‘As a result of this,’ Grace continued, ‘I asked Velvet Wilde to extend the plotting of both of their phones back to that day, and Aiden’s findings verify this. Both their phones travelled together from their house in Nevill Road to Parham House on the afternoon of Saturday August the twenty-fourth, spending about three hours there before returning to Nevill Road.’
He held up the printouts from the plots of Niall and Eden Paternosters’ mobile phones that Wilde had sent him. ‘I’ll pass these round so you can see for yourselves.’
He allowed the team some moments to absorb all of this and to circulate the printouts. Several of them scribbled details in their investigators’ notebooks.
DS Alexander raised his hand. ‘Sir, what car or cars do the Paternosters own?’
‘They share use of a BMW Three Series convertible,’ Grace replied.
‘A recent model?’
‘I took a note of the registration,’ Branson interjected. ‘It’s a two-year-old model.’
Alexander nodded. ‘I’m pretty sure these have in-built satnav. Perhaps worth having the Collision Investigation Unit take a look at it and interrogate the satnav — and the car’s computer system. They’d almost certainly be able to establish its movements over the past couple of weeks.’
‘Good point, Jack,’ Grace said, making a note. He looked around his team and settled on DC Soper. ‘Louise, your husband knows a thing or two about BMWs, doesn’t he?’
She smiled. ‘A little.’
‘Done a bit of racing in them, right? I’m sure some of it’s rubbed off on you — I’ll give you the action of getting the satnav checked out by the Collison Investigation Unit, as Jack suggests.’
‘Of course, boss,’ she said.
‘I’m sure some of you are thinking “overkill”,’ Roy Grace said. ‘Surely this is just a case of a wife who has, for whatever reason, legged it, perhaps with a lover, like a thousand partners, of all genders, before her? But I think this is something more and very serious for a number of reasons. Firstly, Niall Paternoster told us his wife seldom went anywhere without her phone charged and she was always using social media. And yet on the day he tells us she disappeared, he claims her phone had either died or was switched off. In my view, that’s a little too convenient. Especially when put together with his lie about when the photograph was taken. I’d like to hear any of your opinions.’
Emily Denyer raised her arm. ‘Sir, regarding the phone, could it simply be that she’d forgotten to charge it? We’ve all had that happen. And did he actually see the phone in the car?’
‘Good point, Emily, but it doesn’t explain the photograph. And two things make me doubt what he said about the phone. The first is that he told us he had repeatedly dialled her number. If she’d left it charging at home, he’d surely have seen it when he got back to their house. The second is that I peered in the window of their car as we left and I saw a phone charger in there, plugged into the socket. When we met Niall Paternoster, Glenn and I established that both he and his wife have the same make and model of iPhone. If it had been me in that situation, and I never went anywhere without my phone, I would have taken it and charged it in the car during the journey. Wouldn’t you?’
She nodded. ‘If it had been me, yes, assuming the charger was working — they can be temperamental.’
‘Her husband claims he looked everywhere for her phone when he got home, without success, so he is certain she has it with her,’ Grace said. ‘So where is it?’
‘He’s lying, chief,’ Norman Potting said. ‘Sounds to me like he’s disposed of it.’
‘OK, Norman, let’s go with that for a moment. For what reason would he have disposed of it?’ Grace asked.
Potting scratched his head. ‘Because there was something on it that he didn’t want us to find?’
‘Any idea what, Norman?’ Glenn Branson asked.
‘He didn’t want anyone tracking his communication to her, perhaps,’ Potting ventured.
‘A phone with a dead battery doesn’t give off any signal,’ Chris Gee said.
Grace jotted down in his notebook that the missing phone should be a line of enquiry. His job phone rang.
Raising an excusing finger, he answered.
It was ACC Pewe. ‘What the hell’s going on, Roy?’
‘One moment, sir.’
Had the shit already hit the fan? he wondered. Had Alison Vosper already started the investigation? Surely this was too soon?
Excusing himself, he stepped out of the room into the corridor and closed the door behind him. ‘OK, sir, I’m back with you.’
‘Back with me or out with the fairies?’ Pewe said in his normal, angry whine.
‘Beg pardon, sir?’
‘How long have you been a police officer, Roy?’
‘About twenty-four years, sir.’ Saying sir increasingly stuck in his craw.
‘And how many of those as a detective?’
‘Twenty-two, approximately.’
‘And how many missing person enquiries have you dealt with during this time?’
Now he knew that Pewe had no idea what was coming his way. Despite his cockiness, Grace maintained his veneer of respect. ‘I haven’t counted — sir.’
‘Have you counted how many officers and support staff you have on this one, Roy?’
‘I haven’t, exactly, no.’
‘Well, let me tell you something, you’ve got more people working on this case than you have brain cells.’
Roy Grace said nothing. Sometimes silence was the best reply, especially when dealing with a total asshole like Cassian Pewe.
After several moments, the ACC said, ‘Roy?’
‘Sir?’
‘Did you not hear what I said?’
‘Yes, I heard.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
Pewe’s voice was becoming increasingly high-pitched, as it always did the angrier he got. ‘A married woman goes missing, which happens all the time. But you, in your infinite wisdom, take it upon yourself to deploy half the resources of the Major Crime Team on one woman who’s been gone barely twenty-four hours?’
Calmly and quietly, Grace replied, ‘As I’m the Head of Major Crime you either have to accept my judgement when I decide to elevate, based on the evidence I have, what might seem to be a routine enquiry into a crime-in-action, or else replace me if you have no confidence in me. Personally, I’m fine either way — sir.’
Roy Grace knew Cassian Pewe was well aware that he had an open offer to move to the London Metropolitan Police in a Temporary Commander role, which would put him on equal status to Pewe. He was confident the idiot would back off. He was right.
‘If you have good reason for what seems to me to be complete overkill, perhaps you might have had the courtesy to brief me first,’ Pewe said sullenly.
‘I’ve been a little busy today,’ Grace replied, a tad facetiously. ‘Forgive me for putting the police ethic, to serve and protect, above informing you what was happening. But with a possible crime-in-action and, in my view, a life at stake, I thought you would be big enough to park your ego and let me get on with my job.’
He could hear the barely restrained fury in Pewe’s voice. ‘Don’t push me, Roy.’
Push you? Grace thought, mindful of Guy Batchelor’s notebook sitting on the desk in his little office at home. I’ll push you. All the way over the cliff edge, like I should have done when I had the chance but instead I hung on to you to save your sodding life and risked mine doing it.
‘I’m not pushing you, sir, I’m merely trying to do my job. I appreciate that, under some circumstances, we would wait longer after someone was reported missing by their partner before elevating it to a misper enquiry. But in my judgement and after my risk assessment, we’re not looking for a misper.’