Peter James - Dead Man’s Footsteps

A double-decker bus was on his tail, pushing for him to speed up. ‘Come on, fuckwit!’ he shouted through the windscreen at the cab. ‘Put your fucking foot down!’

Still at the same speed, he passed the Beachy Head pub, following the winding road towards Birling Gap, then up through East Dean village. The agony continued through more open countryside, winding past the Seven Sisters and into Seaford. Then on, past the Newhaven ferry port, and up the hill into Peacehaven. A long-haired young man and a girl stood on a street corner in the distance waving and, to Ricky’s astonishment, the for hire light suddenly came on and the taxi pulled over.

He pulled over too and a line of traffic that had built up behind him shot past.

He watched the couple get into the back.

The taxi had been empty.

He’d been following an empty taxi.

Shit, shit, shit.

Oh, you little bitch, now you’ve really fucking done it.

A scarlet-haired bimbo dressed in skimpy purple, with legs up to her neck and massive boobs spilling out of her bra, winked at Roy Grace.

He took hold of the card and, as the angle changed, the other eye winked at him. He grinned and opened it. A cheesy voice, which was a bad imitation of some female vocalist he could not immediately place, began singing ‘Happy Birthday’.

‘This is wonderful!’ he said. ‘Who did you say it was for?’

With her tall, leggy good looks, DC Esther Mitchell was, no contest, currently the best-looking detective in the whole of Sussex House. She was also one of the cheeriest.

‘It’s for DI Willis,’ she said breezily. ‘His fortieth.’

Grace grinned. Baz Willis, an overweight slug who should never, in anyone’s opinion, have been promoted to the rank of Detective Inspector, was a renowned groper. The card was therefore eminently fitting. He found a space between the dozen or so other signatures, scrawled his name on it and handed it back to her.

‘He’s having a party. Open bar at the Black Lion tonight.’

Grace grimaced. The Black Lion in Patcham, Sussex House’s local, was one of his least favourite pubs and the thought of two consecutive nights there was more than his constitution could handle – besides he had a far, far better offer.

‘Thanks, I’ll swing by if I can,’ he said.

‘Someone’s organizing a minibus – if you want to book on that-’

‘No, thanks,’ he said, and shot a glance at his watch. He needed to leave in five minutes, to get sodding little Humphrey to his dog-training class. Then he gave her a smile. She had a nice energy about her and had managed to make herself popular – and not just for her looks – in the short while she had been here.

‘Oh, and Detective Superintendent Pewe asked me to check with you about travel arrangements for Australia.’

‘What?’

‘Sorry – I’ve been seconded to work with him, along with DC Robinson, on his cold-case files.’

‘Did you say Australia ?’

‘Yes, he wanted me to ask you which airlines Sussex Police has business-class deals with.’

‘Business-class deals?’ he said. ‘Where does he think he is? A law firm?’

She grinned, looking embarrassed. ‘I – er – I assumed you knew about this.’

‘I’m just dashing out,’ Grace said. ‘I’ll stop by his office.’

‘I’ll tell him.’

‘Thanks, Esther.’

She gave him a look as she left his office. It was an I-don’t-like-him-either acknowledgement.

Five minutes later, Grace entered his old office with its crappy view of the custody block. Cassian Pewe was sitting there, in his shirtsleeves, making what was clearly a personal call. Grace didn’t give a toss about his privacy. He pulled one of the four chairs away from the tiny, round conference table and plonked it directly in front of Pewe’s desk, then sat down.

‘I’ll call you back, my angel,’ Pewe said, looking warily at Grace’s glowering face. He hung up and beamed. ‘Roy! Good to see you!’

Grace cut to the chase. ‘What’s this about Australia?’

‘Ah, I was just going to come and tell you. There’s something I’m looking into today for the Victoria police in Melbourne – well, the Melbourne area – that I’ve just learned has a connection to your Operation Dingo. Bit of a coincidence, the name, Dingo – that’s an Australian wild dog, isn’t it?’

‘What connection? And what are you doing getting a DC

running round asking about travel policy? That’s what MSAs are for.’

‘I think someone’s going to have to go to Australia, Roy – thought I might do it myself-’

‘I don’t know what happens in the Met, but just so you know for future reference, Cassian, in Sussex we spend our money on policing, not turning police officers into fat cats on ratepayers’ money. We fly economy, OK?’

‘Of course, Roy,’ Pewe said, giving him an oily smile. ‘It’s just a long journey if someone’s got to do a day’s work at the end of it.’

‘Yep, well, that’s tough. We’re not operating a holiday company here.’

And the only way you’re going to Australia, Detective Superintendent Pewe, if I have anything to do with it, is by digging your way there with a spade! Grace thought. ‘Do you want to tell me what the connection with my case is?’

Pewe said, ‘I’ve got information about Lorraine Wilson, Ronnie Wilson’s second wife, that I think you will find interesting. It has a bearing on Ronnie Wilson. Could lead you to him.’

‘Yes, well, you’re clearly not up to speed on Ronnie Wilson. He died in the World Trade Center on 9/11.’

‘Actually,’ Cassian Pewe said, ‘I have evidence that might suggest otherwise.’

Ricky followed the taxi along the main drag of Peacehaven. He was tempted to grab the driver by the throat next time he stopped and grill him about Abby.

But what would the man know? The smart little bitch had probably given him a big tip to sit there and sod off after an hour, that’s all he would know, and the last thing Ricky needed right now was every cop in Brighton looking out for his face, to bring him in on an assault charge. He had something much more important to think about at this moment. Several things, in fact.

The first was that Abby knew he had recorded her phone conversation with her mother. But she would not have known how he did it. Probably she would suspect he had somehow bugged her mother’s phone.

Now the penny dropped!

That was why she had gone to a phone shop, to get her mother a new phone!

He had been realizing for some time now just how dangerously thorough Abby was. What about her own phone? He dialled the number.

After two rings it was answered. A tentative young male voice.

‘Yeah?’

‘Who the fuck’s that?’ Ricky demanded.

The connection was terminated. He dialled again. The connection was terminated again the moment it began to ring. As he suspected, the bitch had ditched her phone. Which meant she now had a new one.

You are really trying my patience.

And where are you?

A speed camera flashed at him, but he didn’t give a toss. Where had she gone in that hour? What had she used the time for?

A few miles on, the taxi turned off, but he barely noticed. He was driving along Marine Parade now, passing the elegant Regency fac¸ades of Sussex Square. In a minute he would be approaching Abby’s street. He pulled over to the side, stopped the car and killed the engine, needing to think this through carefully.

Where had she hidden the stash? She didn’t need much space. Just enough room to conceal an A4 envelope. The package she’d tried to send via the courier was a decoy. Why? To get him to follow the courier? So she could retrieve it and disappear? He’d made a big error, he realized, sending her that text. His intention had been to flush her out, but he had not reckoned on her being so devious.