Peter James - Dead Man's Grip

The pathologist estimated that Ferguson would have been dead in under two hours in the cold store and probably less than that. If the killer had been waiting nearby and picking up the transmission, and presumably waiting until the lorry driver was dead, why had he not retrieved the camera?

Because he hadn’t wanted to take the risk? Had he been disturbed by someone arriving there? Or a passing police patrol car perhaps? Or was it to leave a message – a sign – for someone? Just a cynical message for the next victim? This is what is going to happen to you and money is no object…

Had the killer sat in his car, watching the transmitted images of Ferguson wriggling, shivering and steadily freezing to death for two hours? Frazer Theobald said that the man’s skin was partially burned and he had smoke inhalation in his lungs, but not sufficient to have asphyxiated him. The hook through his jaw and out beneath his eye would have been agonizing but not life-threatening. His death in the cold store would have been excruciating.

What might this sadist be planning for Carly Chase?

Detective Investigator Lanigan’s team were interviewing the Revere family, as well as Fernanda Revere’s brother, who had assumed the position as official head of this crime family following his father’s incarceration, but Lanigan was not optimistic about getting anywhere with them.

Grace sipped some water, then as gently as he could turned his pillows over, trying to freshen them up.

Cleo was not sleeping well either, finding it hard lying on her left, with a pillow tucked under her arm, as she had been instructed, as well as needing to go to the loo almost every hour. She was asleep now, breathing heavily. He wondered if reading for a few minutes might calm him down enough to get to sleep. On the floor, a short distance from the bed, their puppy, Humphrey, a Labrador and Border Collie cross, was snoring intermittently.

Moving slowly, trying not to disturb Cleo, he switched on the dimmest setting of his reading light and peered at the small pile of books on his bedside table, half of them bought on his colleague Nick Nicholl’s recommendation.

Fatherhood. From Lad to Dad. The New Contented Little Baby Book. Secrets of the Baby Whisperer.

He picked up the top one, Fatherhood , and continued reading from the place he’d marked. But after a few pages, instead of calming down, he became increasingly concerned about the burden of responsibility of fatherhood. There was so much to take on board. And all that on top of his police workload.

From the moment Cleo had first given him the news that she was pregnant, he had determined that he would be an involved and committed parent. But now, reading through these books, the time and responsibilities required of him seemed daunting. He wanted to commit that time and he wanted those responsibilities, but how was it all going to be possible?

At 5.30 he finally quit trying to sleep, slipped out of bed, went into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. His eyes felt like he’d been rubbing them with sandpaper. He wondered whether a short run would perk him up, but he felt just too tired. Instead, pulling on his tracksuit, he decided on a walk around the block, focusing his thoughts on the day ahead, and taking Humphrey, who had insisted on joining him, on his lead. Then he dosed himself up on coffee, showered and dressed, and drove to the office.

He arrived there just before 7 a.m., drank a Red Bull and made a phone call to the senior officer of the Close Protection Team that was concealed outside Carly Chase’s house. To his relief, all had been quiet.

For this past night, at any rate.

‘I want you all to know,’ said Roy Grace at the start of the 8.30 a.m. briefing in MIR-1, ‘that I am not a happy sodding bunny.’

Everyone in the room was already up to speed on the murder of the lorry driver. Major developments in an inquiry of this scale were passed around instantly.

Taking a sip of his coffee and looking down at his notes, he went on, ‘Item One on my agenda is the ongoing series of leaks coming from someone to our friend Kevin Spinella at the Argus . OK?’

He looked up at thirty-five solemn faces. Yesterday afternoon’s horrific discovery had shaken even the most hardened of this bunch. ‘I’m not accusing any of you, but someone has leaked to him about Preece’s hands being superglued to the steering wheel of his van. It is either a member of this inquiry team, or the Specialist Search Unit, or an employee at Shoreham Harbour, or one of the team in the mortuary. At some point I’m going to find that person and, when I do, I’m going to hang them out to dry on something even more painful than a meat hook. Do I make myself clear?’

Everyone nodded. All those who worked with Roy Grace knew him to be even-tempered and placid, someone who rarely lost his head. It startled them to see him in a temper.

He took another sip of his coffee. ‘Our media strategy could be vitally important. We believe a professional contract killer is here in Brighton, in all probability hired by the Revere family in New York to avenge their son’s death. We need to manage the media extremely carefully, both to try to get assistance from the public in finding this killer before he strikes again and to avoid any possible impact on the community.’

‘Sir,’ said DC Stacey Horobin, a bright-looking young woman in her early thirties, with fashionable straggly brown hair, who had been newly drafted into the inquiry team, ‘what exactly are your concerns on community impact?’

Nick Nicholl’s phone rang. Under Grace’s withering glare, he hastily silenced it. There was a brief moment when Grace looked as if he would explode, but his response was calm. ‘I think we can assure the public, if it comes to it, that there is no general risk to them,’ he replied. ‘But I do not want our force to appear incapable of protecting an innocent member of the public.’

‘Was the Osman served on Mrs Chase, chief?’ asked Duncan Crocker.

‘Yes,’ Glenn Branson replied on Grace’s behalf. ‘Bella and I served it yesterday evening just after 6 p.m. Mrs Chase was offered the opportunity to be moved away, out of the area, but she refused for family and business reasons. Frankly, I think she’s unwise. DS Moy spent the night in her house, pending the installation of CCTV equipment this morning, and a Close Protection Team unit have been in place outside her residence since 9 p.m. last night. So far without incident.’

‘Is there any protection on her commute to work?’ asked Norman Potting. ‘And while she’s in her workplace?’

‘I’ve spoken to Inspector Hazzard at the Hove Neighbourhood Policing Team,’ Grace said. ‘Today and tomorrow, and for the first part of next week, she will be driven to and from work in a marked police car. And I’m putting a PCSO in reception at her office. I want to send a clear signal to this killer, if he’s out there and targeting this woman, that we are on to him.’

‘What about Revere’s family in New York, chief?’ said Nick Nicholl. ‘Is anyone speaking to them?’

‘I updated our NYPD contact on the situation and they’re on the case. He told me that the killings sound similar to the style of a former Mafia hitman, a charmer called Richard Kuklinski who was known as the Iceman. He used cold stores, and one of his specialities was tying up victims and putting them in a cave, then leaving a camera in there to record them steadily being eaten alive by rats.’

Bella, who had been about to pluck a Malteser from the box in front of her, withdrew her hand, wrinkling her face in disgust.

‘He sounds our man, chief!’ Norman Potting said animatedly.