The Hawk Is Dead

39

Wednesday 22 November 2023

Polly Sweeney was a smartly dressed and very personable colleague in her early fifties. She was chatting to the two Royal Protection Officers by the security barrier at the entrance to the St James’s Palace complex, as Roy Grace and Sir Tommy Magellan-Lacey approached.

After she’d shown her ID and received a pass, the three of them walked past Sir Tommy’s residence, then made a left turn through an archway and into an inner courtyard, with a green and white sign on the wall: AMBASSADORS’ COURT.

Discreetly, continuing in his temporary role as tour guide, the Master of the Royal Household pointed out the buildings where other royals had their London residences. Walking further along the courtyard he stopped at an imposing front door in the equally imposing ancient red-brick building and rang the bell.

There was a burst of deep barking from the other side of the door, followed by a stern but faint command to sit that instantly quietened it. The door was opened a few moments later by a tall and clearly very distressed woman in her mid-fifties, flanked by two shiny-coated black Labradors, now sitting obediently. Her tear-stained face lit up a fraction as she saw Sir Tommy but immediately turned to a frown as she clocked Grace and Sweeney.

‘Margot, Lady Greaves,’ Magellan-Lacey said gently. ‘May I introduce Detective Superintendent Roy Grace and Polly Sweeney, from the Surrey and Sussex Major Crime Team.’

‘Yes, ah, yes, you told me about them coming.’ A handsome woman, her grey hair coiffed in a conservative but understated style, she was wearing a dark dress with a white ruff collar and black suede pumps. ‘Good morning, officers,’ she said in a voice that might, under other circumstances, have been commanding, but now sounded broken, and as bewildered as she looked.

Grace felt for her. On Monday morning her husband had set off for work, as normal. A few hours later he was on a mortuary table, with his head blown to smithereens, awaiting a post-mortem. It didn’t matter whether you led a gilded life in a palace or struggled to make ends meet in a council dwelling, grief was a leveller. It stripped away all the trappings you’d ever surrounded yourself with.

‘Do please come in,’ she said, holding the door with one hand and signalling to the dogs to stay still with the other.

The apartment, Grace noticed immediately, was very different in feel to the warm family farmhouse atmosphere of Sir Tommy’s residence. This was more formal, more structured. Grand paintings were hung on the walls. The bust of a man he recognized as the late Sir Peregrine stood on a columned plinth. She led them through into a grand drawing room, clearly designed and decorated to impress. It was hung with fine paintings, several of them Venetian scenes. In one corner was an antique roll-top desk, the lid shut, with a matching chair. ‘May I offer you tea or coffee?’ she asked.

‘We are fine, thank you, Lady Greaves,’ Grace said as the two dogs now sniffed at his trousers, no doubt picking up on his own dogs’ scent, he thought. ‘And may I say how very sorry I am for your loss.’

‘You may,’ she said glumly. ‘But probably not as sorry as I am. I trust you are going to tell me who murdered my husband and what you are doing to catch them?’

Grace and Sweeney sat on one large sofa, facing Lady Greaves and Sir Tommy across a glass-topped coffee table that doubled as a display cabinet, filled with what looked like regimental badges.

‘If I can take one crumb of comfort from this nightmare,’ Lady Greaves continued, ‘it’s the knowledge that my husband at least saved the life of our Queen.’ She looked down, her voice cracking now, tears rolling down her face. The two dogs sat either side of her, as if sensing her distress. She stroked both of them, light sparkling off the stones on a large ring on her finger, and said, ‘What’s that thing they say about “taking one for the team”?’ She looked at Grace then Sweeney, shaking her head slightly. ‘That’s the only thing getting me through this right now. The knowledge that my husband saved The Queen’s life. Thanks to a gunman who didn’t have a bloody clue how to shoot.’

Grace exchanged an awkward glance with his colleague. Then he caught the Master’s eye, before speaking. ‘Lady Greaves, firstly may I offer you my very deepest sympathy. My colleagues and I can only begin to imagine what you and your family must be going through,’ he said. Phrases he had used on far too many tragic occasions in the past. Sometimes the simple words helped break the ice, but not today.

‘Really?’ she retorted. ‘In which case, you must all have very vivid imaginations.’

Grace thought carefully for some moments, then asked, as gently as he could, ‘This is a difficult question, Lady Greaves, but is it possible your husband might have had any enemies?’

She jerked upright, as if she had just been plugged into an electrical socket and switched on. ‘Enemies? He was very much liked by both The King and The Queen. Everyone who met him adored him and held him in high esteem. He wouldn’t have held such an elevated position in the Royal Household if he had enemies.’ She sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a tiny handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve.

Grace opened his arms in a pacifying gesture. ‘Lady Greaves, at this stage we have a completely open mind on the circumstances around your husband’s death. But we have to eliminate everything we can from our enquiries. One possibility is that it was your husband who was the target and not The Queen.’

‘How ridiculous!’ she replied, her face suddenly reddening. ‘How do you come to such a conclusion?’

‘It’s a hypothesis, ma’am. As I said, we need to rule out all possible alternatives. This may be hard for you to accept, but from the evidence we have to date, there is a good possibility that your husband may have been the intended target and not Her Majesty.’

She was silent, gathering her thoughts, then burst out, ‘This is nonsense, surely, Tommy?’ She gazed across at the Master, looking really upset.

‘The police need to keep an open mind, Margot,’ Magellan-Lacey replied, giving her a reassuring smile.

‘But, Tommy, you know how popular Peregrine was. Everyone loved him. He was the kindest man in the world — and he totally worshipped both Their Majesties. He was so proud to serve them.’

Grace nodded. ‘I’m sure he was, Lady Greaves. But did he ever express any concerns to you?’

‘What do you mean? What kind of concerns?’

Polly Sweeney interjected. ‘Concerns about some individual — or some organization — anyone involved in criminal activity who might have wanted to silence him?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Lady Greaves said. Her voice cracked. ‘I really don’t think I can take much more of this.’ She dabbed her eyes again.

Grace and Sweeney exchanged a silent signal with their eyes. Then Grace said, ‘Lady Greaves, I appreciate your seeing us today.’ He gestured towards his colleague. ‘Polly is going to act as your Family Liaison Officer — she will keep you constantly informed and updated on all aspects of our enquiry into your husband’s death. You can feel free to contact her at any time of the day or night, if you want information or think of anything that might be helpful — or just feel you want to chat, to talk to someone.’

Lady Greaves gave Polly Sweeney a sceptical look. ‘So you are not only a detective, you are a mine of information, a grief counsellor and my twenty-four-seven new best friend?’

Polly Sweeney blushed at the sarcasm. ‘Well — not exactly all of that, but I am indeed here for you around the clock. And please feel free to talk to me any time.’ She passed Lady Greaves her card. The widow took it and put it in her pocket.

‘Thank you, officer,’ she said. ‘But the only person I really want to talk to is my husband. And that’s a little tricky now.’