Dead at First Sight

85 Thursday 11 October

It seemed far longer than just two years since Roy Grace had last seen his former Assistant Chief Constable, Alison Vosper. There had been two further ACCs in charge of Major Crime since her departure. The first, Peter Rigg, had gone on to a Chief Constable role. The second, to Grace’s chagrin, was still very much with him.

Rigg had been OK, he was a decent man. But compared to the current incumbent, vitriolic Cassian Pewe, Alison Vosper was Mother Teresa. Although every time Grace had faced her, back then, she’d made him feel like he was back, trembling, in his headmaster’s study at school.

It didn’t feel much different now as he entered the small Italian restaurant in Pimlico, near to Victoria Station. As the greeter led him through the room, he saw her, looking as starched as the pink linen tablecloth. She had her back to the far wall, of course, with a view of the whole establishment. The ‘policeman’s chair’.

He knew right away, even before he reached her, that she understood too what that meant for him. No copper would ever feel comfortable sitting with his back to the room and to the front door. She could have chosen one of the several empty side banquettes, where they could both have had this view, but instead she’d chosen the one that would put him at maximum discomfort.

He wondered if this was her regular lunchtime haunt and the table she always reserved, for tactical advantage.

In her mid-forties, with wispy blonde hair cut conservatively short, framing a hard but handsome face, Alison Vosper hadn’t changed at all since they had last met. Even the powerful floral scent, with its acrid tinge, was the same as he remembered. As was her outfit. She was power-dressed, just as she always had been, in a black two-piece with a crisp white blouse. If anything, she seemed younger.

Rising to greet him, with uncharacteristic friendliness, she said, ‘Roy! So very good to see you!’

‘And you, ma’am.’

‘Alison, please!’

They both sat down. A bottle of Perrier sat on the table and her glass was half full of sparkling water.

‘What would you like to drink, Roy? A cocktail? Some wine?’

He felt like asking for a large Martini. Instead, he said, ‘Perrier would be fine — I’ve a meeting with counsel this afternoon.’

She filled his glass for him, then looked at him more warmly than he ever remembered. ‘So, how’s everything in Sussex?’

‘Domestically? Great. I’ve remarried since I last saw you, ma’am.’

‘Alison.’

‘Sorry, ma’am — Alison.’

She smiled, disarmingly.

‘We have a baby son, Noah, and I’ve also found out I have a son from my previous marriage to Sandy.’

‘Your wife who disappeared?’ She looked puzzled.

‘Long story.’

‘Want to tell me? I know her disappearance had a big impact on your life — although professionally you never let it show, to your credit.’

As he brought her up to speed, he was thinking that Alison Vosper had softened since she left Sussex. Whilst she used to alternate between sweet and sour, now — at this moment anyway — she just seemed to be sweet. And compared to asshole Pewe, he now realized she had been a dream ticket.

When he had finished she encouraged him to look at the menu and order. ‘What are you going to have?’ he asked.

‘Dover sole.’

The most expensive item. Clearly the austerity measures biting the police weren’t affecting her expenses budget. ‘That will do me fine,’ he said.

They ordered, then she said, ‘I can see you’ve been working hard, Roy, it’s starting to show. A lot of stress?’

‘A fair bit.’

‘Maybe you need a change of scenery?’

Roy thought to himself, in mild panic, Shit, I’m travelling in one direction and Alison Vosper in another. She looks five years younger and I’m looking a decade older.

‘If you want to know the truth, Alison, trying to get on with my job and having to answer to Cassian Pewe at the same time makes me feel like I’m a coconut in a two-sided shy.’

‘I can see it, Roy. You don’t look a happy man.’

He shrugged. ‘I should look happy because I am happy. I love my family, I love my job. But...’ He fell silent.

‘But?’

‘I love my job. It’s my dream job. I’m doing what I always wanted to do.’

‘And the but?’

‘I don’t know how much longer I can go on working for my current ACC.’

‘Isn’t he doing a good job. Roy?’

‘A good job?’

‘There seems to be a very high murder clear-up rate in Sussex — Cassian Pewe’s track record is very impressive. Wouldn’t you agree?’

Roy Grace bit his tongue. ‘Cassian Pewe’s track record?’

‘It’s not gone unnoticed.’

He stared at her, dumbfounded. ‘His track record?’

He saw the twinkle in her eyes. ‘Roy,’ she said, ‘I’m not exactly here as your fairy godmother, but I want to offer you a possible alternative to your current — perhaps uncomfortable — situation. You’re aware of the knife-crime epidemic we currently have in London?’

‘Of course.’

‘It’s not so bad in Brighton, is it?’

‘Not so far, touch wood.’

‘I’m setting up a new dedicated team here in the Met,’ she said. ‘It will be a multi-agency team putting together a long-term strategy dealing with education, enforcement, investigation, the judicial process and rehabilitation. It’s highly political, because knife crime is having a massive impact across the capital. It’s harming confidence in the city, it’s impacting on tourism and, very importantly, on the well-being of London’s resident citizens. This is big politics, top down from the Prime Minister, the Mayor of London and the Commissioner of the Met. I want you for the Commander role. You won’t ever get a bigger job opportunity than this. Initially for six months, it will be a temporary promotion to Commander, but who knows, you might decide to stay in the city.’

‘Commander?’ he replied.

‘If it helps, that would put you on equal footing with ACC status, but more prestigious.’

‘Cassian Pewe won’t like that.’

‘I thought that might appeal,’ Vosper said.

He was thinking hard about the implications on his family life. The commute to London. Even longer hours than he was currently working.

Balanced against getting away from the clutches of Pewe. And being on his level. Or above him!

‘I really want you to think about it, Roy. This could be a stepping stone for you to one day getting a top job in the Met. I know you are ambitious — and I know you have massive ability. Would you consider it?’

He looked at her, unsure for one of the few times in his life how to reply.

‘It would be a big upheaval for you,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to paint a rosy picture. It would be 24/7, full on, and if you got the job you would be in the national spotlight. Go home, talk it over with your wife, think about it. Personally, I can’t think of anyone better for the job.’

‘I’m very flattered,’ he said.

The waiter reappeared. ‘On the bone or off?’ he asked in an Italian accent.

‘Off for me, please,’ she said.

‘On the bone for me,’ Grace said.

Alison Vosper said, without a hint of acidity, ‘That’s the Roy Grace I remember. Always up for a challenge!’