It was likely to be a slow and tedious process, Grace knew, and he could seriously have done without this today – particularly with the way things were moving, he was fast getting this whole case wrapped up. With luck the review would be finished by the evening briefing at 6.30 p.m. which he would attend, and then he would head home. He was about to type an email to ACC Rigg to give him a summary, before meeting to brief him fully tomorrow morning, when his phone rang.
It was Pat Lanigan. ‘Hey, how you doing, Roy? Home safe?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘Is all okay? Cleo? The baby?’
‘Yes, thanks, all is fine. They’re safe and well.’
‘Hopefully that punk was acting on his own.’
‘I hope so, too.’
Then Lanigan’s tone changed, becoming more serious. ‘Ithought you’d want to know this right away. The old guy, Gavin Daly, didn’t wake up this morning.’
Grace felt a sudden, deep twinge of sadness. ‘He’s dead?’
‘Seems like he passed away peacefully during the night. He had some heart problems, so maybe the stress of being arrested – it’s a pretty big thing for anyone, but especially a guy of that age – maybe that’s what did it. I guess we’ll know more after the autopsy.’
‘I’ll never forget the sight of him on that dive boat, looking inside the tarp. Ever,’ Grace said.
‘Yeah, that was something. You know what? I think he knew he was going to go last night. The prison officer taking care of him said he was very funny about breakfast, saying he wasn’t going to need any. Made him wonder if the guy was a bit suicidal, so he kept an extra eye on him.’
‘I don’t think he was suicidal, Pat. I think he’d done the one thing he had left in his life that he wanted to do. He told me some of his story, about his father and mother, over a cigar in his sister’s garden a couple of weeks back. I was moved.’
‘Uh huh? Maybe. But you know, he spent the evening, before the lights went down, writing instructions. He wanted his father’s remains to be buried in Brooklyn Cemetery as close as possible to his mother’s. He wanted restitution paid to the antiques guy, Rosenblaum, for the gunshot damage in his office. And – you’ll like this – he asked if someone could contact you and apologize for the trouble you’ve been put to.’
‘Very nice of him,’ Grace said, with a grin.
‘To me, that sounds like a suicide note, pal.’
‘Either way, he’s gone, Pat. Does it actually matter? Nothing’s going to bring him back – and, you know, I don’t think he would have wanted to come back. Life’s not compulsory!’
‘I like that!’ Lanigan said. ‘Life’s not compulsory. Think I’m going to use that line next time I have to deal with some total shitbag.’
‘Be my guest.’
124
‘Good morning,’ Roy Grace said to his assembled team in the conference room at the start of the morning briefing. ‘Welcome to this briefing on the progress of Operation Flounder today, September the 13th. An unlucky day for some people – particularly our perpetrators.’
There was a ripple of laughter.
‘But a lucky day for Operation Flounder,’ he went on. ‘Lots of positives to report.’ He looked down at his notes. ‘First up is that our forensic podiatrist, Haydn Kelly, has, through his analysis of Lucas Daly and his henchman Augustine Krasniki’s shoes enabled us to put them on Eamonn Pollock’s boat at around the time that Macario and Barnes died.’
He turned to Norman Potting, who was looking better than last time he had seen him; clearly he had caught a little sun while in Spain. ‘You have some information for us, Norman?’
‘Yes, the Marbella police have found a witness who was close to Pollock’s boat on the night of Friday, August the 31st. He was approached for a light by a man who he could not see clearly, but he was accompanied by another man, and their build and height fit Daly and Krasniki. The Spanish police are intending to issue a Magistrate’s Warrant for both of them. Just to add to Daly’s woes.’
Grace smiled.
Norman Potting continued. ‘Spanish police, acting on information supplied by Shoreham Harbour, have raided a warehouse, and found a container filled with antiques matching the majority of the high-value items taken.’
‘Brilliant news. Thank you, Norman,’ Grace said. Then he looked down at his notes again. ‘There’s something else which I consider significant. Shortly after the robbery, when we requested photographs of the Patek Philippe watch, Gavin Daly informed us that the photographs he had, and those that his sister had, were missing. Search officers found them late yesterday in a locked filing cabinet in Lucas Daly’s back office behind his shop.’ He looked up at the Crime Scene Manager. ‘Good work, Dave.’ He turned to Bella. ‘How did the interview go?’
‘DC Exton and I interviewed Lucas Daly yesterday, in the presence of his solicitor, as the first of three interviews in our planned strategy. He strenuously denies killing Macario and Barnes. He said that he and Augustine Krasniki did go to Marbella together and went aboard the boat to talk to the men about the whereabouts of Eamonn Pollock and to try to find out where the high-value items were – one in particular being the Patek Philippe watch. He admits they roughed them up a bit, but swears they were alive when they left.’
She paused and checked her notes. ‘Now here’s the bit that DC Exton and I find hard to believe. Daly claims that they hired a Moroccan to go and talk to the men and see if he could get any more out of them.’
‘A Moroccan?’ Grace asked.
She nodded. ‘Yes, that’s what he says. He paid this Moroccan five hundred euros to go and speak to the men.’
‘By speak, you mean torture?’ Potting asked.
‘That’s the implication, yes. Daly reckons this mysterious Moroccan might have just gone over the top.’
‘Does he have a name for this Moroccan, or a description?’ Emma-Jane Boutwood asked.
‘No,’ Bella responded. ‘He claims he only saw him in the darkness, on the quay near Pollock’s boat.’
‘This witness who gave Daly a light, did he see him too?’ Grace looked at Potting.
‘No, chief. The witness is adamant it was just the two men, presumably Daly and Krasniki.’
‘Something is not making very good sense to me,’ Roy Grace said. ‘Daly and Krasniki are big guys – what would this Moroccan, if he exists, get out of Macario and Barnes that Daly and Krasniki couldn’t?’
‘Our thinking exactly, sir,’ Bella replied.
‘So is your view that this Moroccan is an invention?’
‘It is, sir, yes.’
Grace nodded. ‘Unless someone can physically produce him, it’s mine too.’
‘What about this Krasniki, boss?’ Guy Batchelor asked. ‘Has he been arrested yet?’
‘No, it looks like he’s done a runner. He hails from Albania so he could be hiding in one of their communities here – or gone home – or anywhere.’
‘He left a short note in an envelope for his boss, Lucas Daly,’ Alec Davies said, and held up a small sheet of paper.
‘What does it say?’ Grace asked.
‘Well, not much at all really, sir. It just says, “Sorry ”.’
125
‘Turns out the thirteenth was an unlucky day for Carl Venner!’ Roy Grace said. Lounging on a sofa in Cleo’s house, he raised his celebratory vodka martini at Marlon. ‘What do you think of that, eh?’ he said to the goldfish.
Marlon reacted the same way he reacted to everything else in life: by circling his bowl, opening and shutting his mouth.
‘That’s such fantastic news, darling!’ Cleo, seated beside him, set down her laptop and the one small glass of white wine she had allowed herself, kissed him on the cheek and gave him a hug. Noah, lying on his mat on the floor, gurgled happily. Humphrey, asleep in his favourite place – the sofa opposite – did not stir; he appeared to be recovering, slowly, from his ordeal.