Need You Dead

78 Thursday 28 April

Grace was silent in the car as he drove Cleo and Bruno away from the cemetery, thinking back to the different mediums he had consulted in the months and then years after Sandy had vanished. One, he remembered clearly, had said that Sandy was working in the spirit world for a healer, and that she was happy to be back in contact with her mother. A slight problem with that one, Grace had decided at that time, since her mother was still very much alive.

Now it didn’t seem that woman was completely off beam, as Sandy had indeed been communicating with her mother. Just not the way the medium had thought.

A small handful of the mediums, one in particular called Ross, whom he had felt was the most credible, had been adamant that Sandy was not in the spirit world. Which meant, he explained to Roy, that she was not dead.

He had been right, he now realized.

Jesus.

That bitch, Margot, had known all along. He felt utterly betrayed.

Half an hour later they arrived at the wake, in the function room of the Elephant and Castle pub in Lewes. Outwardly as he entered he was all polite smiles. Inwardly he was seething with silent fury.

They had known. Had they really? Sandy’s father, Derek, had always been a liar. Were they making this up? No. Her mother could not have known the reason she had left him was because she was pregnant, unless Sandy had told her. Told both of them.

It was shortly after midday. Hopefully this wouldn’t last too long — an hour perhaps and then he could get to the office. He had several fresh thoughts on Lorna Belling’s death and was now itching to get a number of actions implemented, and quickly. Bruno sat with a plate of sandwiches on a chair in a corner, where he was absorbed on his phone. Relieved that, so far at least, Sandy’s parents were a no-show, Grace dutifully looked around for some of Sandy’s relatives to introduce them to Bruno.

‘Nice suit, Roy.’

Grace turned and grinned at Glenn Branson, who pinched some of the fabric between his finger and thumb, rolling it approvingly. A couple of years back, before his first date with Cleo, Glenn had insisted on taking him shopping and getting him a complete makeover, at huge expense. He now considered himself custodian of Roy’s appearance.

‘It’s the suit I bought in New Orleans — quite a while ago.’

‘I know. Still looks good on you,’ he said, slightly grudgingly. ‘What was that place — on Canal Street? Rubensteins?’

‘You remember?’ Grace asked.

Branson tapped the side of his own head. ‘Got it all stored in here. Every designer shop on the planet. I’m a walking encyclopaedia of style.’

‘So you don’t just keep your brain in your dick, after all?’

‘Very funny. Listen, excuse me if I don’t stay long — I need to get back.’

‘Go as soon as you need to — I’m going to make my escape, too.’

Turning to scan the room again, to see who was here that he needed to speak to, he was surprised to see Pewe had come and curious as to why.

He edged through a knot of people until he was in earshot and heard Pewe and Bruno once more speaking in German. Pewe was looking down kindly at the boy. Was the ACC on a charm offensive? Why?

To his right he saw Cleo talking to Dick and Leslie Pope. He had introduced her to his oldest friends outside the church at the end of the service. He walked over to join them, eager to catch up with them, having not seen them for over two years. But all the time he kept an eye on Pewe and Bruno. They seemed to be chatting happily, quite animated. Perhaps it was a relief for him to be able to speak to someone in German? But why the ACC was giving up quite so much time away from work for this funeral was beyond him. Nicola Roigard and Lesley Manning had both left immediately after the church service, and he’d expected Pewe to have done the same. He had been surprised to see him at the committal — and now at the wake. What was the man after?

Being all kind and caring was not part of Pewe’s make-up. Grace suspected he had an ulterior motive, but could not speculate what it might be. A favour of some kind that he was going to ask, he imagined. No doubt he’d find out soon enough.

‘All right, chief, bearing up?’ Norman Potting said, through a mouthful of sausage roll.

Grace nodded, still watching Pewe. ‘Thanks, Norman. I’m pleased to get a chance to talk to you — I keep meaning to ask, what’s the latest news on your health?’

Potting had been diagnosed with prostate cancer some months ago, and had asked Grace’s advice on a couple of occasions, but hadn’t mentioned anything about it for some time.

‘I’m having more tests in a few weeks, thanks for asking, chief. But I’ve been reading quite a bit recently — you know — where they’re saying a lot of people are having surgery unnecessarily. That if it’s slow-growing you’re more likely to die with it than from it. And a big risk of losing your winkie action if you do have the surgery.’ He suddenly looked deeply sad.

There was a moment’s silence between the two men. ‘I hope today didn’t bring too many memories back of Bella, for you?’

The Detective Sergeant shook his head, then looked like he was struggling to hold it together. He turned away and walked swiftly across the room, weaving through the small crowd. Out of the corner of his eye Grace saw Guy Batchelor approaching, followed by Jon Exton.

‘I’m going to make a move, Roy, if you’ll excuse me, need to get back,’ Batchelor said.

‘Of course, I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I need to have a talk with you and Glenn — three o’clock in my office?’

‘Good with me.’

He shook Guy’s big, firm hand and their eyes met. The DI gave him a reassuring smile and said, ‘We’re going to crack this one soon, boss.’

‘We need to.’

Jon Exton approached him, looking gaunt. He smelled rank, as if he had slept in his suit, and looked a little shaky and on edge. Grace wondered if he had an alcohol problem as he could smell a whiff of it on his breath. Fair play, he had provided wine and beer here, but Exton was on duty.

Lowering his voice, he asked, ‘Is everything really OK with you, Jon?’

‘Oh yes, boss, fine.’

Grace frowned. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

‘Well — strictly entre nous — I’m just going through a little difficulty with my other half.’

‘You and a lot of other police officers — it’s a very big club, Jon.’

‘Yes, ha ha. I think we will work it out. Things sort of haven’t been right since we got back from holiday.’ Exton glanced around anxiously. ‘Yes, yes, it’ll be all right. I’ll — I’m going to get back — er — with Guy, if that’s all right?’

‘See you in a bit — and I mean it, Jon. Anytime you’d like to talk. OK?’

‘Appreciate it. I’m getting it sorted, it’ll be fine.’

Grace looked around. Pewe was still talking to Bruno. Sandy’s parents weren’t here. Good. He hadn’t been sure what he might say to them if he saw them. He didn’t trust himself not to have a blazing row with them and this was not the time or place. But he couldn’t help wondering, if they had known Sandy was alive — and presumably her whereabouts since she disappeared over a decade ago — then who else had?

A ridiculous thought came into his head. Pewe? Could he have known?

He dismissed it.

Then he heard a Scottish accent. ‘Roy, remember us — cousins of Sandy — we were at your wedding! Bill and Helen Ross, from Aberdeen!’

He turned and saw an elderly but spritely couple.

‘Yes, of course, how very nice to see you again,’ he said, politely, shaking hands with them. He had pretty much a photographic memory for faces but could not really remember them.

‘Such sad circumstances,’ Helen said, ‘our hearts go out to you.’

He chatted for some minutes with them, aware that the wake was rapidly thinning out. When he next looked around, Pewe had vanished. Cleo said she and Bruno would cadge a lift with Roy’s sister, and if he was up for it later, take him for a little drive — he was keen to collect some Pokémon — and it would give her the chance to chat with him.

Grace had been sad in the church, and at the grave, he thought, as he drove away from the pub and headed to the Police HQ. But now he didn’t feel sad any more. He felt angry and puzzled. Anger at Sandy’s parents, puzzled by Cassian Pewe’s behaviour, and wondering.

Were Sandy’s parents the only people who had known the truth all this time? Yet Sandy had never been fond of them or close to them. Was it really likely she had been in touch with them, in regular contact, sharing her secret? To spare them the agony of not knowing?

Or had Sandy sent them a suicide note too, that he was not aware of, telling them everything as well? And they were just winding him up, out of spite? But why would they do that?

To score a pathetic little victory?

God, he had thought that in burying Sandy today, he would at last have closure; but instead she had sprung on him not only a son he never knew he had, but also another mystery.

Right now, as he approached the barrier at Malling House, he parked those thoughts, and switched his mind back to the myriad complexities of Operation Bantam. And something that was worrying him about it.

A definite shadow.

As he entered his office that shadow darkened. There was a message awaiting him that instantly made him deeply worried.