Find Them Dead

11 Thursday 29 November

‘The French Connection, yeah?’ DI Glenn Branson said into the phone, seated at his workstation in the empty Major Incident Room at Sussex Police HQ.

‘French Connection?’ Roy Grace replied, mildly irritated by the early-morning phone call interrupting his routine of stretches. He was standing in the field next to his cottage, at the end of his five-mile run. Humphrey, his rescue Labrador-cross, was running around sniffing the ground hard, on the scent of something — probably a rabbit, he guessed.

Grace was taking a rare weekday off, because he would be at work most of the weekend, overseeing a major stop-and-search operation in South East London on Friday and Saturday night. He was happy to enjoy this unusual time at home with no commitments whatsoever.

Glenn Branson and some of the team from Major Crime were working with the Regional Serious and Organized Crime Unit on the investigation of a Ferrari busted for drugs at Newhaven earlier that week. Glenn had been appointed SIO, heading up a multi-agency team as the RSOCU had a number of high-profile jobs running simultaneously.

‘I’m not with you, Glenn — you mean because the Ferrari came in from Dieppe?’

‘Duh! Surely you remember that movie? It was about your vintage!’

‘It’s ringing a faint bell.’

‘Nah, that’s the sound of the dinner bell in your old people’s home! Off you run, you don’t want to let your soup go cold — isn’t that what they give you, cos you can’t really chew any more?’

‘Cheeky bugger! The French Connection?’

‘Gene Hackman and Roy Scheider.’

‘Wasn’t he the cop — the Chief of Police — in Jaws?’

‘Now you’re getting there.’

‘Yep, I remember now, vaguely. The French Connection — didn’t it start with Gene Hackman in bed with some bird in handcuffs?’

‘Trust you to remember that bit. What I’m talking about is the car, the Lincoln Continental that the villain, Fernando Rey, shipped over to New York from Marseilles.’

Branson paused to nod greetings to some of his team, who’d entered the room for the morning briefing which was due to start in a few minutes. ‘Gene Hackman had it weighed and realized it was wrong — it weighed more than a proper Lincoln should have.’

‘Got it, yes! I remember now, good movie!’

‘It was well brilliant. Yeah, so that’s how the Border Force officer rumbled the Ferrari, because it weighed more than it should have.’

‘Not surprised, with six million quid’s worth of Class-A stashed inside it.’

‘Top-quality cocaine.’

‘Don’t I get any credit for the tip-off?’

‘I suppose so, since you asked so sweetly.’

‘Sod you! How’s the investigation going?’

‘Slowly, thanks to the silence of our courier.’

‘The one who’s been potted?’

‘Yep. Michael Starr. Went no comment in all interviews. So far, the Ferrari’s a ghost car that was en route to a suspect company. LH Classics appears to have no formal management structure. The staff there, one full-time and two part-time mechanics, have all been interviewed. The company computers and phones have been seized. The company’s owned by a Panama shell with nominee directors and a CEO listed as a Swiss citizen, Hermann Perren — but so far the only person of that name we’ve been able to trace was killed in a climbing accident on the Matterhorn nearly thirty years ago.’

‘I presume you’re following the money?’ Grace said. ‘Any progress on the info we’ve given you on Mr Big — the Diamond?’

‘I think we’re getting close to an arrest. We’re all over it, like a rash. Emily Denyer from the Financial Investigation Unit has been seconded to the team.’

‘Smart lady — that’s great.’

‘She’s super-smart — very glad she’s on our side! She’s already done some useful background work, finding out the details on LH Classics. Oh, and there is one possible breakthrough: a member of the public off the same ferry handed in a phone he found lying in the road outside the Customs shed. It’s a burner with Starr’s prints on it, and Digital Forensics have put in a cell-site analysis request on it.’

‘Didn’t he have gloves on at the time of his arrest?’

‘Ever tried dialling a mobile when you’re wearing a glove, boss? Oh no, on second thoughts, you’re probably still using a rotary dial phone.’

‘Haha. Well, I’m not planning on any sort of phone today; I’m actually having a day off.’

‘Oh yeah? Up to much?’

‘Cleo’s going to work, Bruno’s at school. I’ll have Noah to myself this morning, there’ll be toys everywhere, it’ll be brilliant. I’ve got Kaitlynn coming this afternoon to look after him so I can do all sorts of important stuff like wash the car and then satisfy my obsession.’

‘Which is?’

‘Cataloguing the latest additions to my vinyl collection. Don’t judge me! And remember trashing my music collection when you were my house guest?’

There was a brief silence as Glenn, slightly embarrassed, thought back to when he’d split up with his wife, Ari. Roy had let him stay in his house — then had gone mental when he’d found he’d put some of his precious collection into the wrong order. ‘I try not to! So, how’s Cleo doing this time round?’

‘She’s good, thanks, almost three months in — a bit of morning sickness but she’s a trooper. We’re trying to prep for having a newborn in the house again. Talking of preparations, how are yours going? You should have been married by now.’

‘Yep, we’ve just been way too busy. We’re fixing a date for summer next year now, there’s no mad rush. I’ll let you know as soon as we have it so you can book time off! Siobhan is mega busy so I’m part-time wedding planner at the moment and, honestly, I’m enjoying it, you know? Getting in touch with my feminine side, sorting the cake and flowers.’

Grace had a momentary image of Glenn, six foot two inches tall, solid muscle, black and bald. ‘I’m trying to imagine that — it’s not pretty.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Hope you’re working on your speech?’

‘Every minute of every day — thinking of how I can trash you.’ Grace paused. ‘Cake and flowers. Nice! Very exciting for you.’

‘This is the modern world.’

‘I have to say, one positive about being in the Met, I’m not missing your daily insults. So, about this Ferrari and the French connection, if you need any help from me, let me know. Gotta go now, I can hear that dinner bell again — don’t want the soup going cold.’

‘Make sure there aren’t any lumps in it.’

‘Lumps?’

‘Don’t want you choking to death.’

‘Haha!’

Then he heard a scream. Cleo’s voice from inside the cottage.

‘Roy! Oh God, ROYYYYYYY! ROYYYYYYYYYY!’

The sound pierced his heart.

He killed the call without saying anything, let himself in through the gate and, without waiting for Humphrey, sprinted towards the house.