Peter James - You Are Dead

Roy continued to stare at the wallpaper sample. It was rather elegant, he thought. ‘It’s fun,’ he said. ‘You don’t think it’s too busy?’

‘I’d like to put in a dado rail and have plain white above it — I think we can bring a lot of colour in with the curtains and—’ Cleo was interrupted by his work phone ringing.

Apologetically he retrieved it and brought it to his right ear. ‘Roy Grace,’ he said, in a formal tone.

It was the replacement Golf 99, Inspector Joseph Webbon. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I know we’re due to meet soon, but things are not looking good on this misper, Logan Somerville. There has been no communication from her since the last update. We’ve checked with ANPR and their camera picked up Ball’s car in several locations consistent with the journey he claims to have made from his workplace in Croydon and south to Brighton.’

Grace thought hard for some moments, weighing the options. When people disappeared, they had often been abducted or harmed by someone they knew — frequently their partner. Or they had run away from an abusive relationship, gone off with a lover, had an accident or, in some cases, committed suicide. A huge amount of police time got wasted on missing persons, particularly youngsters, who turned out to be in the next-door neighbour’s house watching television with a friend. But it didn’t appear to be the case on this occasion.

Panicking Anakin had gone almost straight into abduction mode. It might turn out the inspector had made the right call, although Grace hoped not. Was there anything he was overlooking here that could point a finger at the woman’s fiancé? It did not seem so. ‘So we can eliminate Ball as a suspect, for now at any rate?’

Webbon sounded hesitant. ‘The officers attending reported some blood at the scene — a small amount, but reasonably fresh. When questioned about it, Ball said she had stumbled getting out of bed and gashed her toe on the bathroom door — and subsequently had to go to hospital to have it sorted. We’ve checked with the Royal Sussex County and they have no record of her having been seen in Accident and Emergency this morning.’

‘Domestic violence?’

‘Yes, CID here feel that’s a possibility, sir. But we have a development. We’ve been going to all the flats in the building asking if anyone was in the car park around the time she made a call. We’ve found one lady who was driving in and had to brake hard to avoid an estate car with darkened windows that came out at high speed, and drove off.’

‘Did she get the registration? Or see the driver’s face?’

‘Unfortunately not a good look. She says she was too startled and she thinks he was wearing a hat pulled down low over his face. All she can say is that he was white, middle-aged, clean shaven, with a round face and glasses. She’s not very good on car makes, but she says it was a medium-size car in a dark colour. Possibly an old Volvo, navy blue or charcoal.’

‘Have you given that to CCTV in the Control Room?’

‘Yes, sir, they’re on it.’

‘What’s the woman’s name?’

‘Sharon Pavoni.’

‘Doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but we should get a cognitive interview as soon as possible, to see what else she can remember.’ Cognitive Witness Interviews were a highly specialized field of their own, involving trained interviewers who could obtain recall from witnesses of things they had seen or heard that they were unaware they had remembered. He looked at his watch. Realistically it would be too late tonight by the time it could be set up. ‘We’ll arrange it for first thing in the morning — assuming Logan Somerville hasn’t turned up. Let me have the witness’s contact details, and the boyfriend — fiancé’s. I want them both interviewed.’

Webbon gave them to him, and Grace noted them down. Then Grace said, ‘Have the whole underground car park sealed off — nothing to go in or out, which I believe has already been put in place. I want Somerville’s Fiat removed for forensic examination, but first get a Police Search Advisor and team down there as fast as possible to do a fingertip search. I’m treating this as a crime in action.’

Trained members of the Specialist Search Unit would work on their hands and knees; if there was any evidence — such as a speck of blood or a discarded cigarette butt — they would find it.

As soon as he had ended the call, Roy Grace phoned both the force Gold and the Critical Incident Manager, before he made another call to his new boss, and former adversary, Assistant Chief Constable Cassian Pewe. It was protocol to notify the chiefs of any impending major enquiry, so they didn’t hear it first from a journalist and find themselves in the embarrassing situation of sounding uninformed.

Pewe answered almost immediately, his voice smarmily pleasant. ‘Roy, very good to hear from you. How are things?’ Grace could hear heavy opera music playing loudly in the background. A deep sonorous dirge.

A year and a half earlier, on a temporary posting from London’s Metropolitan Police, Pewe had made Roy Grace’s life hell for some weeks, when he had taken it upon himself to order the garden of the home Grace had shared with Sandy to be scanned and dug up in a search for her remains. It had started a bitter feud between the two senior detectives which had culminated first in Grace saving the man’s life — reluctantly — after a clifftop car chase, and then in Grace accusing him of tampering with evidence. Pewe, with his tail between his legs, had applied successfully for a transfer back to the Met.

What Roy Grace hadn’t known then — and still did not know — was that many years back, Cassian Pewe had had a brief affair with Sandy.

Now, to Grace’s utter horror and disgust, Pewe had returned to Sussex Police as the Assistant Chief Constable to whom he had to report. The soon-to-be retiring Chief Constable, Tom Martinson, had done his best to assure him that Pewe had no animosity towards him. And, to be fair, so far so good. But Grace felt that lurking behind the phoney bonhomie, Pewe was itching for revenge, and subtly biding his time. Grace had to make damned sure he did not screw up.

He informed Pewe of the missing woman and what they knew so far, and the actions they were taking and, separately, told him about the body at the Lagoon.

As he hung up, he heard Noah crying upstairs. Cleo signalled for him to carry on, and hurried across the room.

He stood still, thinking for a moment. Two totally different cases slung his way in the space of a few hours. The skeletal remains at Hove Lagoon, and this potential abduction. He could not deal with them both, he needed to delegate one to another detective. The remains had been there since before the path had been laid, some twenty years ago, so there was less urgency. Right now the absolute priority was to find Logan Somerville.

His next call was to DI Glenn Branson, updating him and appointing him Senior Investigating Officer for the remains at the lagoon. The police computerized operations naming system, working through famous paintings, had allocated the case the name Operation Mona Lisa. Branson would ensure the remains were recovered by the forensic archaeologist to the mortuary tomorrow. Then he made a call to DS Guy Batchelor, asking him to assemble a Major Enquiry Team for the newly named Operation Haywain, the investigation into the disappearance of Logan Somerville.

Not an entirely stupid name. Looking for a missing person was akin to searching for a needle in a haystack, with one proviso. First you had to find your haystack.

Thursday 11 December

Plock... plock... plock... The steady drip of water, from somewhere near. Where was she? Was it raining outside and was water leaking in?