Need You Dead

59 Monday 25 April

‘What do you think, should we pull Brown back in?’ Batchelor said.

Roy Grace looked at the printout that had been passed on by Surrey and Sussex Forensics. It was the fingerprint report on identifying marks found in the flat giving a match with the fingerprints of Kipp Brown.

‘The problem is, Guy, as we’ve said before, this is not telling us anything new. Kipp Brown already admitted in the interview that he’d been in the flat, and had sex with Lorna Belling on the afternoon of April 20th. This report just confirms he was there. How would it help us to recall him now?’

Batchelor looked awkward, standing, nodding thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I guess you’re right, chief. I just got overexcited by this result.’

‘Look, Guy, you need to remember, if you are building a case against a suspect in this kind of investigation, we work closely with the Crown Prosecution Service. They’ll appoint a lawyer to work with us. They can be the bane of our lives but ultimately, however obscure at times it may seem to any of us, they are on our side. I’ve been in court too often in my career with an absolute slam-dunk of a case, only to see a villain walk free thanks to a smart defence brief, or a bonkers jury. That’s what we have to arm ourselves against here, OK?’

‘I’m suitably chastened, boss!’ Batchelor said, and bowed his head.

‘Don’t be, you’re doing a good job, Guy.’

‘Say that when we have the bastard who killed Lorna behind bars.’

Grace grimaced, but said nothing. Privately, he wasn’t sure that was going to happen any time soon. Neither Brown nor Darling’s body language had signalled they were killers. He still harboured the feeling that the killer was in a mortuary fridge, short of his legs. But to be sure, he needed Batchelor to eliminate Seymour Darling and Kipp Brown — as well as any other possible suspects who hadn’t yet shown up on their radar.

His phone vibrated. It was ACC Pewe.

‘Good morning, sir,’ Grace said. He disliked this man so much, it stung him every time he had to say the deferential word sir.

Dispensing of any pleasantries, Pewe cut straight to the chase. ‘Roy, you are aware, are you not, of the budget cuts to Sussex Police?’

‘Very aware — sir.’ The current government’s dislike of the police — and savage budget cuts — were something every officer was only too well aware of. The feeling that they had been let down by the Conservatives — normally a pro-police party — was palpable.

‘In which case, can you justify the cost of keeping a 24/7 guard on someone on life support who is, according to the doctors, in a persistent vegetative state?’

‘Yes, sir, I can.’

‘I’m all ears,’ Pewe said.

‘This man is a professional killer — a hitman — who we are pretty certain murdered two people in the UK last year, one in Sussex, and nearly murdered a third, a young boy. We believe he came back here to carry out another killing, possibly more. We can’t take the risk of him escaping.’

‘For God’s sake, Roy, the man has a Glasgow Coma score of three!’

The Glasgow Coma Scale is a way of assessing a patient’s response and awareness. A score of three means the patient does not open their eyes, does not respond verbally and does not move when stimulated to do so.

‘Tooth did have a score of three when first admitted, sir,’ Grace replied. ‘But he has improved since then. He has now been reassessed to a seven bordering eight.’

‘Seven bordering eight?’

‘Yes, sir. That means he opens his eyes in response to stimulus, makes incomprehensible sounds and demonstrates abnormal flexion to painful stimuli.’

‘What’s his prognosis?’

‘No one really knows, sir. He suffered severely venomous snake and spider bites, and the medical staff have no experience of someone bitten by a combination of these creatures. He’s been seen by a leading specialist brought down from St Thomas’s in London, who had never dealt with such a combination of poisons before. The venom from each species, apparently, inflicts different long-term metabolic damage. At this stage we have no idea whether he will pull through, but he’s clearly hellishly tough.’

‘The cost of the guard on him is simply not justifiable, with his condition. It’s not a good use of resources.’

‘He’s escaped from us twice before, sir. This is an extraordinarily resourceful man. I don’t think we can take the chance.’

‘We can’t afford to keep a 24/7 police guard on him, Roy. It’s an unnecessary drain on resources. I’ve spoken to the consultant in charge of him at the hospital who agrees that in no way is Tooth a flight risk. Or indeed any kind of a risk to anyone.’

‘What do you suggest, sir? Would you like my wife and I to invite him to come and stay with us for the weekend, perhaps?’

‘There’s no need to be flippant.’

‘No flippancy intended, sir. I’m trying to be realistic. This is a man who jumped into Shoreham Harbour last year, whom we presumed was drowned. He also previously disappeared from hospital after being admitted unconscious and seriously injured from a collision with a cyclist. We now have him back, and whilst he is currently incapacitated, we would have one hell of a job explaining to the media if he escaped from hospital — however improbable that might be.’

‘You just have no idea about operational intelligence diversity, do you, Roy?’

Puzzled, Grace said, ‘I’m sorry, sir, you’ve lost me on that one.’

‘I lose you on everything,’ Pewe snorted and hung up.

‘Have a nice day, sir,’ Grace said into the dead receiver. Then as he turned back to Batchelor there was a rap on the door, and without waiting for any answer, Norman Potting came barrelling in.

‘Chief! Sorry to interrupt.’ He looked at both of his senior officers with glee in his face. ‘I thought you ought to know right away — we have a major development on Operation Bantam.’

‘Yes?’ Grace said.

‘We have a new suspect!’