‘Witness for the prosecution? Fuck, he’s one of our key defence witnesses.’
‘Maybe not any more.’
Gready was thinking hard. ‘Just let him try. I’ll tear his other sodding arm off and fuck his other eye up, and the only job he’ll ever be fit for again after I’m done with him will be as a fucking paperweight.’
Fox stared across the little divide at him, expressionless.
‘Loyalty, right?’ Gready said, bitterly.
‘It is what it is.’
‘I hate that expression.’ Gready was silent for some moments then said, ‘No. I’m not having this. This isn’t what it is at all.’
Fox nodded.
Gready was perking up. ‘I’ve thought of a way we can get to him. Mickey needs to be given a reality check.’
‘What kind of reality check?’
Looking around cautiously before he spoke, Gready replied, ‘A permanent fix. Know what I’m saying?’
Fox nodded. ‘I know what you’re saying, Terry, but are you sure? It’s one thing threatening Mickey, but this is taking it to another level. I’m not sure I want to be involved.’
‘We all have to do things we don’t like sometimes.’ Gready stared at him. ‘That’s what I pay you for. Nothing’s easy, Nick, if it was, I wouldn’t need you. My wife and my kids are up in the public gallery watching every day. They’re expecting to see me acquitted because they know I’m an honest man. And that’s what you’re going to deliver. Is that clear enough?’
Nick Fox shrugged then smiled. ‘The King of the Jungle’s always delivered, Terry, you know it. I just don’t think this is a clever thing.’
Gready looked at him. ‘Perhaps the King of the Jungle’s going soft in his old age? Or perhaps the King of the Jungle is just too plain warm and cuddly? Maybe I need a wolf instead?’ His voice was hardening as he spoke and Fox frowned, uncomfortably.
‘Just remember this, Nick,’ Gready said. ‘A lion may be the king of the jungle, but a wolf doesn’t perform in a circus.’
71
Friday 17 May
Roy Grace finally left his office at Sussex Police HQ at 7.30 p.m. He’d spent the past hour on the phone with Detective Superintendent Ross Shepherd at the Met, who was coordinating the lockdown of the hospital, in case Edward Crisp was hiding in there, as well as a manhunt across London. They both well knew, with Crisp’s past form, their chance of a result was slim. He could be anywhere, including out of the country, by now.
Grace had suggested — and not in jest — they focus on sewers. The seemingly mild-mannered family GP had used sewers as an escape route previously. Did he have a particular reason for wounding himself in the eye — was it to end up at Moorfields Hospital, either because of its location in the east of London, or because of its relatively low security?
As he drove his Alfa out of the car park, he was reflecting on his difficult day, especially with Pewe, as well as the knowledge that he would be spending much of the weekend ahead back at his office. But with Cleo pregnant again, there was at least something to be really positive about.
Turning into the residential street outside the HQ, he drove home in a slightly better mood, but his mind still churning with all that had happened today. And, mostly, his fury at Cassian Pewe. He tried to calm his anger by thinking of a Buddhist saying Cleo loved: Everyone you meet is fighting a battle of their own you know nothing about. Be kind to everyone.
Even to Pewe?
72
Friday 17 May
Twenty-five minutes later, Roy Grace drove along the track and pulled up outside his cottage. As he climbed out of his car into bright daylight, the sun still high in the sky, he heard the familiar bleating of sheep on the hill behind their house, but was surprised he couldn’t hear Humphrey. Normally the dog would be at the front door, barking his head off in greeting. Cleo was at home today. She was using the time to finish off her final modules and dissertation in order to complete her OU philosophy degree course.
He lifted his laptop bag off the rear seat and walked up the path, past the riot of flowers in their front garden, unlocked the front door and went in. No sign of the dog. ‘Hi!’ he called out, across the open-plan living-dining area. Cleo’s course papers were spread out across one of the sofas and the coffee table. Noah’s playthings were strewn around the floor.
‘Hi, darling!’ she replied, coming down the stairs, wearing a loose dress over her small baby bump.
He went over and kissed her as she reached the bottom, then asked, ‘Where’s Humphrey?’
As if in response, he heard the dog barking from somewhere at the rear of the house. ‘I’ve put him in the utility room.’
He frowned. ‘What’s happened?’
‘He started growling at Noah, again.’
‘What?’
‘Earlier this afternoon, Noah was playing in here quite happily. Then he stood up and toddled over to Humphrey, and as he tried to stroke him, Humphrey snarled at him. Like, a really menacing keep away snarl.’
‘Shit. He loves Noah.’
She nodded. ‘I thought so, too. They often rough and tumble together and I’ve always felt we could completely trust him with Noah. But this afternoon I was really scared he was going to go for him.’
‘Did Noah try to take his food or something?’
‘No. It was really weird. I put him straight into the utility room and left him there. It’s odd, Roy. It’s just so out of character. And he’s still got that limp, but I can’t work out which leg it is. I don’t want him near the kids when he’s like this. This is all we need right now, a problem dog.’
Grace frowned. ‘He’s not a problem dog, come on, there might be something up with him. I’ll get him to the vet and see what she says about the limp.’
‘Monday is the earliest appointment. Can you take him for 5.30 p.m.?’
‘You’re two steps ahead! I’ll happily take him, but we can’t keep them separated until then.’
‘We have to, Roy, I’m not risking it. Once we find out what is up then we can help him. Or...’
‘Or what? What were you going to say?’ Roy said, guardedly.
‘Well, I am just saying that we can’t have a dog who keeps growling and scaring our kids.’ She looked down and took a deep breath before carrying on. ‘Kaitlynn and Jack have just adopted Buster, that Yorkshire terrier who belonged to that poor lady found murdered in her home in Hove — Suzy Driver?’
‘Yes, what’s your point?’
‘Well, maybe they want a friend for Buster too?’
Roy stood, aghast. ‘No, no, no! Whatever’s up with Humphrey, we will sort it. We are not rehoming him. I thought you loved him?’
‘I do, Roy, but we have to think about the kids too. You weren’t here when he was growling.’
‘Let me sort it. Honestly. End of.’
Cleo looked closely at Roy. ‘OK, I’ll leave it with you, Mr Fixit. It’s been making me really stressed. And I do love him too.’
‘I need a drink.’
‘Go and sit down, I’ll get you something. You look shattered.’
‘It’s OK, I’ll get it.’
‘Is it Cassian Pewe again?’
‘Yep.’
‘You want a Martini? I’ll mix you one. Grey Goose, four olives?’
He smiled. ‘I can’t, I’m on call. I’ll have a sparkling water — a strong one,’ he said with a grin. ‘Anyhow, I always feel guilty when I have a drink and you can’t.’
She shook her head with a teasing smile. ‘You’re such a martyr — if it helps your guilt, after the baby is born and weaned, I’m damned well going to make up for it!’