Half an hour had passed, he realized with a start, by the time he had finished. And his hands were now shaking even more. Shit, if this was true, he would have ACC Cassian Pewe bang to rights!
He started the car and headed back towards home, his mind in turmoil. He felt conflicted. If what Guy had given him was genuine — and he little doubted it was — and if this Raj, whoever he was, would hand over the recording of Pewe and testify — and he had a good motive for doing so — then Cassian Pewe’s career was toast. And he might well face a prison sentence.
But Grace wasn’t smiling as he drove. Sure, Pewe was a pain in the arse, but he churned over in his mind for some minutes the morality of destroying a fellow officer’s career — however much he loathed the man. Could he do this? Deep down he knew that, having this information, it was now his duty to do so, and immediately.
He pulled into a lay-by on the A27 and switched the engine off. He picked up his phone, found Alison Vosper’s mobile number in the address book and dialled it.
Expecting it to go to voicemail, he was both pleasantly surprised — and somewhat nervous — when she answered on the third ring.
‘Roy! Nice to hear from you. So have you changed your mind and decided to take my offer of a Commander role in the Met? I presume that’s why you’re calling?’
‘Well, ma’am, not exactly — though this is connected to your offer, albeit in an oblique way.’
‘Oblique? Should we be doing our heads in with words like “oblique” on a Sunday evening?’
In all the time he’d known the former ACC of Sussex, he’d found it hard to tell when she was being nice, indeed humorous, or just plain sarcastic.
‘I’ll skip the oblique and come straight to the point, ma’am.’
He summarized what Guy Batchelor had told him earlier, much of it seemingly confirmed by the notes in the red book.
She was silent for so long after he had finished that he began to wonder if they’d been cut off. Then, the tone of her voice very different, serious and to the point, she said, ‘Roy, how certain are you this former officer has told you the truth?’
‘One hundred per cent,’ he said, without hesitation.
‘Even though he’s serving time in prison?’
‘He’s not looking to get anything out of this personally, ma’am.’
‘So why has he given this to you?’
‘Because he hates corrupt coppers, even though he is one — perhaps he doesn’t see that — and he wanted to repay me for standing up for him at his trial with a character reference.’
‘Always loyal to your team, aren’t you?’
‘It wasn’t loyalty, ma’am — his appalling behaviour was out of character and the court needed to hear that.’
That seemed to satisfy her. ‘OK, Roy. Don’t discuss this with any of your colleagues in Sussex. Can you scan and send me the contents of the notebook as soon as possible?’
‘I can do it when I get home — half an hour.’
‘Good. What I’ll do is place this in the hands of the Met Anti-Corruption Unit.’ She paused. ‘Roy, I don’t need to tell you this is a very delicate scenario — it needs to be handled both carefully and highly confidentially.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘I will also personally brief the Chief Constable of Sussex and the Police and Crime Commissioner — they need to be made aware. I don’t need you to do anything else at this stage.’
‘Understood, ma’am.’
Ending the call, Roy sat for some minutes feeling an almost overwhelming sense of calm. As if the monkey that had been on his back for longer than he could remember had suddenly been prised away. He looked forward to getting home and, hopefully with the rain some hours away, firing up the barbecue before it got too dark.
6
Niall Paternoster pocketed his phone and stood by their car, looking all around, puzzled. Just where on earth was she? No way would Eden have gone to McDonald’s, she loathed it. He often had a Big Mac when he was out on the road, and had long stopped telling her except when he deliberately wanted to hack her off, because he would always get a lecture. And she couldn’t accept their vegetarian stuff was any good.
Had she gone to M&S? She liked their food halls and still bought stuff there even though, with his reduced income, he felt they couldn’t afford their prices any more — not until they were back on their feet, at least. OK, fine, she was still earning decent money, thank God. But much of it went to paying the mortgage and the rest of the bills.
He was well aware she had more income from a portfolio of rental properties she’d built up before they’d met, from savvy investments she’d made from her savings. But they’d always agreed she shouldn’t dig into them, and he had no involvement in how she ran that part of her finances, or any of their finances in truth. He told her he wanted their basic food and limited treats — including booze — to come from whatever pittance he got from journeyman cabbing. It was another serious bone of contention, with Eden telling him that his idea of the man being the family breadwinner was just ridiculously old-fashioned — and insulting.
Ever since his printing business had gone under, earlier this year, he’d been driving his mate Mark Tuckwell’s Skoda taxi on a casual basis, in the hours Mark didn’t want to work. Which was mostly nights through into early morning. Picking up drunks, with the ever-present risk of them projectile vomiting and costing him a £350 clean-up. As well as the occasional fare doing a runner.
He made his way over towards the huge M&S store, but even from a hundred yards away he could see it was closed. No sign of Eden anywhere. He phoned her again. Unavailable. He texted her and WhatsApped her, with the same message. She had said there was some charge on her phone. She must have switched it on by now if she was OK?
Eden, this is not funny, where the hell are you? I’m worried.
He returned to the BMW and waited. Another ten minutes. Fifteen. The car park was emptying. Shit, it was now 4.25 p.m.
He sat in the car and tried to think through the possibilities of where she could be.
Kidnapped on her way to the store, or in the store?
Ridiculous.
Came out of the store lugging a heavy sack of cat litter and couldn’t find him?
She’d have called or texted him, surely?
Suddenly taken ill?
Passed out somewhere?
They’d searched the store.
Babes, come on, where are you?
He stopped to think. Eden, with her Irish ancestry, had a fiery temper. There had been a few times in the past when they’d had full-blown rows over seemingly nothing, driving somewhere, when she’d told him to stop, got out of the car and taken a taxi home.
He paused for a moment. But they hadn’t rowed today, not really, surely? For God’s sake, cat litter? But he knew she was independent and spontaneous. Could she have bumped into a friend in the store and asked for a lift home?
She’d done that, also, once before after they’d had an argument. But today it hadn’t been like that.
Maybe if he drove home, he’d find her there, and she’d have a perfectly rational explanation — one he’d overlooked? Although, right now, he couldn’t think what.
He started the engine and drove an entire circuit of the car park, including checking the service areas behind the stores.
No Eden.
Debating which route to take, he decided on travelling east along the busy Old Shoreham Road, checking his phone for a message at every traffic light he stopped at. All the time thinking. Wondering where, just where she could be.