door and entered. A burly, shaven-headed man, suited and booted conservatively, reeking as usual of cigarette smoke, he had a warm personality and the physique of a rugby player. In his previous office, Roy would have sat at the small, round conference table with him. Now all he could offer was the empty desk in front of his.

Grace brought him briefly up to speed and asked, ‘How do you feel about attending as my deputy SIO, Guy? I’ll come with you today, then I’ll leave you in charge until I return. Are you comfortable with that?’

‘Fine, boss,’ Batchelor responded, nodding pensively.

‘It’s a big responsibility — if you’d rather, I could ask DCI Best, who’s the on-call SIO from tomorrow.’

‘No, I’d be very happy to do this.’

‘If it does turn out to be a homicide this could be a great career break for you, Guy. I’d prefer to keep the job rather than hand it over to Nick Best, though if you find you need any urgent guidance you could speak to him — I’ll let him know.’

‘Thanks, boss, I’m very grateful. Sounds like we already have a possible suspect. Track record of abusing his wife. We might be able to wrap this up very quickly.’

‘ABC, Guy,’ Grace cautioned him with the police mantra. Assume nothing. Believe no one. Check everything.

‘Ingrained on my soul!’

Grace grinned. He liked Batchelor a lot. He was a smart detective who he believed would go far in his career. Probably further than he himself had ambitions for. All the way to the top. He could see him being a chief constable one day. ‘Good man,’ he said.

‘I won’t let you down, boss.’

‘That’s why I’ve chosen you.’