Питер Джеймс - Find Them Dead

Her worst fears were confirmed as she shakily picked up the note and read it.

A welcome home gift for Laura — you can surprise her with the national dish of Ecuador, roasted guinea pig! Or not, of course, if the next time you see her is on a tray pulled out of a mortuary freezer. The choice is yours, Meg.

She turned away, staggered over to the sink and retched into it. The burner, which she’d left on the kitchen table, rang.

‘Hello?’ she answered. And heard the calm, horribly familiar man’s voice.

‘Big day tomorrow, Meg.’

‘You bastard,’ she said. ‘You fucking bastard.’

‘Oh, come on, Meg,’ he said with infuriating calm and charm. ‘I just thought you’d like to surprise Laura with a little taste of Ecuador when she and Cassie come home — of course, that is, if they come home.’

‘You are sick.’

‘They are very tasty, I’m told. A bit like chicken, but sweeter and more tender.’

‘Laura is a vegetarian, in case you weren’t aware,’ she snapped. ‘You seem to know everything else about her.’

‘Pop it in the microwave, two minutes on full power, and it’ll make a tasty supper for you tonight. Help you build up your strength for tomorrow.’

‘Fuck you. Seriously. FUCK YOU.’ She killed the call and stood, shaking.

The phone rang again. She hesitated, debating whether to answer or not. But she had to speak to him, try to talk reason with him. She answered.

‘Meg, hanging up on me isn’t going to save your daughter’s life. There is only one thing that will, and you know what that is, don’t you?’

He let the question hang in the air, then went on. ‘Now, don’t panic if you don’t hear from Laura for the next day or two. Very unfortunately she and her friend Cassie were pickpocketed earlier today. They’ve lost their phones and all their money. But don’t worry, my friend Jorge — Laura may have mentioned his name — he’s going to take care of them. You won’t hear from Laura again until after the verdict — after you have gone into the court and said those two words. Repeatedly. On each charge. You do know what they are, don’t you? You haven’t forgotten? Shall I remind you?’

She held the phone to her ear, stonily saying nothing. Daphne jumped onto the table and walked towards her. Almost unconsciously, she stroked her.

‘Beautiful cat,’ he said. ‘So affectionate.’

His words hit her like an electric shock. Her eyes darted around the room, up at the ceiling, into all corners, desperately wondering where the cameras were. She felt utterly helpless. There didn’t seem anything she could do without jeopardizing the girls’ safety in Ecuador. Sadly, she had no other choice.

‘Don’t worry, Meg, don’t try to find where I’m looking at you, conserve your energies for tomorrow. You are going to need every ounce of strength.’

Then silence.

He was gone.

Immediately, she dialled Laura’s number. It went straight to voicemail.

In desperation, she dialled again. Then again. Then again. The same each time. Cassie’s number also went to voicemail.

She sank down in a chair and put her head in her hands, tears of desperation streaming down her face.

‘What do you think, matey?’ Roy Grace asked Glenn Branson.

The two detectives sat on adjoining chairs in the communal hallway of Lewes Crown Court, at 9.30 a.m. on Friday morning, sipping bitter vending-machine coffee. People streamed in past them. The unexpected cancellation of the Crisp trial had given Grace a welcome respite in his workload, which had rapidly been filled by the murder enquiry on Stuie Starr. But Glenn had asked him to attend court today, to hear what he hoped might be the final day of speeches and summing-up in the Terence Gready trial, and Grace was intrigued to hear the comments in one of the biggest drugs trials ever to be heard in Sussex.

‘I can’t call it,’ Branson said. ‘Gready’s guilty as shit, but as you’d expect from a weasel of a legal aid solicitor, he’s got himself a top brief and team. I’ve been watching the jury and they’re hard to read. The judge is on our side, I think. But it’s in the lap of the gods. How are you doing with the Stuie Starr murder?’

Grace shrugged. ‘Nothing much to go on, so far. We’re widening the search area of CCTV and ANPR cameras. There was no forced entry, which means Stuie may have let his killers in.’

‘Some bastards beat him to death?’ Branson asked.

‘Yes.’

‘And took nothing?’

‘We don’t know for sure. There’s electrical items and possibly a large amount of cash unaccounted for.’

‘Is Pewe on your back over it?’

‘Of course. My regular phone buddy.’ As he talked, Grace watched the people filing into Court 3. Suddenly, he saw the Argus ’s crime reporter — and Glenn’s fiancée — Siobhan Sheldrake. She blew a kiss at Glenn as she passed and he responded with a kiss back, followed by a soppy grin.

‘Know her, do you?’ Grace ribbed.

‘Haha. Written your best man’s speech yet?’

‘No, still digging up the dirt on you.’ Grace was looking forward to his best man’s role.

‘Don’t waste your time, there isn’t any.’

Grace looked at his friend and colleague. ‘Really? Short memory, have you?’

Branson suddenly looked alarmed. ‘What are you going to say?’

‘Top Surrey and Sussex homicide detective fraternizing with the enemy? Nuff said?’

‘Siobhan is so not the enemy — I love her independent mind.’

Grace nodded. ‘Fair play to you for that. But going back to your trial, Gready is an evil piece of shit, who’s downright guilty. You and I both know that. The evidence, from what you’ve told me, is overwhelming.’

Branson was shaking his head. ‘That’s why I wanted you here today. We have a strong case, but have we done enough to convince a jury? At the start of the trial, I thought it was a slam-dunk. Now, I’m really not so sure.’

‘Great news,’ Grace said sarcastically. ‘I’m not sure about anything at the moment.’

Branson looked at him. ‘You’re down, aren’t you? I understand. Bummer. But Pewe’s not going to be here forever.’

‘Maybe I won’t be either.’

‘This is your home, Roy. This is where you love and where you belong. Don’t let that two-faced creep drive you out and back to the Met. You got rid of him once before, surely you can do it again?’

Grace smiled thinly. ‘I wish.’

‘Karma.’

‘Karma?’

Branson nodded. ‘People like Cassian Pewe, who go through life pissing people off, always get their comeuppance in the end. That’s how karma works.’

‘Nice thought, Glenn, but with everything that’s going on in my life at the moment I’m staying in Sussex anyhow.’

‘I understand that, mate, and don’t forget there are people above him who know just how good you are. The Police and Crime Commissioner for one.’

‘Maybe.’

Branson shook his head. ‘Steve Curry, ex-District Commander at Hastings, he’s now working in her office. He had a drink with a friend of mine — Dan Hiles — the other day.’

‘I remember Dan when he was a probationer.’

‘He’s now an Inspector at Brighton nick. Steve told him that the PCC considers you future Chief Constable material.’

Grace gave him a pat on the shoulder. ‘Good to hear, but I wouldn’t want that job. I like being a hands-on copper. Detective Chief Superintendent is as high as I want to get. I don’t want to run the force, I want to catch criminals and put them behind bars. That’s what I signed up for. Not dealing with bureaucratic shit and taking the flak for everything that goes wrong, all day long.’