He held her in his arms. ‘I’ll get Humphrey sorted, so stop stressing and focus back on you and bump two, OK?’
‘OK.’ She gave him a tight hug.
‘You know you can depend on me,’ he said.
She pursed her lips. ‘I actually quite like you, too. Now loosen your tie, take your jacket off, sit down, chill, and help me chill! A Detective Superintendent Grace special glass of sparkling water is on its way. Extra strong.’
He complied, untying and kicking off his shoes as well, then flopped down on the sofa opposite hers. Humphrey continued to bark. Moments later, Cleo let him in; he bounded over and jumped straight onto his lap.
Roy stroked him. ‘What’s all this about you growling at Noah?’ he asked, staring him in the eye.
Humphrey nuzzled up to him, the very picture of sweet innocence. Other than the arrival of the postman, which always set him off into a fury of barking, Roy Grace had never seen an ounce of aggression in the dog.
A few minutes later, Cleo handed him the glass and sat down beside him. ‘Just as Humphrey’s master likes it, I hope,’ she said, giving Humphrey a pat. ‘So, good day — bad day? Any update on charming Dr Crisp?’
Grace told her then added, ‘To be honest, and I really should not be saying this — or feeling it — much though I want to see this monster behind bars for the rest of his life, all the time he’s at large, I’m loving Cassian Pewe’s pain!’
‘Until Dr Crisp murders another young woman,’ she said.
Grace shook his head. ‘He’s going to be too busy saving his skin. He’ll know that every police officer in the UK has his photograph — and every Border Force officer. Any documents he has on him will either be stolen or forged. Unless he has a very clever Plan B, he’s going to be picked up within a few days.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘He’s in the last-chance saloon. He’s under arrest on charges that will ensure he’ll never see the outside of a prison wall again. He’s probably taken the view he has nothing to lose — but equally knows that he has little to gain. Unless he has a hidden stash of money or credit cards somewhere, he’s going to be stymied for money — without stealing it. He’s just having a laugh, a final fling, his last hurrah.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Cleo said, dubiously.
‘So do I.’ He leaned across the dog to reach his glass. ‘So other than Humphrey snarling at Noah, how was your day?’
‘It started well with a lovely pregnancy massage at Sarah Hurst’s down in Brighton. The best massage ever! I think you could do with some massages to de-stress.’
‘Yep, but I’m not pregnant.’
She tried to hold back a smile and failed. ‘They do other types. I’m sure they have a stressed copper one.’
‘I could do with that.’
‘Oh, before I totally forget, I need to ask you something. I was chatting online on my class forum this morning. There’s a fellow student, nice lady who I’ve met a few times, Alison Stevens. She DM’d me because she wanted some advice for her daughter who’s doing a dissertation about jury service.’
‘Go on,’ he said, interested.
‘Well, she knows I’m married to a very important senior police officer,’ she said, buttering him up. ‘She needs to know how someone could nobble a jury. I said I’d ask you what you know.’
‘Yeah, I’d be happy to have a chat with her, if she wants. It won’t be for at least a couple of weeks as I’m tied up on this murder investigation.’
‘Fine, I’ll let her know.’
‘Jury nobbling does go on but not as often as people think. It’s pretty rare, these days.’
73
Monday 20 May
Meg sat in the jury box, trying to follow the Financial Investigator, Emily Denyer, as she continued to give her complicated evidence. For the second day, she was talking the jury through a mountain of spreadsheets, detailing transactions through an increasingly complex network of offshore bank accounts. She listed dates of transactions, amounts, what credits and debits had occurred, and highlighted ones that she considered to be of specific interest.
In truth, Meg was completely lost, and she could see from the expressions of some of her fellow jurors that they were, too. She was struggling to remain focused. There had been no word over the weekend from Laura. Her daughter usually responded to her calls or messages within a few hours. She decided if she hadn’t heard by the end of the court session, she would try to call Cassie. She really didn’t want to bring Cassie’s parents into this yet — that would not be a good move in the eyes of the people watching her.
On top of that, she was deeply worried that she’d said too much to Alison on Thursday night and by what the man had threatened. They’d met for a coffee yesterday morning and Ali had assured her she was keeping everything to herself. Trust me, she’d said.
Meg had to; she had no choice.
This morning, before the hearing had recommenced, several of her fellow jurors seemed to have made up their minds that Gready was guilty, based on the Financial Investigator’s evidence on Friday. Meg was becoming increasingly anxious about what was now seeming an impossible task. She noticed Gready staring intently at the jury box, and in her direction. At her? She fleetingly caught his eye and detected the flicker of a nod. She glanced quickly away, with a shock, as if she had touched an electric fence.
74
Monday 20 May
Throughout his career, Roy Grace had always found it helpful to revisit crime scenes a week or two later and look at them with fresh eyes.
It was now nearly two weeks since Stuie Starr’s murder. As Norman Potting pulled up the car right in front of the house, the area seemed back to normal. A handful of vehicles were on the forecourt of the garage opposite, some refuelling with petrol or diesel and one that looked like it was plugged into a charger.
He climbed out and looked at the small, bland, red-brick house. It was a fine summer’s day, with a clear blue sky and the promise of fine weather to come. But, as always in this job, a cloud hung over him. This particular one was called Cassian Pewe. The murder of a Down’s Syndrome man had caused a wave of revulsion which had ripples well beyond just the county of Sussex. The pressure on him to solve it was even greater than ever.
But at this moment he had no bone to throw to his ACC.
As he looked again at the house, and then at the constant stream of passing traffic, he wondered how it was possible that the offenders had arrived, parked, done their horrible deed and left, without a single person noticing them.
Above him, high in the sky, he heard an engine. He looked up and saw a small aeroplane. And remembered something. Sandy, his now dead former wife, had loved cars. Several times, they’d been to the Goodwood Revival race meeting. The race circuit was around the perimeter of the Goodwood Aero Club, just a couple of miles from here. He turned to Potting.
‘Norman, I’ve an action for you. This is probably a total long-shot but have someone check out Goodwood Airport — and any flying or gliding clubs nearby. Just in case anyone flew over this area on the day Stuie Starr was killed — they might have seen something.’
Potting nodded. ‘Right away, chief!’
75
Monday 20 May
Like several other members of the jury, Meg had taken to bringing her own lunch in, rather than having to go out during the recess. She’d have preferred to have taken a walk around Lewes and got some fresh air, particularly on this glorious, sunny early afternoon, after the stuffy atmosphere of the court, but it gave her the opportunity to talk to any of the jurors doing the same as herself. Today there were just three other jurors in the room. Good, she thought, a chance to speak one to one.