Dead at First Sight

92 Thursday 11 October

Grace arrived back at the Incident Room shortly before 7 p.m. It was a hive of activity and concentration, with several of his team busy on phone calls that were still coming in following the press briefing yesterday, or on their keyboards. He looked around, the buzz of adrenaline coursing through his veins momentarily eclipsing his anger at the legal team this afternoon. This was what he had signed up for and this was what he loved. The early days of a murder enquiry were a time of excitement and awesome responsibility in equal measures.

Glenn Branson strode over to him as he entered. ‘So, what happened with the brief in London, boss?’

‘One word, four letters. Begins with an S for Sierra, ends with a T for Tango. Or if you’d like the longer version, we’ve been one word, six letters, begins with F for Foxtrot, ends with D for Delta.’

‘What? I mean — that bitch, Jodie Bentley — what happened?’

Grace shook his head. ‘Why do we sodding bother? We do everything we can, risking our lives too often, only to get screwed by the system, time and time again. Long story, mate, I’ll tell you the details later. So what’s the latest here?’

‘DI Henderson’s on his way over from Lewes Prison to give us an update on the murder. So far nothing on Tooth’s car — we’re—’

He was interrupted by DC Hall who was holding a phone in the air. ‘Guv, Marcel Kullen for you.’

Grace went over to his workstation and picked up the receiver. Hall put him through.

‘Marcel?’

‘Ja, Roy. All is good?’

‘Could be better.’

‘So we have raided the house of the man, Kofi Okonjo — known also as Dunstan Ogwang — in Reutlingen. We have interviewed his girlfriend, Julia Schade, and our digital team has found on one of his computers — it is only an early examination — a link to an Englishman called Steve Barrey. He appears, from what they have found so far, to be living in the island of Jersey in the Channel Islands.’

‘One of Germany’s former colonies, Marcel.’

‘Ha ha.’

‘This is really helpful information. You obviously haven’t been informed yet, but Okonjo is dead.’

‘Dead?’

‘He was murdered in prison this afternoon.’

‘Scheisse! You’re kidding?’

‘Nope, I’m afraid not. You’d better tell his sweetheart he won’t be coming home.’

Kullen was silent for an instant. ‘Well, I have more for you from this lady. We have the address here in Germany of his suspected colleague, the man you are after, Jules de Copeland, also known as Tunde Oganjimi.’

‘Brilliant, Marcel.’

‘His Ghanaian wife and baby son are living there — they are in a village a short distance from Munich. Julia Schade told us Copeland is in England, with Okonjo.’

‘We’re doing all we can to find him, Marcel. We had positive sightings of him on Tuesday night, following the machete attack on Toby Seward, and we’re on it.’

‘OK, Roy, we are continuing with the investigation — I’ll come back to you as soon as we know more.’

‘Anything you have, Marcel, and as soon as you have it, please.’ As he ended the call he glanced at his watch, then turned to Camping. ‘John, get on to Jersey States Police and see if their Financial Crimes Unit have a Steve Barrey on their radar.’

‘Interestingly, sir, his name is on a list my new contact there gave me,’ the DS replied, flipping back a couple of pages of his notebook. ‘Detective Inspector Nick Paddenberg of the Force Intelligence Bureau.’

‘How many names of possibles did DI Paddenberg give you?’

‘They’re currently keeping four under surveillance. All of them potentially behind internet fraud schemes. I’ve also been liaising with the Jersey Financial Services Commission, because he’s popped up on their radar, too.’

The tall, bearded figure of DI Henderson, who had been appointed SIO for the murder of Kofi Okonjo, came into the room and made a beeline for Grace.

‘Just back from Lewes Prison, guv. Not exactly my favourite job of the year.’

Grace nodded, sympathetically. No cop liked entering a prison. In general there was a deep cultural dislike of all police officers by the inmates. And every officer entering a prison, for whatever business purposes, was always aware that if a riot kicked off while they were there, they could be both an instant hostage and a prime target for violence.

‘What news, Phil?’

‘Not a lot so far. The prison officers have done a good job of sealing and protecting the crime scene for us. Looks like Okonjo was stabbed to death whilst showering, after he’d been for a run around the prison exercise yard. The suspected weapon was discarded in another part of the prison, a typical ingenious prison switchblade, made out of a filed-down plastic chair leg, I would guess. Wiped of prints, of course. I’ve interviewed both men remanded at the same time as him, and the officers. Neither of them admit to seeing anything.’

‘Any indication that either of the prisoners remanded with him had had himself arrested deliberately, Phil?’

‘No, guv. One in for GBH, the other arrested for repeated disqualified driving. The problem is that any of the other five hundred and eighty prisoners could have slipped into that area unnoticed and done it. And there’s the other possibility of course — it could have been a bent officer.’

Grace well knew from his own experience just how hard it was to investigate a prison murder.

‘I’ve left a Crime Scene Manager and two search officers there, as they need to get those showers freed up and back into use urgently. I’m going back tomorrow morning with a team and we’ll set up camp, work our way through the bunch of charmers,’ Henderson said. ‘I decided there wasn’t much point trying after lock-in this evening. The Prison Governor agreed.’

Grace thanked him, not envying Henderson his task. The DI told him he would report back later tomorrow, and left.

He then returned to his workstation, logged on and glanced through what was currently happening in Brighton and Hove to see if there was anything that might be connected to this current Operation Lisbon. But he saw nothing relevant to interest him.

An email from Cassian Pewe pinged in, asking for an immediate and urgent update.

But before he could reply, Glenn Branson came over. ‘Just taken a call from Comms, boss. An RPU officer from Polegate, in a plain car, did a sweep of the Kemp Town area and has spotted our Polo parked up outside a block of flats, Marina Heights.’

‘Yes? What else did he see?’

‘He says the car appears to be empty.’

‘Appears to be?’

‘Because of the warning not to get too close and the darkness, he couldn’t be one hundred per cent certain, but he’s pretty sure.’

Grace clenched his fists. Was this the breakthrough he’d been hoping for?

Was it Tooth’s car and, if so, would he be returning to it? ‘Where exactly, Glenn?’

‘In the visitors’ parking area immediately in front of the building.’

‘Where is this officer now?’

‘His name’s PC Trundle. I told him, as you instructed, to sit on it. He’s parked up at a safe distance, keeping eyes on.’

Grace considered this development. Where might Tooth be now, if this was his car? In the building? Lurking nearby? Or had he abandoned it? Was there CCTV of the car park?

‘When’s Trundle’s shift due to end?’

‘Eleven tonight.’

‘OK, either keep him on it or get another officer in a plain car to take over when his shift ends, if we don’t have more resources by then.’

Two minutes later, Branson came back. ‘Boss, the East and West Sussex Road Policing Units are all attending a double fatal near Chichester at the far end of the county. They’ve no resources currently to relieve PC Trundle.’

He told Branson to ask Trundle to hold his position and await further orders. Grace thought hard about everything they had on Tooth, mindful of his officers’ safety. ‘If it is Tooth’s car he’s very likely armed. Tell Comms to instruct Trundle to follow if he appears but not to stop the car, nor pursue him on foot if he leaves the vehicle. Request an Armed Response Vehicle on standby. But ensure it keeps well away and out of sight, we don’t want Tooth doing yet another runner.’

‘What might Tooth be doing at that building?’

‘Waiting for someone to come out? Or inside it?’

‘So who’s in there that’s so interesting to him?’ Branson asked.

‘The same person he’d gone along to see in Withdean Road before a marked car spooked him? The smart money’s on a tall Ghanaian with shiny red shoes.’

‘Yep.’

‘I’ll get a surveillance team in place. We also need some fast research on the building. There’s bound to be a caretaker or concierge in a block of flats that large. Have someone get hold of them, and first thing check the CCTV to see if it is Tooth and in which direction he might have gone. See if they’ve noticed anyone of Copeland’s description. Also find out who the managing agents are and whether they’ve let any of the flats to someone of his description — that will probably have to wait until office hours tomorrow. Likewise, in the morning, if nothing has changed, see what we can find out from the Council’s relevant databases. In the meantime, check the electoral roll.’

‘What about sending a couple of plain-clothes in to start doing door-to-door?’ Branson suggested.

‘I’m concerned that Copeland could be armed, as well as Tooth. We’ve seen what his colleague did. I don’t want to put any of our team in unnecessary danger. Let’s see what the caretaker comes up with first and then take a view.’

As Branson returned to his own workstation, Grace called the duty Gold and Silver Commanders and updated them.

They discussed a plan. When they had agreed it, together with the authority to continue deployment of armed officers, Grace stood up and called for the attention of everyone in the room. At that moment, Cassian Pewe phoned him.