Dead Man's Footsteps (39 page)

OCTOBER 2007

Cassian Pewe was sitting in his office, in his shirtsleeves, reading through a policy document, when his door burst open and Roy Grace came in, his face contorted with rage. He slammed the door shut behind him, then put both hands on Pewe’s desk and glared at him.

Pewe sat back and put his hands up defensively. ‘Roy,’ he said. ‘Good morning!’

‘How dare you?’ Grace yelled at him. ‘How fucking dare you? You wait until I’ve gone away and you do this? You fucking humiliate me in front of my neighbours and the entire force?’

‘Roy, calm down, please. Let me explain—’

‘Calm down? I’m not going to fucking calm down. I’m going to cut your fucking head off and use you as a hat stand.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘Yes, it’s a threat, you creep. Go run to Alison Vosper and ask her to blow your nose while you sit her on her lap and blub your eyes out, or whatever it is you do with each other.’

‘I thought with you being away – it would be less embarrassing for you.’

‘I’m going to have you, Pewe. You are going to really regret this.’

‘I don’t appreciate the tone of your voice, Roy.’

‘And I don’t appreciate SOCO officers crawling all over my home with a search warrant. You fucking stop them right now.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Pewe said, getting a little more courageous after realizing Grace was not going to hit him. ‘But following my interview with your late wife’s parents, I’m not comfortable that every aspect of your wife’s disappearance has been investigated as thoroughly as it should have been at the time.’

He smiled in conclusion, and Grace did not think he had ever hated anyone in all his life as much as he hated Cassian Pewe at this moment.

‘Really? Just what did her parents say to you that’s so new?’

‘Her father had quite a bit to say.’

‘Did he tell you his father was in the RAF during the war?’

‘Yes, actually, he did,’ Pewe said.

‘Did he tell you about any of the bombing sorties his father went on?’

‘In some detail. Fascinating. He sounds a character. He flew on some of the Dambusters missions. Extraordinary man.’

‘Sandy’s father is an extraordinary man,’ Grace confirmed. ‘He is a complete fantasist. His father was never in 617 Squadron – the Dambusters squadron. And he was an aircraft fitter, not a gunner. He never flew on a single mission.’

Pewe was silent for a second, looking slightly uncomfortable. Grace stormed back out, crossed the corridor and marched straight into the Chief Superintendent’s office. He stood in front of Sker-ritt’s desk until his boss had finished a call and then said, ‘Jack, I need to talk to you.’

Skerritt ushered him to a chair. ‘How was New York?’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Got some good information – I’ll circulate a report. I’ve literally just got back.’

‘Your Operation Dingo team seems to be making some headway. I see there’s a big operation going on today.’

‘Yes, there is.’

‘Are you letting DI Mantle run with it, or are you taking back command?’

‘I think today we’re going to need everyone,’ Grace said. ‘It’s going to depend on the geography to some extent who else we involve.’

Skerritt nodded. ‘So, what did you want to talk about?’

‘Detective Superintendent Pewe,’ he said.

‘Wasn’t my choice to bring him here,’ Skerritt said, giving Grace a knowing look.

‘I realize that.’ He was aware that Skerritt disliked the man almost as much as he did.

‘So what’s the problem?’

Grace told him.

When he had finished, Jack Skerritt shook his head incredulously. ‘I can’t believe he did this behind your back. It’s one thing to have an open investigation, and that can be a healthy thing, sometimes. But I don’t like the way this is being handled at all. Not one bit. How long has Sandy been missing now?’

‘Getting on for nine and half years.’

Skerritt thought for a moment, then looked at his watch. ‘Are you going to your briefing meeting?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell you what I’ll do, I’ll speak to him now. Come and see me straight after your meeting.’

Grace thanked him, and Skerritt picked up the phone as he was leaving the office.

OCTOBER 2007

At 9.15 Abby drove the black Honda diesel off-roader she had rented last night, on Ricky’s very specific instructions, up the hill towards Sussex House. Her stomach felt as if it was full of hot needles, and she was shaking.

Taking deep, steady breaths, she tried her hardest to keep calm and not let another panic attack come on. She was on the verge of one, she knew. She had that slightly disembodied feeling that was always the precursor.

It was ironic, she thought, that Southern Deposit Security was less than half a mile away from the building she was headed to now.

She pulled the car up as instructed, in front of the massive green, steel gate and put the handbrake on. Sitting on the passenger seat was the plastic groceries bag she had put her mother’s medications in yesterday. Also inside it was a Jiffy bag. Her suitcase was back in her room at the hotel.

Glenn Branson appeared and gave her a cheery wave. The gate began to slide open and, as soon as there was a large enough gap, she drove through. The DS signalled for her to park in front of a row of wheelie bins, then he held the door open for her.

‘You OK?’ he asked.

She nodded bleakly.

He put a protective arm around her shoulder. ‘You’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘I think you are a strong lady. We’ll get your mum back safely. And we’ll get your stamps too. He thinks he’s chosen a smart place, but he hasn’t. It’s dumb.’

‘Why do you say that?’

Ushering her through a door into a bare stairwell, he said, ‘He’s chosen the place to frighten you. That’s his priority, but it shouldn’t be. You’re frightened enough, so he doesn’t need to ratchet things up. He’s not thinking this through. He’s not doing it the way I’d do it.’

‘What if he sees any of you?’ she asked, walking along a corridor, struggling to keep pace with him.

‘He won’t. Not unless we have to show ourselves. We’ll only do that if we start to think you are in danger.’

‘He will kill her,’ she said. ‘He’s that spiteful. If anything goes wrong, he’d do it for the hell of it.’

‘We understand that. You have the stamps?’

She lifted up the carrier bag to show him.

‘Didn’t want to risk leaving them in your car in a police station?’ He grinned. ‘Wise decision!’

OCTOBER 2007

Cassian Pewe was already seated at the conference table in Jack Skerritt’s office when Grace returned after the briefing meeting. The two men avoided eye contact.

The Chief Superintendent gestured for Grace to sit down, then he said, ‘Roy, Cassian tells me that he realizes he made an error of judgement by setting in motion what he did at your house. The team there has been instructed to leave.’

Grace shot Pewe a glance. The man was steadfastly staring at the table, like a scolded child. He did not look as if he regretted anything.

‘He explained that he was doing it to help you,’ Skerritt went on.

‘To help me?’

‘He said that he feels there is an unhealthy amount of innuendo going on behind your back, about Sandy’s disappearance. That’s correct, isn’t it, Cassian?’

Pewe nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes – er – sir.’

‘He says he felt that if he could prove, one hundred per cent, that you had nothing to do with her disappearance, it would end that once and for all.’

‘I’ve never heard any innuendo,’ Grace said.

‘With respect, Roy,’ Pewe said, ‘quite a few people think that the original investigation was a rushed job and that you had a hand in bringing it to a premature stop. They are asking why.’

‘Name one of them?’

‘That wouldn’t be fair on them. All I’m trying to do is to revisit the evidence, using the best modern techniques and technology we have, in order to totally exonerate you.’

Grace had to bite his tongue; he could not believe the man’s arrogance. But this wasn’t the moment to start a slanging match. He needed to get away from here in a few minutes and into position for Abby Dawson’s rendezvous, which had been set for 10.30.

‘Jack, can we come back to this later? I’m not at all happy about it, but I have to get going.’

‘Actually, I was thinking it might be a good idea if Cassian came with you, in your car. He could be invaluable to your team in the current situation.’ He turned to Pewe. ‘I’m correct, aren’t I, Cassian, that you are an experienced hostage negotiator?’

‘I am, yes.’

Grace could hardly believe his ears. God help any poor sodding hostage who ends up with Pewe negotiating for him, he thought.

‘I think also it would be good for him to see how we operate down in Sussex. We clearly handle some things in a different way from the Met. Might be a good learning curve for you, Cassian, I think, to observe how one of our most experienced officers handles a major operation.’ He looked at Grace and the message could not be clearer.

But Roy was in no mood for smiling.

OCTOBER 2007

It had been a long time since she had last come here, Abby thought, threading the car along the winding road that climbed steadily between fields of grass and vast areas of stubble. Maybe it was her heightened nerves, but the colours of the landscape seemed almost preternaturally vivid. The sky was a canopy of intense blue, with just a few tiny clouds here and there, scudding across. It felt almost as if she was wearing tinted glasses.

She gripped the steering wheel hard, feeling the gusting wind buffeting the car, trying to push it off course. She had a lump in her throat and the needles in her stomach were burning even more fiercely.

She also had a small lump on her chest. A tiny microphone, held in place by gaffer tape that was pulling uncomfortably on her skin with every movement she made. She wondered if Detective Sergeant Branson, or whichever of his colleagues were listening at the other end, could hear the deep breaths she was taking.

The DS had at first wanted her to wear an ear-piece so that she could listen to any instructions they needed to give her. However, when she told him that Ricky had picked up some previous conversations she’d had, he decided it was too risky. But they would hear her, every word. All she had to do was ask them for help and they would move in, he assured her.

She couldn’t remember when she had last prayed, but she found herself praying now, suddenly, silently. Dear God, please let Mum be OK. Please help me through this. Please, dear God.

There was a car in front of her, driving slowly, an elderly maroon Alfa Romeo with two men inside, the passenger talking on what she presumed was his mobile phone. She followed it round a sharp left-hand bend, passing a hotel on the right, and the Seven Sisters river estuary below. The brake lights of the Alfa came on, as it slowed to let a delivery van cross a narrow bridge, then it accelerated again. Now the road was climbing.

After a few more minutes she saw a road sign ahead. The brake lights on the Alfa came on once more, then its right-turn indicator began flashing.

The sign read TOWN CENTRE A259, with an arrow pointing straight on, and SEAFRONT BEACHY HEAD, with an arrow pointing right.

She followed the Alfa Romeo to the right. It continued to drive at a maddeningly slow pace, and she glanced at the car’s clock and her watch. The clock was a minute slower, but she knew her watch was accurate, she had set it earlier: 10.25 a.m. Just five minutes. She was tempted to overtake, worried that she would be late.

Then her phone rang. Private number calling.

She answered it on the in-car speaker plugged into the cigarette lighter which the police had given her so they could hear any conversation.

‘Yes?’ she said.

‘Where the fuck are you? You’re late.’

‘I’m only a few minutes away, Ricky. It’s not 10.30 yet.’ Then she added nervously, ‘Is it?’

‘I told you, she goes over the fucking edge at 10.30.’

‘Ricky, please, I’m coming. I’ll be there.’

‘You’d fucking better.’

Suddenly, to her relief, the Alfa’s left-turn signal started flashing and it pulled over into a lay-by. She increased her speed to more than she was comfortable with.

*

Inside the Alfa, Roy Grace watched the black Honda accelerate off up the winding road. Cassian Pewe, in the front passenger seat, said into his secure phone, ‘Target One has just gone past. Two miles from zone.’

The voice of the local Silver commander – the senior officer running the operation – replied, ‘Target Two just made contact with her. Proceed to Position Four.’

‘Proceeding to Position Four,’ Pewe confirmed back. He looked down at the Ordnance Survey map on his knees. ‘OK,’ he said to Grace. ‘Move on as soon as she is out of sight.’

Grace put the car in gear. As the Honda crested a hill and vanished, he accelerated.

Pewe checked the transmit button was off, then turned to his colleague. ‘Roy, you know, it is true what the Chief Super said. I was only doing it to protect you.’

‘From what?’ Grace said acidly.

‘Innuendo is corrosive. There is nothing worse than suspicion in a police force.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘If that’s what you believe, then I’m sorry. I don’t want to fall out over this.’

‘Oh, really? I don’t know what your agenda is, to be frank. For some reason, you think I murdered my wife, don’t you? Do you honestly think I would have buried her in my back garden? That’s why you were having it scanned, wasn’t it? For her remains?’

‘I was having it scanned to prove she wasn’t there. To end the speculation.’

‘I don’t think so, Cassian.’