Find Them Dead

26 Thursday 9 May

It was the first week of her new life having left Kempsons for the last time the previous Friday. Meg was free! No longer a slave to her alarm clock and the big corporate world — for a while at least. And although it was only 8.25 a.m., the day was already feeling warm beneath a cloudless sky — and full of promise.

And she was boosted even more by a sweet WhatsApp message from Laura that had come in yesterday afternoon.

As she drove her little black BMW convertible towards the tunnel beneath the cliff on the outskirts of the county town of Lewes, loving the sunshine, she sang along to the words of ‘We Will Rock You’ blasting out from Radio Sussex.

But the instant she entered the sudden darkness of the tunnel, she had a frisson of apprehension, partly about the day ahead but also, and more significantly, her career.

She’d taken the redundancy package that Kempson Pharmaceuticals had offered, including buying her company car on very fair terms, but leaving was a big gamble, she knew. Sure, she had plenty of experience, but would she get another job at the same salary level? The recruitment agency she’d signed up with were confident, but the two job interviews she’d had through them so far had not appealed.

At least she wouldn’t be spending all of her first week of unemployment sitting at home, finding things to fill her time. Reading, gardening, lunching with friends and watching daytime TV. Wondering if she had the temerity, as the HR woman at Kempsons had suggested she should, to sign up for Jobseeker’s Allowance. But for the moment that was on hold, and she was on her way to begin her stint of jury service, albeit later than she had expected. This was due to a trial that had overrun, she’d been told.

More importantly to her, she hoped these coming weeks might be a welcome distraction from her worrying about Laura. She was a good girl, constantly updating her on where in Ecuador she and Cassie were and what they were doing. But if Meg didn’t hear from her for longer than a day, she started to fret. There had been a major story in all the papers only last week about two girls on their gap year, of similar age to Laura and Cassie, who had disappeared while backpacking around Thailand over six months ago, and their mutilated bodies had just now been found in a dense forest.

Meg’s best friend, Alison Stevens — who had helped her through that terrible time after Nick and Will died — had coincidentally done jury service herself a few months ago, and had been on a nasty child-abuse case, which had sickened her, all the more so as she’d got a one-year-old daughter — a late and unexpected addition to her family. And a work colleague had done jury service last year, which had been the trial of a conman who’d gone around Surrey posing as a gas-meter reader, stealing stuff from elderly people’s homes. Meg hoped she might get something less distressing than child abuse and more interesting than a phony gas-meter reader, today. And she had something to look forward to at the weekend. Colin’s Brother was running in a steeplechase at Plumpton Racecourse on Saturday, where he had won once before. She would be going along to cheer him on with the two partners Nick had shared the horse with. And to have a punt on him.

The music ended and she heard the voice of the presenter. ‘A big trial starts at Lewes Crown Court this morning,’ he said. ‘Brighton solicitor Terence Gready faces charges in connection with one of the most valuable drug hauls ever seized by Sussex Police. Six million pounds’ worth of the Class-A drug cocaine concealed in a vintage Ferrari at Newhaven Port in November last year.’

Meg listened intently. That sounded interesting. As she headed towards the station car park, she wondered if she was going to be on the Terence Gready jury. It would be great to be on something juicy, one she could be excited to tell Laura about — and that Laura would be keen to know all about — although she’d read the jury service bumph she’d been sent and had noted she was not permitted to speak about the trial or discussions between jurors to anyone, not even to close family. But hopefully she’d be able to give Laura a flavour at least.

Ten minutes later, as she crested the steep hill leading from the railway station to the High Street, panting with exertion, the imposing building of Lewes Crown Court loomed above her on the far side of the road. A disparate mass of people, some in suits, many in casual clothes, were in a queue that stretched along the pavement from the steps to the columned entrance. Several photographers and reporters milled around.

Meg walked behind a parked white van, and as she did so, heard the ping of an incoming WhatsApp message. Hopefully from Laura. She hurried across the road and joined the back of the queue, eager to check her phone. Like everyone else, she paid no attention to the white van, signed HALLIWELL PLUMBING with a motif of water spiralling down a drain, parked outside the elegant facade of the historic White Hart Hotel.

But Jeff Pringle, concealed in the back of the van, was paying close attention to her, and to everyone else in the line. Very close — through the telephoto lens of his camera, the peephole masked by the black epicentre of the fake company’s logo. He was snapping each person in turn. This was just for back-up, in case anything happened to the photos that would be taken inside. Belt and braces. That was how his boss always operated.

The ponytailed sixty-two-year-old was one of Terence Gready’s longest-serving and most trusted associates, managed by Mickey Starr. His normal role in the operation was organizing the drugs distribution network out of London. He handled, through a sterile corridor, the fifteen youngsters who travelled daily by train to the South Coast, distributing drugs, and replaced any of them who were busted — a regular occurrence. Gready’s solicitor, Nick Fox, had delegated him this role today because of his hobby as a twitcher — photographing rare birds — and, equally importantly, because of his IT skills.

He tightened focus on the lady who had just joined the queue. Shoulder-length brown hair nicely styled, cool sunglasses, a smart, dark two-piece. Probably a lawyer, he decided, watching her pull her phone out of her handbag, peer at it for a short while and smile. Nice smile, Jeff thought.

Then, suddenly, she turned her head and appeared to be staring straight at him. ‘Lovely, darling!’ he murmured and snapped away. Perfect! A full-on frontal view was always best for the Google facial recognition software.

He glanced at his watch: 8.55 a.m. All the jurors for the trial starting today should be either in the building or the queue. They would have been told to arrive by 9 a.m. If he had missed any, he’d pick them up later, no problem. Right now, he was anxious to get to the public gallery quickly, to secure a front-row view if possible, before too big a crowd gathered. He didn’t want to risk having to wait outside.

He emailed the photos to Rio back at the office, climbed into the front and drove the van off to a car park. As he locked it and began making his way towards the court, he had on his person a much smaller camera. So small and well disguised, no dumb security officer would spot it in a million years.

And nor would the judge.