You Are Dead

93

Saturday 20 December

Two hours later, in the conference room of the CID HQ, Roy Grace barely needed the caffeine hit from the mug of coffee in front of him. He was running on adrenaline now, his thoughts crystal clear, totally focused.

He stood with his back to a row of whiteboards. Seated attentively — and apprehensively — around the table in front of him were Glenn Branson, Tanja Cale, Guy Batchelor, and the team leaders he had selected, whose Saturday-night plans were now in tatters. But no one was complaining. They all sensed the same infectious anticipation that was coursing through his own veins. The thrill of the chase, of closing in on their quarry.

Everyone present was dressed in dark clothing, mostly black except for the Local Support Team, who would be going in first in navy fatigues that would be covered in parts with body armour. Several of the officers in the room had mugs of tea or coffee, and were munching sandwiches, chocolate or energy bars.

The briefing of the team was being managed by the Critical Incident Manager and Roy Grace. Their team leaders included the Duty Inspector of the Local Support Team, Anthony Martin, and an LST sergeant, a Tactical Firearms Unit Sergeant, an Exhibits officer, a senior CSI, the Custody Inspector, a Crime Scenes Manager, a Public Order Team Inspector, a Dog Unit Sergeant, and Grace’s friend, Inspector James Biggs, from the Road Policing Unit, who had already moved units into place, ready to create a cordon of roadblocks around Crisp’s neighbourhood from the moment Grace’s team went in, in case Crisp attempted a runner.

On one whiteboard was a street plan showing Tongdean Villas and the immediate surrounding streets, bounded by Dyke Road Avenue, Shirley Drive, Tongdean Road and Woodruff Avenue. The area contained within these borders comprised some of the most expensive and exclusive real estate in the city.

On the next whiteboard were wide-shot and close-up photographs of Crisp’s house taken from the helicopter a few hours earlier. On the third whiteboard were photographs of Dr Crisp, Logan Somerville and the recently missing PC Louise Masters. On the fourth were street views of the gated entrance to Crisp’s mansion, and the similarly gated entrances to his immediate neighbours. The fifth whiteboard had the floor plans of the basement, ground floor and first floors of the house, obtained from the city’s planning archives.

Grace checked his watch. It was 9 p.m. He ran his eye down the list of names, checking that everyone was present, then turned first to the Custody Inspector, Tom McDonald. Tom, I want a cell ready for the offender. I need him to be taken straight there after he’s booked into custody — I don’t want him mixing or having contact with anyone else. He may well have crucial forensic evidence on him from his victims. I want him isolated and immediately put in the cell and his clothing and body swabbed, without any possible cross-contamination. OK?’

‘Understood, sir.’

Using a laser pointer pen, Grace then indicated first the gabled Edwardian mansion that was the target location, then the gates, then a photograph of the long, steep driveway up to the front facade of Crisp’s house. ‘This driveway is the only way in and out of this property,’ he announced. ‘As you can see from the aerial photographs, there is a high brick wall at the rear — over twelve feet — so it would be extremely hard for anyone to scale this. There is a large property on the far side, again with one driveway in, which we will cover off in the unlikely event of him trying to exit that way.’

‘What about the other neighbours either side, Roy?’ the Local Support Team Inspector asked.

Grace pointed the red dot on the property immediately to the right, a sprawling, modern, white structure with a strong Spanish influence. ‘I doubt he’d be daft enough to try to bolt this way. This place is owned by a person well known to some of us, Jorma Mahlanen, the slippery Finn.’

There were a few grins around the table.

‘He’s out on licence from a fifteen-year Class-A drugs sentence, and paranoid as hell — he’s got a battery of floodlights, four Rottweilers that roam his grounds freely and two goons in permanent residence. I think he’s upset a few people in his time and likes now to keep himself to himself. I don’t think Crisp would get too far if he nipped over Mahlanen’s wall.’ Then he moved the red dot to the left. ‘This property to the west is the street’s one eyesore — or it would be if anyone could see it,’ Grace continued. ‘It’s been derelict for many years — no one knows much about it. A few local property developers have attempted to buy it from time to time, but it’s owned by some anonymous property company registered overseas that has never responded. Probably just one insignificant property in the portfolio of some billionaire tax exile. But this could be a possible escape route, as the boundary to it is in poor condition.’

‘And we’re pretty sure that Crisp is home?’ the Tactical Firearms sergeant asked.

The Surveillance Team Inspector replied. ‘Yes, he hasn’t emerged since early morning to walk his dog.’

‘I think it’s possible Logan Somerville may still be alive and being held captive in the target’s house,’ Grace said. ‘As may be Louise Masters now. We know that Crisp has no compunction about killing his victims. I want to remind all of you that the principal mission of this operation is to rescue any victims alive. Arresting Crisp is vital, but takes second place to the victim safety. I cannot say for certain Logan is still alive, but that’s what we must assume. So speed of entry is going to be critical. I want maximum shock and awe tactics from you on entry, and a full, fast search of the property. OK, our first hurdle is the entry point.’

He moved the laser to the street view of tall, wrought-iron gates, set between high, spiked brick walls. Then he swung the beam to the right. ‘This is the doorbell panel, with a camera and floodlight. When we move to open the gates, the camera lens must be obscured. Once the gates are opened, the LST vehicles will drive straight to the front door, enter and secure the premises.’ He moved the pointer to the fifth whiteboard, showing the plans of the three floors of the house, from the 1907 archives.

Grace turned to the LST Inspector, who would lead the initial teams into the house. ‘Anthony, we don’t know what modifications have been made to the interior of the house since these original plans were lodged. But they should give you a reasonable idea.’

The Inspector nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Any questions?’ Grace asked.

‘Do we have any intel on weapons?’ the Tactical Firearms Unit sergeant asked.

‘Dr Crisp doesn’t have a firearms licence — that’s been checked. But I’m not taking any chances. I want you in place as possible backup. And everyone who enters the house, until it is declared safe by Anthony, is to be in body armour. Hopefully one thing we have in our favour is the element of surprise. We’ve not specifically named Crisp or said that he’s under suspicion, so I’m hopeful he won’t be expecting this.’

‘To play Devil’s Advocate, boss, what happens if he’s not there?’ Guy Batchelor asked.

‘Then, Guy, in the vernacular of Cockney rhyming slang, we are all Donald Ducked.’

There was a nervous titter of laughter.

Grace looked at his watch. ‘Any more questions?’

There were none.