Peter James: Dead at First Sight

‘Meaning, sir?’

‘Meaning, Roy, that our Chief Constable and our Police and Crime Commissioner are not happy bunnies. Brighton got rid of its title of Murder Capital of Europe back in the 1930s. Under your watch it looks like it’s about to regain it.’

‘I hardly think so, sir, when you compare the number of murders in London this year, and you can hardly put all of these deaths at my door.’

‘You and I need to meet with Media Relations first thing Monday, Roy, and get a pretty reassuring press release out. What you have to think about is just how safe does all this mayhem make the citizens of our county feel?’

‘I’m not sure I can answer that. I have a job to do, which is to investigate crimes and to try to lock up the villains. I’m pretty satisfied, despite the tragic deaths of Mrs Driver and the caretaker of Marina Heights, that Operation Lisbon has succeeded. We’ve smashed a major internet romance network and we have its local ringleader and several of his minions in custody. A man we believe to be the major mastermind for a massive European internet romance fraud network is currently in custody in Jersey. On top of that we finally have the American hitman, Tooth, who has been responsible for at least two murders that we are aware of, as well as coming close to murdering DS Potting, no longer a threat.’

‘No longer a threat?’ Pewe’s lips formed an almost rictus smile. ‘But no thanks to you, Roy. And you are sure Tooth really is dead, are you?’

Grace again resisted the temptation to remind the ACC it was his insistence of removing Tooth’s hospital guard that had enabled the contract killer to evade justice earlier in the year. ‘I don’t think he’s going to be coming back from the dead anytime soon.’

‘Really? Are you sure about that?’

‘The world wasn’t big enough for Alexander the Great,’ Grace retorted. ‘But a coffin was.’

‘What?’

‘Juvenal.’

‘Who?’

‘A Roman poet of the first century AD. My wife’s doing a degree in philosophy at the Open University. Very apt for Tooth.’

‘What’s apt about that?’

‘Think about it, sir.’

Pewe shook his head. ‘Roy, I’m your line manager. You don’t tell me what I should and should not think about. Do you understand?’

‘Actually, Cassian,’ he said, clocking Pewe’s startled expression as he used the familiarity of his first name, ‘last night, after speaking with the Chief Constable, I accepted Alison Vosper’s offer. For the next six months I’m going to be heading up a new initiative to tackle knife crime in London, set up by the Prime Minister, the Mayor of London and the Commissioner of the Met — the National Knife Crimes Task Force. My title will be Commander, initially on a temporary basis, which means I will be of the same rank as you, and I trust you will respect that.’

There was a long silence. He saw Pewe’s face struggling to absorb this. Finally Pewe said, his tone very conciliatory, ‘Look, Roy, I... I know we’ve had our differences. But I would hate to lose you from Sussex Police. I mean — I... we... we can’t afford to lose you.’

‘Is that so? You’ve never given me that impression.’

‘Roy, let’s put our cards on the table. I don’t want to lose you. I may not like you, and I know you don’t like me, but I recognize that you are a bloody good police officer.’

Grace stared him back, levelly. ‘What you actually mean, Cassian — sorry... sir... is that I make you look good.’

Grace stood up and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Slamming it on a chapter of his life.

‘I can’t believe it!’ Cleo said, snuggling up beside him on the sofa in front of the television. Noah toddled across his play mat, stumbled and giggled, then began pressing buttons on a toy, each of which was in the shape of an animal. He stabbed an elephant, which trumpeted. Then a cat, which miaowed, followed by a sheep, which baaed. He giggled again.

‘Believe what?’

‘That you are actually here, at home on a Saturday afternoon, watching rugby — instead of working. And looking like the cat that got the cream!’

‘Maybe I did get it.’

She looked at him, quizzically. ‘You’ve not had any second thoughts since last night? You really think fighting knife crime in London is going to be an easier gig than your current job?’

‘Anything that doesn’t have Cassian Pewe involved is going to be an easier gig.’

‘Really? Commuting to London daily — that’s going to be easier?’

‘It’s only a six-month posting.’

‘What if they want to extend it and keep you on a year, two years? Permanently?’

Grace watched, hope rising as an England player sprinted with the ball towards the touchline, then he grimaced as the player was felled by a tackle.

‘Darling, my heart’s here in Brighton,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t ever want a permanent posting away. But I’d be very happy to have a six-month break from Cassian Pewe.’

‘Well, if it’s going to make you less stressed than what you’re currently doing, I guess that’s a good thing.’

‘Less stressed and a higher pay scale. What’s not to like? It’ll help towards the cost of Bruno’s bathroom!’

She smiled, fleetingly, then looked him in the eye. ‘It’ll help towards another cost, too.’

‘Oh yes?’

She patted her midriff, looking both happy and sheepish at the same time. ‘I think I’m pregnant!’

‘You are?’ He put his arms around her and kissed her. ‘Oh my God, fantastic! Are you sure?’

‘I’ve got an appointment with the doctor on Monday, but I did a second test this morning and it’s positive!’

‘Brilliant, I can’t believe it!’ He sat for some moments, holding her tightly. ‘Just amazing news.’

‘Let’s celebrate properly after it’s confirmed on Monday — and don’t let’s tell anyone yet, in case—’ She shrugged, and the unspoken words hung in the air.

‘Sure, of course.’

Cleo glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll have to go and pick Bruno up in a few minutes, from his party bus. He was so excited when I dropped him off. I really hope he’s had a good time with his school friends. Maybe this will be the breakthrough.’

‘Let’s hope so. I can go if you want — a pregnant lady should have plenty of rest!’

‘You’re the one who needs it this weekend,’ she replied.

‘I wish! I have to go in tomorrow morning for a team debrief.’

‘Will you be there all day?’

‘Most of it, I’m afraid.’

‘So tell me more about yesterday — what’s going to happen to that poor army guy who got conned out of every penny he has in the world?’

‘Fordwater?’

‘Will he go to prison?’

‘We’re putting a file together for the Coroner, and I’ve spoken to the CPS. He will be charged with illegal possession of a firearm, and I can’t do anything about that. He’s being interviewed under caution this morning, with his solicitor. I feel sorry for him, but I’m not sure what he had in mind going to that house — whether he was just planning to frighten Jules de Copeland or actually shoot him. He says he was acting in self-defence, protecting himself, and — ironically — de Copeland. Ultimately it will be for the CPS to decide what to charge him with.’

‘The poor guy,’ she said, ‘I feel sorry for him. His life’s destroyed.’

‘I’m afraid he’s a member of a very big club. Men and women looking for love on the internet in this country have been scammed out of an estimated £300 million in the past twelve months. Most of them are in their sixties, seventies, eighties and even nineties. Many of them, like Fordwater, have lost their homes and every penny they have in the world. And with no chance of ever recovering any of it. It’s tragic.’