You Are Dead

64

Wednesday 17 December

Twenty minutes later, Roy Grace sat at his office conference table, along with DCI Sweetman and Tony Balazs. All three men were in dark suits, but unlike the two detectives with their short haircuts and sombre ties, the forensic psychologist had a mane of wavy silver hair and was sporting a brightly coloured bow tie. He looked, Grace thought, more like an antiques dealer than a shrink.

All three of them were staring down at the two mottled green paper driving licences, each dating back thirty years. The first bore the name ‘Catherine Jane Marie Westerham’. The second, ‘Denise Lesley Anne Patterson’. Next to them lay a sheet of white A4 paper with the message printed on it:

‘He’s inverted the “i” and “e” in receive,’ Balazs said.

‘Is that indicative of anything?’ Grace quizzed him.

Balazs nodded. ‘Yes, that he’s crap at spelling!’

‘So he does make mistakes!’ Grace said.

All three men laughed, thinly.

‘Did the Argus have any CCTV footage from last night, Roy?’ Sweetman asked. ‘Did they catch whoever delivered it on camera?’

‘Yes, he looks like that old movie character The Invisible Man. Wearing a hat, dark glasses, a scarf around his face covering his — or her — nose. Haydn Kelly and a CSI are there now, seeing if they can get any footprints that match the one in the oil at Chesham Gate underground car park. There wouldn’t have been much footfall during the night where the Argus is located. We’re also having all CCTV cameras in the area checked to see if they’ve picked up a slow moving or parked vehicle.’

Grace went over to his desk, picked up a folder, opened it and read it as he brought it over. ‘Denise Patterson was on this list of mispers we’d narrowed — which match UNKNOWN FEMALE’s age and description. With luck we’ll be able to officially confirm with either DNA or dental records that UNKNOWN FEMALE is Denise Patterson,’ he said. ‘The recovery of these driving licences gives us a definite link to the investigation. Is there anything you can tell from the note?’

Balazs nodded. ‘Yes, he clearly has a big but fragile ego. Suggesting he has made mistakes has stung him in the way we had hoped. Also, the fact that he has retained the driving licences indicates he takes souvenirs.’ He looked down at them for some moments. ‘I wonder if he takes trophies as well.’

Trophies could be locks of a victim’s hair, jewellery, pieces of clothing or some of their skin. Grace knew that trophies could be indicative of someone who is a loner, substituting objects for friends.

‘He’s trying to gain the high ground again with this note,’ DCI Sweetman said.

‘I agree, the Brander thinks he has the high ground now,’ Balazs said. ‘In his egotistical mind he’s helped you to identify her. I think we need to deflate that.’

‘What about playing down the significance of the licences in our midday press conference in the hope he’ll send us more trophies? I’d just announce that the Argus received them anonymously in the post by someone purporting to be the Brander.’

‘If he’s as smart as we think he is,’ Sweetman said, ‘he’s going to know we are deliberately winding him up, and I think it’ll provoke him into action, to show us.’

‘What kind of action, Paul? Killing again?’ Grace said.

‘Very possibly. But we know he’s going to do that anyway, it’s just a matter of time. Hopefully by provoking him into going for his next victim sooner than he had planned, and less prepared, he’ll make a mistake, and that will be our best chance to stop him.’

After the meeting was over, Grace called Cassian Pewe and informed him of the course of action he proposed to take, with DCI Sweetman’s full agreement, but he wanted the ACC’s sanction too.

Pewe gave him an icy reception. ‘Roy, I don’t think you made a wise decision going public with this. Just as the Chief and I feared, the whole city is close to meltdown with panic.’

‘Sir, you, I and the Chief Constable agreed this strategy on Sunday evening.’

‘Have you no idea of the terror your announcement at the press conference yesterday has created?’ Pewe’s voice was sounding more nasal and high-pitched than ever. ‘We’re just one week from Christmas; I’ve had the head of Visit Brighton on the phone this morning. Hotels are getting cancellations pouring in; restaurants are losing Christmas lunch and New Year’s Eve bookings. You’ve scared the hell out of the city.’

‘With respect, sir, it’s our killer who is scaring the city, not me.’

‘Nicola Roigard rang me herself just a short while ago to express her concerns about the public reaction.’

‘I would expect the Police and Crime Commissioner to be concerned,’ Grace said. ‘It would be a bit strange if she wasn’t.’

‘Don’t try to be clever with me.’

Grace lifted his phone away from his ear and stared at it for some moments, almost unable to listen to the whiny voice any more. He had broken all the rules in risking his own life to save Pewe’s last year. In this job you had to break rules and take risks. But now his boss was running for the hills at the first sound of gunfire. ‘Sir, if you would like to give me instructions I will obey them.’

There was a long silence. Then finally in a reluctant tone Pewe said, ‘You’re running this operation, you have to make the decisions.’

‘I’d feel a lot more comfortable if I had your agreement on such a big decision, sir.’

‘Tell me exactly what you want me to agree to?’

‘My announcing at the midday press conference that the Argus received two driving licences, in the names of Katy Westerham and Denise Patterson, the body at Hove Lagoon. They supposedly came from our suspected serial killer. If the Brander wants to communicate with us, we would ask him to give us demonstrable proof that it is him. I intend to play down the significance of the driving licences and announce we had already identified the Lagoon victim before they arrived.’

Grace then outlined his proposal for the conference and when he had finished, very reluctantly, Pewe gave him his sanction, and told him he would inform the Chief Constable and Police and Crime Commissioner.

After he had hung up, Grace made a careful note of the date and time and content of this last telephone conversation in his policy book.