Picture You Dead

80

Tuesday, 5 November

There was a palpable sense of excitement at the start of the 8.30 a.m. briefing of Operation Porcupine. The feeling that they were closing in on the suspects. And it seemed to Roy Grace that almost everyone in his team assembled in the conference room had something urgent to say. He started with Potting, who was signalling with his arm like a batman at an airport.

‘Norman?’

‘Chief, I met with Ricky Sharp last night and offered him the five hundred quid bung you got sanctioned. He confirmed he had collected Goff from prison but insisted he was just doing a favour to an old mate. I told him I needed more information if he wanted the money. After a little hesitation he took it. He informed me the garage in which the Audi A6 was parked for some days had been rented by a gentleman called Ross Briggs.’

‘Did he give you a description of him?’

‘He did, chief, a bit reluctantly. Said he was muscle, spoke with a London accent and, here’s the bit that I like, he was wearing an emerald ring that was, in Sharp’s view, the size of a knuckleduster.’

‘Twin brother of one with a red ring?’ Grace asked.

‘I asked him, and he said Ross Briggs was the only person he dealt with, and he told me he had no idea if he had a brother or not and wasn’t interested in finding out.’

‘Did he say anything else?’

‘Other than telling me to fuck off, not really, chief, no.’

There was a roar of laughter from Jon Exton.

‘But I think he knows more than he’s letting on, chief.’

‘He’s given us more than enough to be getting on with for now. Excellent, Norman,’ Grace replied, then looked down at his notes. As he did so he was interrupted by the financial investigator, Emily Denyer. ‘Sir,’ she said. ‘I have some information on a Maurice Briggs which I think is significant.’

‘Tell us, Emily,’ he said.

She held up a sheaf of printouts. ‘What I have here are copies of the most recent tax returns from Stuart Piper and from his company, of which he is the sole shareholder, Art Recovery UK Ltd. Among the employees of the company are listed a Maurice Briggs and a Ross Briggs.’

‘The twins?’ Potting queried. ‘Port and starboard?’

‘Could be,’ Grace said and turned back to Denyer. ‘Good work, Emily,’ he said, then nodded at DS Alexander, who had his hand raised and was looking bleary-eyed. ‘Yes, Jack?’

‘Sir, I finally got the car park videos released to me late yesterday, and I’ve been viewing them since, through the night. I’ve been looking at all the vehicles that arrived and left the car park one hour either side of the time Archie Goff drove his Astra in there. There’s one vehicle which strikes me as possibly significant, a Mercedes G Wagon, index GU57 APN. It arrived four minutes after Archie Goff’s Astra, and departed twenty-five minutes after the last CCTV sighting of Goff in the Lanes.’

‘Coincidence, Jack?’ Potting interjected.

Alexander threw the DS an irritated glance at the interruption. ‘Not when its index checks out, Norman,’ he said with clear satisfaction. ‘The vehicle is registered to Stuart Piper’s company.’

‘Well done, Jack,’ Grace said. ‘So, not all roads lead to Rome. Some, it seems, lead to this Stuart Piper.’

‘We should go and nick him, don’t you think, boss?’ Branson said.

‘On what charge?’ Grace asked.

‘Conspiracy to murder?’ Branson ventured.

The Detective Superintendent shook his head. ‘What we have is mounting up, but I don’t think we have enough evidence yet to convince the Crown Prosecution Service to bring a prosecution. The evidence against both Piper and the two Briggs brothers is looking strong, but – excuse the pun – there’s a bigger picture here. I have the sense these twins might be little more than Piper’s pawns. All the evidence against all three of them, at present, is circumstantial.’

He turned to Branson. ‘Glenn, how’s your knowledge of French artists of the fête galante period?’

‘About as comprehensive as my knowledge of hydrogen cell technology, boss.’

Grace smiled. ‘You have one hour to bone up on that period, then we’re going to pay Stuart Piper a visit and have a friendly chat with him.’

‘Did I tell you I failed Art GCSE?’ Branson said.

‘Now’s your chance to redeem yourself.’