Dead Man's Grip (50 page)

‘You love it, don’t you?’

‘I didn’t love climbing down that ladder into the tunnel. And I was shit scared climbing up on to the power station roof. But at least young Tyler’s going to be OK. And to see his mother’s face when we took her to him at the Sussex County, where he was being checked over – that was something else. That’s why I do this job. I can’t think of any other job in the world where you could make a difference like that.’

‘I can,’ Cleo said, and kissed him on the forehead. ‘It doesn’t matter what job you do, you’d always make a difference. You’re that kind of person. That’s why I love you.’

He gave her a sideways look. ‘Do you?’

‘Yup.’ She shrugged and sipped her drink. ‘You know, sometimes I wonder about you and Sandy.’

‘In what sense?’

‘You told me that you tried for several years to have a child, without success, right?’

He nodded.

‘If you had succeeded, what would have happened? Would you and I – you know – be together?’

‘I’ve no idea. But I can tell you one thing, I’m glad we are. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me in my life. You’re my rock.’

‘You’re mine too.’

She squeezed his hand. ‘Let me ask you something. Did Sandy ever call you her
rock
?’

Roy Grace hugged her. After some minutes he said, ‘You know what they say about the past being another country?’

Cleo nodded.

‘So let’s not go there.’

He kissed her.

‘Good plan,’ she agreed.

‘The time is 8.30 a.m., Wednesday 12 May,’ Roy Grace read from his notes to his team in MIR-1. ‘This is an update on
Operation Violin
. To bring you up to speed on the latest regarding the unknown suspect, missing, presumed drowned, this is the start of the fifth day of the search of Shoreham Harbour by the Specialist Search Unit. One development yesterday was the recovery of a Toyota Yaris car from thirty feet of water at Aldrington Basin, close to the location where Ewan Preece was discovered in the white van. The vehicle bears the last known licence plates of the suspect. It is now undergoing intensive forensic examination.’

Duncan Crocker raised a hand. ‘Chief, we haven’t heard anything from Ford Prison regarding the death of Warren Tulley. Has there been any progress in that enquiry that could shed any light on our suspect?’

Grace turned to Potting. ‘Norman, do you have anything for us?’

‘I spoke to prison officer Lisa Setterington this afternoon, guv, and to the West Area Major Crime Branch Team, who are investigating. They are preparing to charge their original suspect, Tulley’s fellow inmate Lee Rogan.’

Grace thanked him, then went on, ‘We are continuing to maintain protection on Carly Chase and her family for the time being. I’m waiting for intelligence from the US which may help us to decide how long this should go on and in what form.’

This intelligence came sooner than Grace expected. As he left the briefing, his phone beeped, telling him he had a missed call and voicemail. It was from Detective Investigator Lanigan.

As soon as he got to his office, Grace called him back, mindful that it was the middle of the night in New York.

Lanigan, as ever sounding like he had a mouth full of marbles, answered immediately, seeming wide awake.

‘Something strange going on here, Roy,’ he said. ‘Might be significant to you.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘Well, it’s not like I’m shedding any tears, you know. Fernanda Revere’s brother, Ricky Giordino – son of Sal Giordino, right?’

‘The Mafia capo who’s doing a bunch of life sentences?’

‘You got him. Well, I think I told you, Ricky’s the guy we reckon would have hired the guy who’s been causing all your problems, right?’

‘You did.’

‘Well, I thought you should know, Ricky Giordino was found dead in his apartment a couple of hours ago. Pretty gruesome. Sounds like some kind of a hit. You know – wise guys on wise guys kind of thing. Strapped to his bed with his dick cut off – looks like he bled to death from that. Had it jammed in his mouth and held in place with duct tape. Also looks like whoever did it cut his balls off and took them with him.’

‘Before or after he was dead?’ Grace asked.

Lanigan laughed. ‘Well, with a guy like that, I’d want the best for him, know what I’m saying?’

‘Absolutely!’

‘So let’s hope it was before. Oh – and there’s one other thing – this is why I thought you might be interested. The perp left a video camera running at the scene.’

Yossarian lay in his usual place, shaded from the midday sun, just inside the permanently open patio doors, dozing. Once a day he got interrupted by the woman who brought him food and changed the water in his bowl. He would eat the food, drink some of the water and then return to his dozing.

He missed his associate. Missed the runs up in the hills and the days out on the boat, when he got to gulp down endless quantities of fresh fish.

But today felt different.

There was a vibe. He felt excited. Every few minutes, after he woke from his doze, he’d pad around the inside of his home, then go outside for a few moments into the hot sunlight, then back to the shade.

He was just dozing off once more when he heard the sound of the front door opening.

It was a different sound from the one the woman made. This was a sound he recognized. His tail began to wag. Then he jumped to his feet and ran to the door, barking excitedly.

His associate was home.

His associate stroked him and made some nice sounds.

‘Hey, good to see you, boy. How’ve you been?’

His associate put his case down and opened it, then took out a small white plastic bag. He walked over to the empty food bowl on the floor, in the shade, near the patio door.

‘Bought you a treat!’ he said. ‘A special delicacy, all the way from New York. How about that?’

Yossarian stared at his associate expectantly. Then he looked down at his bowl. Two small oval shapes dropped into it with a soft
thud
,
thud
. He wolfed them down, then stared at his associate again, wanting more.

Tooth shook his head. He didn’t do quantity.

He did quality.

The office of the Yacht-Club Rheindelta was a small white wooden building on the edge of the vast Bodensee. They were taking a week’s vacation and she thought it would be fun if they did a dinghy-sailing course together. He had been really keen when she had mooted the idea.

The fit-looking young German manager behind the counter was pleasant and helpful.

‘So, do you have any sailing experience?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, my – my ex-husband was very keen. We used to sail a bit in England – off the south coast around Brighton. And we did a flotilla sailing holiday in small yachts in Greece once.’

‘Good.’ He smiled, and started to fill in a form on a clipboard. ‘So, first the young man. He is how old, please?’

‘He’ll be ten, next birthday.’

‘Which is when?’

‘March, next year.’

The German manager smiled at the boy. ‘So you have your father’s sailing genes, perhaps?’

‘Oh, he has a lot of his father’s genes, don’t you?’ she said, looking at her son.

He shrugged. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never met him.’

The smile momentarily changed to a frown on the manager’s face, then he said, ‘OK. So if I may have the young man’s full name, please.’

She wrote down
Bruno Lohmann
and handed him the form back.

‘Sorry, I need the full name. Does Bruno have a second name, perhaps?’

Sandy smiled apologetically. ‘Yes, I’m sorry.’

She turned the form back around and in the space provided in the middle she wrote,
Roy
.

I try hard to get my facts right in every book. Most of the places named here are real, but just occasionally I’ve needed to make a street or a house number fictitious. The glorious house in the Hamptons is real, too, and it does have a bowling alley in the basement! But I should point out it is not owned by a crime family, but by the very delightful Jack and June Rivkin, who graciously allowed it to be the model for the Reveres’ home in my story.

I owe huge thanks to very many people who so kindly and patiently put up with my endless questions and give me so much of their time. Most of all I owe an incalculable debt to Sussex Police. My first thank-you is to the Chief Constable, Martin Richards, QPM, not just for his kind sanction, but for the very active interest he has taken in my Roy Grace novels and the numerous helpful observations and suggestions he has made.

Roy Grace is inspired by a real-life character, former Detective Chief Superintendent David Gaylor of Sussex CID, my close friend and tireless fountain of wisdom, who helps me to ensure that Roy Grace thinks the way a sharp detective would, and to shape my books in so many ways.

Chief Superintendent Graham Bartlett, Commander of Brighton and Hove Police, has also been immensely helpful on this book, even taking my calls and responding with great creative suggestions while out on training runs for the Brighton Marathon! Chief Inspector Steve Curry and Inspector Jason Tingley have both been hugely helpful in so many ways, too. As have Detective Superintendent Andy Griffiths; DCI Nick Sloan; DCI Trevor Bowles; Senior Support Officer Tony Case; Inspector Gary Medland of Gatwick Police; DI William Warner; Sgt Phil Taylor; Ray Packham and Dave Reed of the High-Tech Crime Unit; Inspector James Biggs; Sgt Mel Doyle; Sgt Paul Wood; PC Tony Omotoso; PC Ian Upperton and PC Dan Pattenden of the Road Policing Unit; Sgt Lorna Dennison-Wilkins and the team at the Specialist Search Unit – especially Critch, for his amazing bacon butties! – Chris Heaver; Martin Bloomfield; Sue Heard, Press and PR Officer; and Neil (Nobby) Hall, former Assistant Commissioner of Police for the Turks and Caicos.

Exceptional thanks are due to Colin O’Neill of the Road Collision Unit for helping so much with the details of the tragic fatal accident in the story.

Very special thanks also to the NYPD, to Detective Investigator Patrick Lanigan, Special Investigations Unit, Officer of the District Attorney, and to retired Detective Investigator Dennis Bootle, for their exceptional help and generosity of spirit.

A huge and very special thank-you to Ashley Carter for being the role model for Tyler Chase, and for so enthusiastically helping me on so many aspects of his character, and to his mum, Helene, for allowing me to roam their home.

And as always I owe massive thanks to Sean Didcott at Brighton and Hove Mortuary. Also to Dr Nigel Kirkham, consultant pathologist, Newcastle; Crime Scene Manager Tracy Stocker and Scene of Crime Officer James Gartrell; fingerprint analyst Sam Kennor; forensic archaeologist Lucy Sibun and forensic pathologist Dr Benjamin Swift; Michele Websdale of the UK Border Agency; Sharon Williams, Governor of Ford Prison; and Deputy Governors Lisa Setterington and Jackie Jefcut. And thanks to my terrific researchers, Tracey Connolly and Tara Lester, as well as Nicky Mitchell, and Sian and Richard Laurie for sharing the world and perspectives of pregnancy with me.

Thanks also to Juliet Smith, Chief Magistrate of Brighton and Hove; Michael Beard, Editor, the
Argus
; BA captain Wayne Schofield; Judith Richards and the staff of St Christopher’s School; Dave Phillips and Vicky Seal from the South East Coast Ambulance Service; Consultant Obstetrician Des Holden; Les Jones; Rob Kempson; Sheila Catt at Brighton District Probate Registry; Mar Dixon; Danielle Newson; Hans Jürgen Stockerl; Sam Brennan; Mark Tuckwell; and David Crouch of the Press Office Toyota (GB) plc.

Shoreham Harbour, one of my favourite parts of the city, features prominently through the book and I’m immensely grateful to Rodney Lunn, CEO, Chief Engineer Tony Parker and Deputy Chief Engineer Keith Wadey. As someone who, like Roy Grace, is both scared of heights and claustrophobic, I’m also indebted to David Seel, James Seel and Barry Wade of Rescue and Emergency Medical Services for coaxing me all the way down that 200-foot sheer descent into the tunnel beneath the harbour, and to Keith Carter and Colin Dobson of Scottish Power for giving me such a great tour and information about Shoreham Power Station.

Thanks as ever to Chris Webb of MacService, who has unlimited patience, for ensuring my Mac knows who is the boss…

Very big and special thanks to Anna-Lisa Lindeblad, who has again been my tireless and wonderful ‘unofficial’ editor and commentator throughout the Roy Grace series; to Martin and Jane Diplock, incisive new members of this team; and to Sue Ansell, whose sharp eye for detail has saved me many an embarrassment.

Professionally I have my publishing dream team to thank: the wonderful Carole Blake representing me; my awesome publicists, Tony Mulliken, Sophie Ransom and Claire Richman of Midas PR; and there is simply not enough space to say a proper thank you to everyone in Macmillan, but I must mention my superstar publishing director, Wayne Brookes, and editor, Susan Opie. And massive thanks are due to my wonderful PA, Linda Buckley.

Helen has as ever been tirelessly supportive, and my canine friends continue to keep me sane. The ever-cheerful Coco, lovely Phoebe and totally laid-back Oscar never let me put in too many hours without reminding me it’s time for yet another walk…

Lastly, thank you, my readers, for the wonderfully enthusiastic support you give me. Keep those emails, tweets and blog posts coming!

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