Dead at First Sight

90 Thursday 11 October

The journey back down to Brighton was not doing anything for Roy’s sour mood. The rush-hour commuter train out of London’s Victoria Station was packed, with every seat already taken way before he boarded it, and he had to stand for the hour-long journey, wedged like a sardine, breathing in fumes of garlic, alcohol and rancid halitosis from the three men he was crushed between, as if he had suddenly found himself the hapless judge of a bad-breath competition.

At one point his phone rang. Extricating it from his pocket with difficulty, he saw from the display it was Glenn Branson.

‘Got a development, boss.’

‘Can’t talk,’ he murmured. ‘Bell you back in half an hour.’

But he was talking into a dead phone, cut off as they roared through a tunnel.

When they were out the other side he sent Branson a brief text.

Finally, shortly before half past six, he jumped down onto the platform and into the relatively fresh evening air, jostling along with the crowds, most of whom, unlike himself, were probably heading home.

He called Cleo to warn her he would be back late. Then he dialled Glenn Branson as he approached the barrier.

‘How was London, boss?’

‘Don’t ask,’ he said, sticking his ticket into the machine and walking through into the concourse. ‘What’s the development?’ He carried on, striding purposefully towards the car park.

‘There’s a resident in a block of flats in Kemp Town, Marina Heights, who’s just returned from working abroad, and called in to report the number plates on his car have been stolen.’

‘How is that a development for us?’

‘A smart call-handler put two and two together when she took the call about the plates — she was aware of the marker on the car. Firstly, his car is a Volkswagen Polo, colour grey. The same model and year as the one we suspect Tooth is driving — which he had at Withdean Road last night, and which he swapped plates with His Honour Anthony Northcliffe’s sometime after he left.’

‘Interesting.’

‘It gets better. DS Alexander obtained the CCTV footage from Budget at Gatwick of the man who rented the Polo. Haydn Kelly’s viewed it and confirmed the man is Tooth. For sure.’

‘Nice work,’ Grace said. ‘So what’s his involvement with all of this? If he’s involved?’

‘Unlikely he’s in Brighton for his holiday, boss.’

‘Be nice to find him, have a friendly man-to-man chat with him — kind of thing.’

‘I’m sure he’d appreciate that, he strikes me as that kind of a guy.’

‘I’m on my way in, just leaving Brighton Station, be with you in half an hour or less.’ Grace was thinking hard about the local geography. ‘So what we know from the ANPR cameras is that Tooth’s Polo was last seen early this morning heading east along Marine Parade and never pinged the next camera along at Rottingdean. You’ve put a marker on the new number plate and checked for any ANPR sightings?’

‘Nothing’s come up.’

Grace reached his car. ‘So he’s likely to still be in the area.’

‘Unless he’s dumped the car. But he wouldn’t go to the trouble of switching plates if he was dumping it. This is a classic Tooth MO.’

‘OK, speak to Silver and ensure Comms put out an all-ports description of the car and Tooth, and that all plain cars available do an area search.’

‘I’ve already done it, boss.’

‘Trying to make me redundant or something?’

‘Just trying to take the pressure off an old man’s shoulders.’