Love You Dead

104 Friday 13 March

Noah had been grizzly all evening. Finally, past midnight, after numerous trips to his room to feed and soothe him, Roy and Cleo had both fallen asleep.

Almost immediately, it seemed, Roy was woken by the rasping sound of his phone. He had left it on silent but vibrate mode, in the hope that if it did ring, it wouldn’t wake Cleo, who was knackered.

He grabbed it, the display showing No Caller ID, slipped out of bed, went through into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and switched on the light. ‘Roy Grace,’ he answered quietly. The time on the display was 12.43 a.m.

‘Roy? It’s Norman — sorry — Paul.’

Potting sounded pissed, his voice alternating between his Devon burr and his assumed Transatlantic accent.

‘You shouldn’t be calling me direct. It’s all meant to go through your Cover Officer.’

‘I know that, Roy, but I just wanted to let you know as well — cut the bureaucracy out.’

‘It’s not so much red tape as protocol, Norman. OK. I appreciate you calling, but it’s dangerous, OK? This is a breach of procedure.’

‘OK, chief, if you say so.’

‘So?’

‘I’ve made contact.’

‘I’ve been informed from Surveillance.’

‘Had a pretty interesting evening.’

‘So it sounds.’

‘Huh?’

‘Boozy time?’

‘Well, I had to keep up with her. I think she likes me. She’s a fast mover. Our plan worked, I think she mus — must — have read the Argus piece and figured out who I was. You know?’

‘Cornel.’

‘Thash— that’s— me!’

Alarm bells were ringing at the sound of his voice. ‘Nice work, Norman — sorry — Paul. So?’

‘I’m seeing her again tomorrow. She’s suggested going to hers — she’s cooking me dinner at home tomorrow evening, and you’ll be able to pick the address up from my tracker when I get there.’

‘Good, well done, but don’t call me again.’

Grace ended the call feeling worried. Many officers in Sussex Police felt that Potting, with his non-pc attitudes — albeit less extreme these days — was well past his sell-by date. With the historic thirty-year service to retirement, few officers in Sussex Police were older than fifty-five. But with recent unpopular revisions to the pension scheme, working past the age of fifty-five was going to become the norm. And the DS, a late entrant to the police, would not be completing his thirty years until he was almost sixty. Another few years to go. As one of the officers to have worked closely with him over a number of years, Roy Grace saw qualities in the strange but kind character that eluded those who knew — or saw — only the old-school cop in him, and the values that came with that. Grace knew better and had fought Potting’s corner several times in recent years, saving him from disciplinary action — and potential dismissal on more than one occasion — because he believed in him.

He hoped to hell that Potting wasn’t going to let him down now. But even more importantly for the DS’s personal security, he hoped he wasn’t going to let his guard down. If Grace was right — and he was pretty sure that he was — Jodie Carmichael wasn’t someone it was safe to get drunk with.