One of Us Is Dead

83 Monday 17 October 2022

There was something about the white shirts with epaulettes that the top brass of Sussex Police wore — males with black ties, females with black and white chequered cravats — that gave off a clinical air of authority. The shirts always looked immaculate, with something of the military about them.

Until this morning, Grace had always enjoyed a cordial relationship with Nigel Downing, but today the ACC appeared to have swallowed a Cassian Pewe pill. By way of a greeting, as Grace settled into the chair in front of the large desk, Downing asked in a crisp tone, ‘Were you ever a fan of that TV series, Blackadder?’

Pewe had been a past master at asking questions that were carefully disguised trapdoors, and one lesson Grace had learned from him was to avoid giving a direct answer, although he doubted Downing was trying to trick him. ‘With Rowan Atkinson and Hugh Laurie, sir?’

‘That scene when Blackadder says, It’s like a blind man in a dark room looking for a black cat that isn’t there. Did you see that?’

Playing along, Grace replied, ‘I’ve never seen it, but Norman often quotes it.’

Downing nodded hard, several times, his face softening to a smile. ‘You know what I’m about to say, don’t you? Because that’s what seems to be happening on Op Meadow since the start. You’ve been looking for a dead man, in an apartment, where he doesn’t live.’

‘I actually think that’s a bit harsh, sir, but I take your point.’

‘OK, enough said on the matter, but we need to make sure we are not falling in love with a hunch. I’ve seen countless prisons in countries around the world where innocent people are rotting in jail thanks to detectives biased by their hunches rather than the facts. I just don’t want that to happen to you.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘Roy, I appreciate you’ve had many years’ experience as a detective on the front line of Major Crime, and I’m just a relative newbie. But what I hope I bring to the force is an occasional fresh perspective on the way things are done. We have a lot of anxiety in the city of Brighton and Hove over two fatal mushroom poisonings, with the perpetrator still at large. Admittedly one might have been accidental, but the other, Barnie Wallace, was clearly intentional. Whether or not he was targeted or just unfortunate is something we still do not know, do we?’

‘I’m pretty sure I do know,’ Grace said. ‘He was specifically targeted.’

‘Based on the facts or just a hunch?’

‘Based on twenty years of experience as a detective on Major Crime, as you’ve just said, sir, and the evidence we have already found.’

‘And your twenty years of experience tells you that the death of two people, in a high-speed crash in a Ferrari, is the work of the same person who switched Mr Wallace’s mushrooms in the Organica supermarket?’

‘It does.’

‘Both acts perpetrated by a man who has been dead for over two years?’

‘Correct.’

‘A blind man — but not in a dark room this time?’

Grace saw the creases of a smile in the ACC’s face. ‘He didn’t have a black cat with him either, sir.’

‘Roy, you’re a dog lover, right?’

Frowning at the apparent non sequitur, he replied, ‘I am, yes — my wife and I love dogs.’

‘I love them, too,’ the ACC said. ‘You recently solved a major case involving the illegal trade in dogs, and full credit to you for that.’

Grace wondered for a moment if his boss was losing the plot. Then Downing said, ‘You know the Chief has dogs too.’

Grace frowned again. He knew that the chief constable of Sussex, Lesley Manning, was a big dog lover. Where was this going?

Downing smiled suddenly. A big, warm beam of a smile. ‘Roy, she’s breathing down my neck. We’ve got three bizarre deaths in Sussex in the past few weeks. A mushroom poisoning, a university professor, and now a prominent businessman — and his girlfriend — in a car accident that might not be so accidental.’ He opened his arms, expansively, shooting his cuffs in the process. ‘You’re the Head of Major Crime, so I have to turn to you for the answers the Chief wants. I’m on your side, Roy, I believe in you, but I need something for her. So, dog lovers the three of us, just throw me a damned bone!’