Need You Dead

100 Saturday 30 April

Eight forty-five on a Saturday night; the car park was thinning out. Grace watched a rotund woman, stuffing her face with a doughnut as she pushed a laden trolley towards her car, parked opposite him. Packham had been almost forty minutes, and had texted to apologize, saying he was in stationary traffic on the A27 because of an accident.

Surprised that Weatherley had still not called him back, Grace was about to dial his number again when he saw a dark-coloured Audi turn left towards him and flash its lights. It was Packham.

Grace slipped out of his car, glancing around carefully, then walked across to the Audi and climbed in the passenger door; the interior had a strong new-car smell.

‘Sorry it took so long, Roy,’ he said. ‘Something on its roof on the other side of the carriageway, and my side was all jammed up with rubberneckers.’

‘That’s the problem with that stretch of road,’ Grace replied. ‘Accidents on it constantly. So, what do you have?’

Packham reached behind him, and pulled a laptop off the rear seat. Then he looked around, cautiously, before raising the lid.

‘I’ve copied Lorna Belling’s data onto my laptop.’

‘Amazing you’ve been able to recover it, Ray, and so quickly.’

‘The rice cure can work magic, Roy. If you ever drop your phone down the toilet, rice will dry it out.’

Grace grimaced. ‘Thanks, I’ll remember that.’

Packham tapped the keyboard and the screen came to life. On it was a photograph of a bar on a sandy beach, shaded by the overhang of tropical-looking trees. In the background was calm, turquoise ocean. A couple were seated at the bar, with their arms round each other, staring into each other’s eyes. The man was wearing dark glasses and a panama hat at a rakish angle, and the woman a white baseball cap with sunglasses perched on the peak.

Grace gave Packham a quizzical look. ‘Why are you showing me this?’

‘Take a closer look, Roy — it’s Guy Batchelor and his wife, Lena.’

‘I can see that. What’s their photograph doing on Lorna Belling’s computer? I mean — if they knew each other, he’d have told me.’

‘I think from what I’ve found on here, Roy, they did know each other, and he didn’t tell you.’

‘Meaning?’

But he didn’t need the question answering. The uncomfortable truth was dawning on him almost faster than he could process it.

‘Shit,’ he said, suddenly feeling very shaky. ‘I–I don’t — I don’t believe it. Shit.’

Confirmation came moments later in a phone call from Ops-1.