Need You Dead

  Hailsham. That was where Exton had been living with his partner, Dawn. Before they’d split up. Was he on his way to see her? Then a more wild thought entered his head: had Exton decided to do a runner? Heading east? To the Eurotunnel, perhaps, less than two hours’ drive away?

  ‘There was no one else in the vehicle with him?’

  ‘No, sir, but there’s a lot of stuff in the car – and some of it’s spewed out all around. A sleeping bag, food, toiletries, clothing tied up in bin bags. We thought it was some kind of homeless person at first, until we found his warrant card. He smells pretty rank, to be honest – the whole car does.’

  ‘Which hospital are they taking him to?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Eastbourne. Could you have someone inform his next of kin, sir?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll get that done. Now, I want the car and all the contents impounded. I want you to treat it as a crime scene.’

  PC DuBois sounded surprised. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Presumably you’ve found nothing of interest or significance so far?’

  ‘Not really, sir, no. As I said, mostly just clothes, toiletries, canned food – oh – and a GoPro camera in the glove box.’

  88

  Friday 29 April

  Fifteen minutes after he ended the call from PC DuBois, Roy Grace’s phone rang again. It was Ray Packham.

  ‘Roy, the serial number on the GoPro in Exton’s car – I’ve just heard back from Christopher Diplock.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Packham had a serious, somewhat analytical voice, devoid of emotion. It could often be hard to read a positive or negative into his tone – as it was now. It sounded like it was going to be a negative answer, but then he surprised him.

  ‘The serial number on the GoPro – Diplock has confirmed it’s his camera, the one that was stolen from his car during the night.’

  Grace thanked him and hung up. Jon Exton. The dark horse on his team? This mild-mannered, diligent detective would have been the last person he could have imagined being a killer. Yet the facts were making more and more sense. He’d split up with his partner, Dawn. She needed to be questioned. Was the reason for their split another woman? Lorna Belling?

  Was Exton the secret lover she had told her close friend Kate Harmond about? The man she’d been having an affair with who had told her his name was Greg? Except she had found out, just before she died, that it wasn’t his name at all.

  He stared down at his handwritten notes and actions. Jon Exton.

  Every major crime was a puzzle with dozens, hundreds and sometimes thousands of pieces that had to be painstakingly pieced together. As was happening now. But there was something that made him hesitate, stopping him from punching the air in joy.

  Was it because he had always liked the Detective Sergeant and was now feeling a measure of sympathy for the man and all that he faced? Misplaced sympathy, he knew. He had no time for officers who discredited the force.

  But there was something else here. This puzzle, where at first all the pieces seemed to be fitting into place, felt like a box of flat-pack furniture which had been supplied with one crucial part missing. The bit that would hold the whole assembly together.

  Nonetheless, with the evidence now in front of him, he had no alternative but to inform Lesley Manning, the Chief Constable. He picked up the phone and called her secretary. But it went to voicemail. Next he tried Manning’s staff officer, a DI called Tess Duffield. The CC was in a meeting, Duffield told him, and asked if there was a message she could pass on. Grace simply asked if she could call him back, urgently, as soon as convenient.

  He had to wait less than fifteen minutes.

  ‘Roy, all OK?’ she asked. She was a calm, smart lady and he liked her.

  ‘I’m afraid we have a problem, Lesley,’ he said.

  ‘Something we can talk about over the phone, or do you need to come and see me? I’ve got to leave in five minutes for London – I could meet you after 5 p.m., or is that too late?’

  Grace gave her the information over the phone. She listened without interrupting, then was so silent when he had finished, he wondered for a moment if the line had been disconnected. Then she spoke.

  ‘He’s in hospital, you said?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Has DS Exton indicated any awareness that he’s under suspicion?’

  ‘Not that he’s under suspicion – but I’ve insisted he go to see the force doctor for psychological evaluation. I’m afraid he’s in a bad way – very close to a breakdown if not already in the throes of one.’

  ‘Do we know where he was going at the time of the accident?’

  ‘No, I will find out when we interview him – hopefully later today. He was heading towards Hailsham, where his estranged partner, Dawn, lives, maybe to go and see her.’

  ‘Or harm her?’ Manning said.

  ‘I think anything is possible in his current state of mind. I did wonder, also, whether he might have been heading towards Eurotunnel.’

  ‘Do you think he’s a flight risk?’

  ‘Well, his behaviour is clearly erratic – and he’s panicky. I’ve had a guard put outside his room at the hospital, as a precaution, instructed to not let him leave, but I’ve not given the reason.’

  ‘But you haven’t arrested him yet?’

  ‘No, I’m still waiting for what I think could be one more piece of crucial evidence – which I expect to have later today. And I wanted to speak to you first and inform you. I also want to be completely sure we have the right person. If and when we do arrest him there will inevitably be a massive media circus; it won’t look good to arrest one of our own, and it would be even worse if we subsequently released him without charge. I think we need to prepare a media strategy with Comms in advance, to ensure the reputational risk to Sussex Police is minimalized.’

  ‘Roy, I’d like you to brief ACC Pewe, and also update Professional Standards of the latest situation. Then I think we should all have a meeting after I’m back this afternoon. Are you anticipating any developments by then?’

  Thinking about the Super Recognizers, he replied, ‘There may well be.’

  Ending the call, he took a deep breath before dialling Pewe, hoping with luck to get his voicemail, and buy himself some time before talking to him. But he was out of luck.

  ‘Well, I did tell you yesterday to suspend the man,’ Pewe said with undisguised smugness in his voice.

  ‘With respect, I don’t see how that would have changed anything, sir,’ Grace retorted, struggling to hold his temper.

  ‘It appears to me, Roy, that there’s rather a lot of things you don’t see. Perhaps you should consider a trip to those opticians, the ones always advertising on television – what are they called – SpecSavers? You’d better come and see me right now – that is, of course, if you can find your way here.’

  89

  Friday 29 April

  The ACC sat behind his desk, studiously sharpening a yellow pencil with a tiny silver sharpener, in his elegant office just along the corridor from the Chief Constable. His fair hair was coiffed in neat waves, not a single strand out of place, his shirt was pressed to crisp perfection, the epaulettes bearing his ACC crescent looking, as ever, freshly minted, and his uniform looked like it had been pressed five minutes ago. Mr Immaculate. So perfect in every way, Grace thought, irreverently, that Cassian Pewe’s turds probably came out in the shape of smileys.

  ‘Take a seat, Roy,’ he said without looking up from his task.

  Grace selected one of the two leather chairs in front of the desk.

  ‘I understand DS Exton is being kept in hospital overnight for observation. He has two broken ribs, concussion and a bruised spleen. The doctors, concerned about internal bleeding, will make a decision in the morning about when he could be discharged. Am I correct?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Pewe held the pencil up, peered at the tip, then tested it with his finger, before placing it among an assortment in a black pen-holder on his desk. ‘Unl
ike our friend, Mr Tooth, whose condition has not changed, I think there is value to keeping a round-the-clock guard on Exton. Do you have that in hand?’

  ‘I do, sir. I’m arranging for DIs Glenn Branson and Kevin Hall to formally arrest Exton as soon as he is in a fit state, and at that time he will be suspended.’

  Pewe stared hard at him. ‘All right, can you see your way clear to doing that?’ he said, sarcastically.

  Holding his anger in, just, Grace replied through clenched teeth, ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘To avoid any embarrassment with his colleagues, and ensure neutral treatment, he needs to be interviewed in a police station outside of Sussex. I’ve spoken to the former Deputy Chief Constable of Sussex, Olivia Pinkney, who as you know is now Chief Constable of Hampshire, and she has kindly offered us Portsmouth police station.’

  ‘I think that is very sensible,’ Grace said. ‘And in fact I’ve already been in touch with Hampshire police. In the interim, before Exton is discharged from hospital, I’m having his fingerprints on the database compared with the lifts taken at the crime scene.’

  ‘And a media strategy?’ Pewe asked.

  ‘I’ve got Comms working on that.’

  ‘Excellent.’ He raised his hands in the air. ‘You may go. Unless you have anything else for me?’

  Grace contemplated pressing him further about his conversations with Bruno in German, yesterday. But decided to hold that for another day.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘Actually, I do. There is some CCTV footage that has been obtained from a GoPro camera in a car opposite the side entrance to Vallance Mansions. It apparently shows a man, his face partially obscured by a baseball cap, acting suspiciously in the vicinity around the time we believe Lorna Belling died. Maria O’Brien’s team are currently enhancing it and I’m intending asking the Super Recognizer team at Scotland Yard to take a look at it.’

  ‘For what reason, Roy?’

  Patiently, he explained. ‘My hope is a Super Recognizer will be able to positively identify the offender from the facial features visible.’

  ‘And your expectation is that will be DS Exton?’

  ‘If it turns out to be DS Exton, it will strengthen our case against him.’

  ‘Good, you’ll keep me posted?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Posted, yes. I’d like to stuff you, screaming in pain, through a narrow letterbox, Roy Grace thought.

  Momentarily relishing the image, he left the room.

  90

  Friday 29 April

  As he headed back to his office, his phone rang. It was Kevin Hall.

  ‘Boss,’ he said, ‘this may be nothing, but I thought you should know. I’ve just spoken with a Keith Wadey, who’s the Assistant Port Engineer of Shoreham Port. He carries out a fortnightly side-scan sonar check of the harbour, looking for obstacles – in particular submerged vehicles – that might damage the propellers or hulls of ships in the harbour. Earlier today he recovered an Apple MacBook Pro laptop from Arlington Basin. It’s a recent model, fifteen-inch optical screen, and from its condition he thinks it has only recently been deposited. He reported it, thinking it might be suspicious – perhaps stolen. An alert detective at John Street was aware that we are looking for a laptop and phone that could be missing from Lorna Belling’s flat in Vallance Mansions and phoned the Incident Room, and was put through to me.’

  ‘How recently does Wadey think it was dumped, Kevin?’

  ‘Within the past two weeks, he’s pretty sure – since his last scan.’

  Grace felt a beat of excitement. ‘You need to speak to Digital Forensics, Kevin, and see if they can restore any of the data.’

  ‘I’m on it, boss. Ray Packham has collected the laptop from Shoreham. He’s going to pack it in rice and believes he’ll be able to recover all the data from it as soon as it has dried out – he reckons twenty-four hours will do it. I’ve also asked Ray for the serial number – I should be able to trace it to the supplier and purchaser from that.’

  ‘Nice work, Kevin,’ Grace said. ‘Let me know as soon as you have anything.’

  ‘Yes, boss!’

  Grace entered his office and sat at his desk, thinking about this. Then he googled MacBook Pro 15-inch screen models. Prices started at around £1,500 for the most basic model. Then he went to eBay and did a search there. Second-hand values were high, from £1,500 upwards.

  So, he thought, anyone who had stolen one of these would surely try to sell it – even on a criminal black market it would be worth several hundred pounds, minimum. What possible reason could anyone have for throwing one into the harbour?

  Other than to get rid of it. Because?

  There was evidence on it?

  Possibly. More than possibly?

  Could this one be connected to Lorna Belling? He had a feeling that it just might.

  Hopefully, he’d find out soon enough.

  He opened his address book and looked for the contact details for Jonathan Jackson on the Super Recognizer Team that Ray Packham had sent him yesterday.

  It had been a good decade, if not longer, since the detective had left Sussex Police to join the Metropolitan Police – at a time when the Met were recruiting from the provinces, tempting officers with substantially larger pay packets and fewer unsociable work hours.

  Grace had been sorry to lose Jackson, who had been a dependable member of his team. He found the number and dialled it. Jackson answered on the second ring.

  ‘Good to hear from you, guv! To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?’

  ‘I’m told you’re involved with the Super Recognizer team – is that right?’

  ‘Yes, very much so.’

  ‘If I needed their help, how quickly could that happen?’

  ‘Just as fast as you want, guv. I can put you through to MetCU and they’ll allocate a duty Super Recognizer to you.’

  ‘What do they need to work from, Jonathan?’

  ‘Still photographs or video – obviously the better the quality, the more chance we have of making an accurate identification.’

  ‘Would we send it up to you, or do you have someone who could come down and look at it in situ?’

  ‘They’d send someone down to you, preferably.’

  ‘Great. When are you on-call until, Jonathan?’

  ‘Like you, guv. 24/7. Call me anytime you need me.’

  Grace thanked him and ended the call.

  Jon Exton, now their prime suspect, was in the Eastbourne District General Hospital, under a round-the-clock police guard. As soon as he was well enough to be interviewed he would be arrested and transported to the central police station in Portsmouth.

  But. He was still struggling to see Exton as a suspect, despite all he knew and had experienced. There was something about the DS that was just so straight, so honest.

  Equally, he knew, from all his experience, it was precisely those qualities that enabled many killers to evade justice for years.

  With just a tad of reluctance he made a series of phone calls, to Superintendent Darke at Professional Standards, the Head of Corporate Comms and to the Detective Chief Superintendent, Head of CID, setting up a meeting for late afternoon with Pewe and the Chief Constable to discuss the interview process and media strategy for one of their trusted detectives on his release from hospital.

  91

  Friday 29 April

  It was nearly 5 p.m. when an apologetic Christopher Diplock arrived home from his client and was finally able to make a copy of the GoPro recording for Packham to take across to Guildford.

  The meeting in the Chief Constable’s office finished an hour later. With Exton due to be released from hospital in the morning, and both the enhanced GoPro video and, hopefully, data from the laptop recovered from the harbour expected, tomorrow promised to be a big day.

  Grace decided to go home early for once, eager to see Noah, and to find out how Bruno was getting on at St Christopher’s school – and he hadn’t forgotten his promise to teach him firearms
techniques. He was also looking forward to having a rare quiet evening with Cleo.

  All was fine in the house. Noah had been grizzling earlier, teething, Cleo said, and Bruno had been getting on with his homework. He went up to Bruno’s room and chatted to him about how he was getting on at his new school, and if he had made any friends. Then he helped him – with some difficulty – with a couple of maths queries he had. Mathematics had never been Grace’s strong point – he’d failed twice before finally struggling through at the third attempt. Failure would have hindered his chances of becoming a police officer.

  Bruno thanked him politely, and knuckled back down.

  As he left the room he realized he still hadn’t fully accepted that this boy really was his son.

  Nor, as he lay wide, wide awake at 2 a.m., had he fully accepted what all the evidence pointed to about Jon Exton.

  Tossing and turning in bed, plumping his pillow then replumping it as gently as he could, trying not to disturb Cleo, sleep was elusive. He saw the green digits of his clock radio change. 2.03 a.m. 2.17 a.m. 2.38 a.m.

  Thinking. Thinking.

  Lorna Belling.

  Her eyes wide open.

  Staring at him from the bathtub.

  Find my killer.

  Or are you teasing me? Did you kill yourself?

  Oh yes, and I wiped that memory card and put the GoPro in Jon’s car, from beyond the grave. Sure, to cover my tracks.

  The one certainty he had right now was that he could rule out suicide.

  At around 4 a.m. he fell into a deep sleep, to be awoken just twenty minutes later by Noah crying.

  92

  Saturday 30 April

  Just before midday Chris Gargan emailed Roy Grace, telling him they’d done their best with the GoPro images, but they were hampered by the rain on the windscreen. He was sending them over by WeTransfer and they should be with him in minutes.

  Grace called Guy Batchelor, updated him and asked him to come to his office and view them with him.