You Are Dead

62

Tuesday 16 December

At 10.30 p.m. Roy Grace was feeling mentally and physically exhausted as he pulled up his job car outside the smart Regency front entrance of Limehouse Guesthouse, to drop off Paul Sweetman, the DCI who Cassian Pewe had asked to come down from London to advise him on serial-killer tactics.

So far, so good. Grace liked the calm, curly-haired man, who was soft-spoken and serious, but with a good sense of humour, a pleasant contrast to many of the in-your-face Met officers he had previously encountered. Sweetman had arrived mid-afternoon, reviewed Grace’s policy book with him, and then sat in on the 6.30 p.m. briefing. Afterwards Grace had taken him to the traditional Brighton fish restaurant, English’s, for a meal, before returning to Sussex House for another two hours.

He had agreed to pick Sweetman up at 7 a.m., to carry on their discussions before the morning briefing, after which they were going to meet with the forensic psychologist Tony Balazs to talk further tactics with him. The media were, as predicted, having a feeding frenzy, and he hadn’t yet caught up with Glenn Branson or Iain Maclean, who had been holding the fort in MIR-1. The call-centre facility they’d set up, using support staff, had been handling hundreds of calls, and his team were flat out sifting through the information, identifying and prioritizing possible actions.

He turned right onto Marine Parade, the lights of the seafront, the Brighton Eye and the pier ahead of him, all faintly blurry in the misty rain, a little unsure of the reception he was going to get from Cleo, who’d had to cancel a baby group she was taking Noah to this afternoon because of the removals men arriving earlier than expected with the packing cases. Then his phone rang.

He answered it on hands-free and heard the duty inspector from Brighton police station, Andy Anakin, his voice as ever sounding panicky. ‘Roy, thought you should know, a woman’s body’s just been washed up on the beach in front of the King Alfred Leisure Centre — in case you want to come down and see her before she’s recovered to the mortuary. She was found by a young couple.’

Courting on the beach in this foul weather at this hour? Grace thought, his heart sinking at the news. The King Alfred was just a short distance away from Hove Lagoon. His immediate thought was whether this area was going to turn out to be the Brander’s deposition site. ‘What do you know about her so far, Andy? What age, what condition is she in? Physical appearance?’

‘I’ve got a uniform sergeant attending, along with the on-call Coroner’s Officer. Apparently she’s pretty badly decomposed. Much of her face has gone — eaten by fish.’

‘What about her hair? What colour? Long or short?’

‘I didn’t ask that information.’

‘If you could find that out and let me know, urgently, Andy.’

‘Her hair colour — and length? That’s significant is it, Roy?’

God, the inspector could be irritating at times, Grace thought. ‘Yes, it may be, and her age, please — however rough a guess.’

Anakin said he would get back to him as quickly as he could.

Ten minutes later, Grace parked in the street, then crossed the road and punched in the entry code for the gated townhouse development where he and Cleo would be moving from at the end of the week. The estate agent’s ‘Sold’ board was fixed close by. He walked across the cobbled yard, then heard Humphrey barking inside as he put the key in the front door.

He opened it to be confronted by Humphrey leaping up at him excitedly, and a sea of cardboard boxes. Cleo was lying back on the sofa in a baggy onesie, holding a large glass of red wine in her hand and staring, fixedly, at a scene of devastation in Iraq on the television. Normally she would have leapt up and thrown her arms around him, but to his consternation she didn’t even turn her head.

‘Hi, darling,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I’m so late.’

‘I left you some food out’

‘I already ate — I told you — I’ve been stuck all evening with the SIO from London that Pewe foisted on me.’

‘No,’ she said, coldly, ‘you didn’t tell me. You said you’d be home by eight, to help me start packing up.’

‘I — oh shit.’ He suddenly realized in the midst of everything he had completely forgotten to call her. ‘God, I’m so sorry.’ He strode across, leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. She did not react. ‘Darling — I’m really sorry — I’ve had a nightmare of a day.’

‘So it’s all right for you to have a nightmare of a day, but not for me, is that it?’

‘Of course not. Shit, I need a drink — where’s the wine?’

She nodded down at the table. He picked it up and saw to his dismay it was empty. ‘You drank the whole bottle?’

‘Yes, I drank the whole sodding bottle.’

‘I thought — breastfeeding — that wasn’t—’

‘No, I’m not meant to drink while breastfeeding. So what are you going to do about it?’

‘Hey, come on!’ He sat on the sofa and put an arm around her, but she pulled away from him.

‘I can’t cope, Roy. How the hell do you expect me to cope? Noah’s been crying all day.’ She gestured at the room. ‘I can’t do it all by myself.’

‘We’ll have to get help,’ Grace said. ‘What about your sister, and your parents?’

Her mood softened a fraction as it hadn’t occurred to her. ‘I’ll try Rosie and Caroline, too.’ Rosie and Caroline were her two best friends.

‘I thought the removals men were going to be packing most of the stuff up?’ Grace said.

‘They are going to, but someone has to bloody supervise them. God, it’s so hard. I know you can’t do anything about it on this huge case — but the timing is shit, it’s just the worst timing!’

His phone rang again. He stood up, stepped away and answered it. It was Anakin.

‘Roy, the details I have back so far is she has short grey hair and is probably in her fifties, or even sixties.’

‘Are they sure?’

‘Well, I understand she’s pretty badly decomposed, as I said. They say she’s been in the water for some time, but they’re able to give an approximate age from what they can see.’

Grace felt relief wash through him. ‘OK, that’s good news, Andy.’

‘Good news?’

‘Relatively speaking.’

‘I’m glad you think it’s good news.’

‘OK, well it sounds like there’s not much anyone can do tonight. Let’s see what the post-mortem shows in the morning and we’ll take a view on the cause of death findings then, if they are suspicious.’

‘Let’s hope it’s still good news, then, sir,’ Anakin said, a tad sarcastically.

Grace knew it was not an unusual occurrence for bodies to be washed up along the Brighton and Hove coast. The pattern of tide and currents along the English Channel meant that a high percentage of those who committed suicide by drowning further west, and those who fell overboard from vessels, ended up on the city’s beaches. It didn’t make anyone’s death less tragic, but at this moment, Grace’s relief that it was not a young woman with long brown hair was palpable.

He ended the call and turned back to Cleo. She had gone. Her empty glass sat on the coffee table next to the empty bottle.

Wearily, he climbed the stairs, thinking what he could say and what he could suggest to help the situation. As he reached the landing, he heard Noah screaming.