The Hawk Is Dead

95

Wednesday 29 November 2023

After his call with Glenn Branson, Roy Grace sat thinking the latest information through carefully.

Constable Jon Smoke of the Royal Protection team. A former army sniper. With his name on the duty roster for Monday 20 November looking like it might have been tampered with. Hopefully the original copy of the roster, which Rose Cadoret would have for him tomorrow, would provide the answer. But it was bothering him a lot.

He would interview Sir Jason Finch when he was back at work on Monday, and in the meantime his full focus was on Jon Smoke and Rose Cadoret. And the recent identical sums of £343,000 deposited into both of their individual cybercurrency accounts.

Huge amounts. And identical. That was what interested and concerned him the most. He knew that with the rise in property prices in recent years, some people inherited unexpectedly large sums, or made a killing selling properties. But £343,000, exactly. Deposited into both their accounts. And a third amount of exactly the same, deposited into another cybercurrency account. A third account. But not Sir Jason Finch’s. Well, so far not that they knew.

So whose was it?

All those three identical transactions made on 15 July 2023.

Was there any significance in that date?

He used his latest research tool, which he was only just starting to get familiar with, ChatGPT-4, to ask if any significant national events had happened on that date. But the only thing it came up with was that a fire broke out and destroyed the Royal Albion hotel on Brighton seafront. It was of no relevance.

Then he began thinking who that third person could possibly be. Of the thousand plus employees of the Royal Household he had only, so far, met a handful. Sir Tommy. His Deputy, Matthew Corbin. Her Majesty’s Private Secretary, Jayne Bennett. Sir Peregrine’s widow, Lady Greaves. He had not yet met Sir Jason Finch, nor the Lord Chamberlain.

If Shannon was right — and he believed she was — she had just corroborated what Sir Peregrine had said in code in his diary. That theft from the Royal Collection was taking place on a major scale. Everything he had learned from Shannon so far made Rose Cadoret and Jon Smoke prime suspects. Rose Cadoret, Deputy Director of the Royal Collection Trust, in the perfect position to remove items. Smoke, a member of the Royal Protection team, operating inside Buckingham Palace — was his value to the conspirators the killing of Greaves?

And Sir Jason Finch, in charge of all the Palace finances. How very convenient. How very tidy.

The finger at the moment certainly pointed to him. It made sense that the co-conspirators were three former military people from the same regiment, who had served out in Afghanistan together. Smoke, Cadoret and their saviour, Finch. Could that have been where they’d hatched their plot?

But was he overlooking anyone else who fitted that description of high up in Royal Service? Sir Tommy Magellan-Lacey, for instance?

But despite a few anomalies in the Master’s behaviour in recent days, he struggled to believe Sir Tommy could be involved. He typed an email to him:

A few minutes after sending it, his phone rang. A now familiar number appeared.

Grace answered. ‘Sir Tommy, good morning.’

‘Ah, Roy, yes.’ As before, the Master sounded uncharacteristically downbeat, and a little guarded. ‘Thought it would be easier to speak — rather than pinging emails back and forth.’

‘Sure, of course.’

‘No problem at all about Sir Jason — he’s definitely back on Monday and I’ve booked you in for 10 a.m. What is it you need to speak to Constable Smoke specifically about? Just so I can inform his Commander. Are you concerned about an irregularity of some kind?’

Grace hesitated for a moment. One of the key elements in interviewing any suspect was throwing something at them that caught them off-guard. ‘It’s just his name has popped up a couple of times on the list of people we’re hoping to eliminate from our enquiries.’

‘Ah, good.’ The Master sounded genuinely relieved. ‘I’ll find out when he’s on duty tomorrow and let you know soonest. I’ll email you his shift rota.’

Grace thanked him, but as he ended the call, he felt again a slight shadow of doubt about Sir Tommy, but he wasn’t sure exactly why. The Master was glib, he always had answers — and so far he had always delivered. Up to a point. Hopefully he would deliver everything he had requested Rose Cadoret to show him — the box of Granny’s Personal Chips, and the original copy of the Royal Protection Officers’ roster for Monday 20 November. And additionally, now, the shift rota for Jon Smoke?

As he considered this an email came in from Sir Tommy.

Grace emailed him back.

Good to his word, the Master sent Grace Jon Smoke’s home address, in Clapham, ten minutes later.

Grace hesitated for a moment. Smoke was now definitely a person of interest and the potential sniper. He still needed more information before sending Sussex police officers to his address. So, since Greg Mosse had suggested they should work together, and mindful also that — please not — he might end up as his boss, Grace dialled his number.