Left You Dead

70

‘Sorry about that — I remember watching Lewis Hamilton do a doughnut at the Goodwood Festival of Speed.’

Grace looked at him. ‘No disrespect, he’s probably a bit more talented behind the wheel than you.’

‘Yeah, but he’d probably be a rubbish detective,’ Branson said, restarting the stalled engine and heading off, at a subdued pace, along the bumpy cart track.

‘Apparently, there used to be an entry in the Guinness Book of Records called “The Loneliest Tree in the World”,’ Grace said. ‘It was in the Sahara, 250 miles from the next nearest tree, and was knocked down by a drunk Libyan truck driver.’

‘Are you trying to tell me something?’

‘Just saying. It’s all a bit sensitive at the moment.’

‘Thanks, boss, I understand.’

‘It’s fine,’ Grace said. ‘But we’re not in a rush. OK? If Eden Paternoster’s been dead since last Thursday, she’s not going anywhere, is she?’

‘Good point,’ Branson said. He eased off a fraction. But the horizon was still approaching way too fast for Grace’s comfort.

‘Better?’ the DI asked.

Grace waited until they’d survived the next corner before replying tightly, ‘A little.’

Over the next twenty minutes, aware Roy wanted to avoid talking about Bruno, Branson updated him on the latest developments on the enquiry. He was meeting the Surveillance Team leader, DS Mark Taylor, now that his team had been signed off from their previous job, to brief him — maybe Roy would like to be there for that? He said he would. Branson had already arranged for a fixed observation point at the Greyhound Stadium until the Surveillance Team were available to monitor Paternoster’s activity.

Neighbours on both sides of the Paternosters’ home had all been questioned by Jack Alexander’s Outside Enquiry Team, and had informed the officers they’d heard the Paternosters having a violent row last Thursday night. None of them had seen Eden since. Work colleagues at the insurance company, Mutual Occidental, where Eden was employed, who had all now been interviewed, had confirmed that her failing to turn up to work on Friday — and not phoning in — had been quite out of character. She was normally scrupulously punctual and diligent.

All the close friends and relatives, whose names and details Niall Paternoster had given, had now been contacted, and all confirmed they had not heard from Eden since last Thursday at the latest. Branson added that her mother had apparently been the most vocal, saying she had always thought her son-in-law was not good enough for her daughter. She had tried to warn Eden off marrying him. And, more worryingly, on one occasion some months ago, Eden had come to stay with her overnight in a terrible state, saying Niall and she had split up, but then they’d subsequently got back together, much to her disappointment.

They had come back with positive DNA matches on the blood on the kitchen floor to both Eden and Niall. Grace knew, as all detectives, that if a kitchen knife was used in a stabbing it would almost certainly cut the assailant’s hand, too, when it struck bone. That tallied, possibly with Niall Paternoster’s cut finger, explaining his blood in the kitchen. There were more positive matches with Eden’s blood on the stairs, the en-suite tiles and on her T-shirt found secreted in there. Results were not yet back on the items of clothing found at the grave.

Grace made a number of notes. Bit by bit, the case against Niall Paternoster was building. A ‘no body’ murder was acknowledged by all SIOs as the hardest to prove. It required compelling circumstantial evidence to convince the Crown Prosecution Service to agree to proceed — the notoriously demanding CPS solicitors were always reluctant to commit to the expense of a prosecution case and all the costs of a trial without a degree of certainty that they would win.

But Grace was feeling uncertain. His early instincts, from his meeting with Paternoster, felt right. Maybe the bone that had been found would prove it beyond any doubt. But he felt there was something still missing.

He looked down at his what3words app.

They were almost at the scene.

Grace knew this forest from his earliest childhood days, when they’d had occasional school outings here, running around and being mindful that there were adders living in the sandy brush. And dense woodland was historically a deposition site for murder victims.

Branson was braking hard and indicating. Moments later, he swung in left.

A cluster of vehicles, including the large white CSI van, in the sandy parking area confirmed they were in the right place, as did the outer cordon of crime scene tape just beyond them.