The Hawk Is Dead

63

Monday 27 November 2023

‘Excellent,’ Sir Tommy said as they walked along the corridor away from The King’s office. ‘I’m impressed, Roy, you handled that extremely well. I think HMTK likes you!’

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ Grace replied. ‘Understandably he’s deeply concerned about The Queen. But I’m more and more certain she wasn’t the intended target — and that it was Sir Peregrine.’

‘Because of that gap between them when the shooter fired?’

‘I’ve talked again at length with the ballistics expert, and also a member of our Sussex Police Armed Response Team. Four feet,’ Grace said. ‘Four feet and just two shots. If Her Majesty had been the target he would’ve fired again — and maybe multiple times, until he hit her. Although her Protection Officers shielded her, I still don’t think she was the target. I think the shooter was trying to give the impression she was the target to misdirect the investigation.’

They were joined by Glenn Branson.

Grace continued. ‘I’d like to have a chat with Detective Superintendent Mosse and then the three of us here can convene for a debrief on everything we have so far.’

‘Yes, that’s a good plan.’ Tommy hesitated. ‘Have you managed to make any progress on deciphering Sir Peregrine’s diary? I’d be surprised if that doesn’t reveal something of significance.’

‘It’s with someone who is working on it as a matter of extreme urgency,’ Grace replied, evasively. He was feeling very relieved how his short meeting with The King had gone. Now, crucially, should he need it, he had an ally to get Mosse to cooperate with him.

‘Excellent. Super.’

They went downstairs to the Garden Door Entrance, and Sir Tommy ushered them both outside. They descended the steps beneath the large glass canopy directly below The King’s office, and stopped as they reached the blue and white outer cordon crime scene tape stretched across the gravel a couple of yards in front of them. Grace took in the activity of the crime scene for a moment, while he heard the Master, on his phone, giving a request for Detective Superintendent Mosse to come and meet them.

The anaerobic digester, over to their left, was partially masked by tenting. A length of hose lay near it. ‘When was the body removed and identified?’ he asked as soon as Sir Tommy was off the phone.

‘About two hours ago, Roy. I saw it — him — myself — pretty horrible, but no question it’s Geoffrey Bailey.’

‘And where is the body now?’

‘It’s been taken to the Westminster Mortuary.’

For someone who had just witnessed a partially digested corpse — and of someone he knew — the Master seemed, on the surface, to be coping well. But then again, Grace knew something of his background in fighting in Afghanistan. Maybe, he wondered, if you were strong enough to come back from that without suffering PTSD, you could cope with anything?

Then he heard his name being called. Approaching on the other side of the tape was a tall figure in a white forensic onesie, the hood pulled back to reveal wavy fair hair in disarray.

‘What are you doing here, Detective Superintendent Grace?’ Greg Mosse asked.

Grace folded his arms and looked back at him. ‘I thought we should compare notes. I’m also curious,’ he added, ‘about which Savile Row tailor made that onesie you’re wearing. Because, you know, it really doesn’t fit you that well around the shoulders. I could recommend an excellent tailor in Brighton.’ He spoke with the hint of a smile that contained no hint of warmth.

Placing his hands on his hips, Mosse startled Grace by replying, ‘Thank you, Roy, when I move down to Brighton I’ll take you up on that.’ Grace gave him a strange look. ‘Compare notes?’ Mosse added.

‘I just popped along because I figured you might need some help.’

Mosse looked at the Master for support. ‘I think we are managing very well, thank you, wouldn’t you say, Sir Tommy?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not qualified to comment, Detective Superintendent. Handling of crime scenes is way above my pay grade, as the expression goes.’

‘I wanted to ask you,’ Grace said, ‘if, in your humble opinion at this stage, you believe there might possibly be a connection between the shooting of Sir Peregrine last Monday and the death of this footman, Geoffrey Bailey? And shouldn’t we compare notes?’

‘It’s far too early to tell. Surely you would know that?’ Mosse replied.

‘Even as a possible hypothesis?’

‘We have our own way of carrying out investigations in the Met. I imagine they are a lot more thorough than how you do things out in the sticks. Besides, we have a Met detective on your team — he is capable of reporting back anything I need to know.’

‘But I don’t have anyone on your team to reciprocate the exchange of information.’

‘I really don’t consider that necessary.’

Grace pointed at the hose lying near the tent. ‘Is that what you used to wash the body before removing it from the contraption?’

‘Preservation of the crime scene is the first priority,’ Mosse said, a tad too quickly and too sharply. And too defensively.

‘The body is only part of the crime scene. You hosed him down, which could have destroyed crucial evidence around it,’ Grace said.

‘And what would you have done different?’

‘I’d have had officers in protective suits remove the body and lay it on a sheet on the ground and then asked the Home Office pathologist to carry out an inspection in situ.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Grace saw Sir Tommy stifle a smirk.

‘Well, we do things differently here in London,’ Mosse said. But his tone was a tad less confident.

Knowing he had scored a point, Grace pressed home his advantage. ‘So you authorized the removal of the body from the place where it was found, to the mortuary — with the approval of a Home Office pathologist — or without?’

‘Detective Superintendent Grace, I’m far too busy dealing with everything here to start answering your questions. I’m the SIO, this is my crime scene and I make the decisions. Is there anything you need from me, or can I return to the task I’m here to do, which is to run this murder investigation?’ Then in a withering tone he added, ‘I’m sure you have things to do, too.’

‘I think, actually, there’s probably more you need from me than I need from you, Greg. But you just carry on, screwing everything up in your own brilliant way.’

For a moment, Grace actually thought he was going to be punched in the face. Greg Mosse raised his gloved fists in the air. Then he turned and strode away without another word.

‘A bit harsh, Roy, don’t you think?’ Sir Tommy said as they climbed back up the stairs, followed by a further four flights of stairs up to the former footmen’s quarters, which, under the Master’s renovation plans, had been converted into open-plan offices for the entire Royal Household staff.

‘People like him make me furious,’ Grace replied. ‘You don’t solve crimes by being arrogant, you solve them by cooperating.’

Tommy opened his arms expansively, gesturing to the huge and airy space they had just entered, in which sat rows of white desks, many of them occupied. Each had an identical neat black mat, black keyboard and black mouse, and low partition walls in a rich, dark green. It had a modern, inviting feel. ‘I think I told you Sir Peregrine fought tooth and nail to avoid being moved from his very large office to here, and the rest of his team, too.’

Another possible motive for Sir Peregrine’s death? Hardly.

‘That won’t be so much of an issue now, sadly, will it?’ Grace reflected.

‘No, I guess that issue has been, er... blown away, as it were,’ Tommy said, looking a little embarrassed at his inappropriate joke.

‘Am I allowed to swear in your presence, Sir Tommy?’ Grace asked, changing the subject and still stewing about Mosse’s attitude.

‘Swear away! To your heart’s content. But just not in front of Their Majesties,’ he cautioned.

Grace nodded. ‘Detective Superintendent Mosse is a classic old-school detective, a bloody dinosaur, who should have been put out to pasture a long time ago, even though he isn’t that old.’

The Master nodded. ‘I know that, Roy, and The King knows it too. Which is why we’re placing our faith in you. One hundred per cent.’