To Grace’s surprise, rather than being angry at him for failing to bring the case to a swift conclusion, Pewe took a pragmatic view. ‘I think we have to accept that whatever happened, Stonor is not someone worth throwing unlimited expensive resources at, Roy. Yes?’
‘In the current climate, I’d have to agree, sir.’
‘Good man.’ Pewe, in his white shirt with epaulettes, shiny blond hair and angelic blue eyes, gave Grace a condescending smile. ‘Now I have a nice bit of news, which I’m sure you will like. I’ve just heard from our new Chief Constable, Lesley Manning, that Bella Moy has been posthumously awarded the Queen’s Gallantry Medal. I understand that she and Norman Potting had become an item?’
‘More than an item, sir. They were engaged to be married.’
Pewe nodded. ‘It sounds as if DS Potting will be accompanying Bella’s mother to the ceremony, then. A member of the Royal Family will be presenting the medal later in the year. But to recognize the award in Sussex we are having a small local event with the Chief.’
‘Very appropriate.’
Pewe nodded. ‘I’ll see to it. Now, back to business. I want you to stay on the Stonor enquiry, but don’t bust your balls on it. I’d like you to focus your energies on Crisp. Once he has been released back to us there’s going to need to be a lot of work preparing for his prosecution, and it has to be watertight, belt and braces. It’s going to be one of the highest profile trials we’ll ever have been involved with and I need it to be in a safe pair of hands. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
As ever with ACC Pewe, Grace waited for the sting. It came rapidly and subtly from the man who had once secretly ordered a team to scan and excavate the garden of the home Grace had shared with Sandy, on the suspicion that he had murdered her.
‘Such a shame the glory for his capture goes to the French police rather than to us, don’t you think, Roy?’
Actually, no, he felt like replying, defensively. But that would have been an argument he could not win. The truth was that Operation Haywain, which he had run, had successfully identified and found Sussex’s first serial killer in many decades. Through his efforts and those of his team, Edward Crisp had been trapped in an underground tunnel which had collapsed, nearly killing Grace and several of his colleagues. It had seemed certain that Crisp must be dead. Yet, somehow, he had escaped.
The buck stopped with Grace as the Senior Investigating Officer. However improbable the odds on Crisp having survived, somehow he had. Which meant that in the eyes of Pewe, justifiably, Grace had screwed up. He’d had the offender in his grasp and the man had slipped the net. It didn’t matter that Grace had been in hospital, his leg filled with shotgun pellets, when Crisp had escaped. He was the SIO and ultimately to blame. And to make it worse, the recapture was down to pure luck. Although swift circulation of Crisp’s details had meant the French police were able to act decisively.
‘Yes,’ Grace said. ‘I think Crisp makes Harry Houdini look like an amateur.’
In his sarcastic tone, Pewe said, ‘I would have thought — given all you had found out about the man during your operation — you would have been aware of that.’ He stared sternly at Grace for some moments, then went on. ‘Quite frankly, most people in my position would have taken you off the case after such a fiasco. But I want you to understand, despite our past differences, I’m not a vindictive person. I appreciate with your injuries there were extenuating circumstances, and I’ve not forgotten that last year you risked your life to save mine. So I’m going to give you a reprieve. Just make sure there are no more screw-ups from the moment Crisp is released to us. Bringing a successful prosecution is going to be on your head. Do I make myself clear?’
Grace said, stiffly, ‘Very clear, sir.’
‘I’ll give you some words of wisdom, Roy. We don’t learn from our successes — we only learn from our mistakes. You’d do well to remember that.’
‘I’ll remember that.’
66
Friday 6 March
‘How are you feeling, Mr Carmichael?’ Dr Ryerson asked, entering the cabin. It was just after 6 p.m. and Jodie’s husband had stayed in bed for the past two days, throwing up constantly, sustained only by sugary drinks. He had resisted the doctor, telling Jodie that, from his experience on cruise ships, if the doctor believed you might have a contagious bug they would confine you and your partner to your cabin for days. But finally he had given in and told her to ask him to come.
‘Terrible,’ he said, holding a handkerchief to his nose to staunch his latest nosebleed.
‘Your wife tells me you had oysters for dinner the night before last. Afterwards Martinis, then champagne and white wine?’
Jodie, holding her husband’s hand, said, ‘You did rather go for it, didn’t you, my darling?’
He nodded.
‘It’s possible they haven’t agreed with you. Oysters and spirits can be a dangerous mix. But is there anything else you can think of?’
‘Yesterday,’ he said listlessly. ‘Sorry — day before yesterday — at the crocodile farm. Mumbai. I got bitten.’
‘Bitten?’
‘Something bit me.’
‘Where were you bitten?’
‘On my leg — ankle — my right ankle.’
‘He fell over in the crocodile farm and thought he had been bitten by something,’ Jodie confirmed. ‘I had a look but I couldn’t see anything.’
The doctor lifted away the sheet and examined his ankle carefully, frowning. ‘There is a faint mark but I can’t see any swelling,’ he said. ‘It might be an insect bite. If you’d been bitten by something venomous, a snake or a spider, there would almost certainly be swelling.’
He took Rollo’s temperature then studied the thermometer. ‘Hmmn,’ he said. ‘You have quite a high temperature. It might be something you’ve eaten, a bug, or a reaction to some sort of insect bite.’ He looked at Jodie. ‘Do you feel all right?’
‘Absolutely fine.’ She gave him a smile.
The doctor quizzed Rollo about his medical history, then delved into his medical bag, which he had placed on the floor, and removed a syringe and a vial. ‘I’m going to give you a shot of antibiotic, and then I’ll come back and see you in a few hours.’ He turned to Jodie. ‘I think you should stay with your husband and keep an eye on him. I suggest you have room service tonight.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course. I wouldn’t want to leave him on his own. Can you explain his nosebleed?’
‘His blood pressure is up quite a bit, which I’d expect in his condition at the moment. That’s probably causing it.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Good,’ the doctor said, preparing the injection. Then he smiled. ‘I’m sure you’ll be feeling right as rain very soon, Mr Carmichael!’ he said. ‘Best if you don’t eat anything, but I’d like you to drink as much water as you can.’
‘Don’t care for water,’ Rollo Carmichael said, looking at him balefully. ‘You know what W. C. Fields said about water?’
‘W. C. Fields, the actor?’
He nodded. ‘Never drink water,’ he said. ‘Cos fish screw in it.’
The doctor laughed. ‘Well, he had a point, I suppose!’
Then suddenly, and without warning, Carmichael vomited a jet of bile and blood.
67
Sunday 8 March
The unconscious American in bed 14 had been brought in to the Intensive Care Unit of the Royal Sussex County Hospital on Friday afternoon. He was in a bad way, with an MRI scan showing a brain contusion from a small, hairline skull fracture, as well as two broken ribs and severe bruising to his right leg. The two cyclists, who had been racing each other along the cycle lane, were both taken to the hospital as well; one with a broken arm and dislocated shoulder, the other with a shattered knee.