Dead at First Sight

126 Friday 12 October

Jules de Copeland, his thigh and arm stinging in agonizing pain, looked around, bewildered.

Someone took hold of him, restraining his arms behind his back.

He heard a voice radioing urgently for an ambulance. And overhead the thwock-thwock-thwock of a helicopter.

Then a man in camouflage fatigues, wearing a helmet covered in netting with bits of greenery intertwined, faced him. ‘Tunde Oganjimi, alias Jules de Copeland, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Susan Adele Driver in Brighton and on suspicion of causing grievous bodily harm with intent to Toby Seward in Brighton. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Is that clear?’

Copeland grimaced in pain at him. ‘Can you and I talk in private for a moment, officer?’

Lewis Hastings made a pretend show of switching off his radio’s microphone. ‘OK, we’re private now.’

‘I need more private than this.’

Hastings looked around. The silver-haired man was handcuffed and covered by one police officer with an automatic pistol. Another was standing, protectively, by the scared-looking woman.

‘This is as private as it’s going to get, OK?’

Copeland leaned forward and whispered into Hastings’s ear. ‘I’m a very rich man, officer. Name your price.’

Hastings looked him squarely in the eye. ‘Mr Copeland, my price is beyond anything you can afford or ever will be able to afford. It’s called morality. That’s probably not a word in your limited lexicon.’