You Are Dead

42

Saturday 13 December

Roy Grace called the Saturday briefing, in the conference room of Sussex House, for an hour earlier than usual, 7.30 a.m. He had a lot to get through, and in addition somehow he had to find the time to finish writing his eulogy for the funeral.

He informed his team that although it was too early at this stage to be certain, there were disturbing parallels between Operation Mona Lisa and Operation Haywain. But, he made it absolutely clear, no one was to mention this to anyone outside of either operation.

Norman Potting raised his arm. He was looking pale and his eyes bloodshot — whether from tiredness or crying over Bella, Grace could not tell. He was aware that the DS hadn’t been sleeping. ‘Yes, Norman?’

‘Boss, I may have a significant development. I’ve been in contact with some very helpful people at the DVLA. One was on the phone with me for hours last night, going through Volvo estate cars with registered keepers in the Brighton and Hove area. He’s just come up with a vehicle registered to a Martin Horner, at an address over in the west of the city in Portslade. A residential house. Sixty-two Blenheim Street.’

Looking close to collapsing from exhaustion, Potting covered a yawn with his hand then continued. ‘I went over to the CCTV room at John Street, first checking the records back on the ANPR cameras — they’ve plotted this same suspect vehicle on a direct path from Chesham Gate, where the victim was last recorded, along Dyke Road, at corresponding times.’ He yawned again. ‘We then checked the CCTV cameras in the relevant areas and we found the Volvo, and were able to read the rear licence plate. It’s the same vehicle.’

‘Brilliant, Norman!’ Grace said. ‘You should go home and get some rest.’

Potting shook his head. ‘I want to see this one through, chief.’

‘You haven’t had much sleep.’

‘I’ll sleep next week after—’ He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.

After Bella’s funeral, Grace knew he meant. He let it ride. Even though he knew the time, he checked his watch. 7.35 a.m. Dawn raids were the best for catching villains at home. But on a weekend, hopefully the offender would be having a cosy lie-in. He weighed it up for some moments. His prime concern was to ensure Logan Somerville’s safety. An unsuccessful or botched raid could greatly endanger an abduction victim’s life. But statistics were already long against them. It was over thirty-six hours since her reported disappearance. He turned to DC Alec Davies. ‘Alec, we need a search warrant application, fast. Go to the on-call magistrate and get it signed. I’ll get a Local Support Team unit on standby. Good work, Norman.’

DS Cale raised her arm. ‘Sir,’ she said to Roy Grace. ‘As you know, and for the benefit of everyone else here, I had a call just before the start of this briefing from the duty DI at John Street. There’s been another possible overnight abduction of a young woman in the city.’

Grace’s sense of foreboding was growing by the minute. Was his worst nightmare coming true? ‘Tanja, please tell everyone what we know,’ he prompted.

Tanja Cale looked down at her notes. ‘Her name’s Ashleigh Stanford, twenty-one, a fashion design student at Brighton University. She shares a flat with her boyfriend in Carlisle Road. Her boyfriend phoned in at 3 a.m., concerned that she hadn’t arrived home — she works Friday and Saturday nights in the Druids Head pub in the Lanes. Apparently she’s always home by 1 a.m. She hadn’t phoned him and when he tried to call her, it went to voicemail.’

‘Maybe she went off with one of the customers?’ Guy Batchelor quizzed.

‘It’s possible,’ Cale said. ‘The boyfriend was concerned because she always cycles home. He’d phoned the Sussex County Hospital to see if she’d been admitted following an accident. When that came back negative he then phoned us to report his concerns.’

Grace thought for some moments. Another woman heading home to her boyfriend? Was there something in that? ‘Do we have a picture of her?’ he asked.

‘No, sir.’

‘Get me a recent one, please. Urgently.’