‘They do a really reasonable weekday membership rate. And I thought you were getting something towards medical expenses for your leg from the police?’
‘Well, I might be, yes.’
‘I had a word with the manager and he’s offered us the full family membership with one month’s free trial. What do we have to lose? It would be great for Bruno to do his swimming. And it might help your leg. I could ask Mum and Dad to help us with the fee if you can’t get any money from the police fund.’
He liked Cleo’s parents but was reluctant to take any charity from them. ‘What are the rates? Let’s take a look at them.’
‘I’ve got them here.’ They sat down at the small oak kitchen table. The television was still blaring in the living room. Cleo poured him a large glass of Australian Chardonnay, then put an ashtray, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the windowsill in front of him.
He took a large gulp, leaned over and opened the window, then lit a cigarette and sucked in the sweet smoke, gratefully. For some moments it made him feel dizzy. It was the first cigarette he had smoked in over a week, he realized. He talked Cleo briefly through the events of the evening.
‘What a little shit,’ she said. ‘Seymour Darling sounds horrible. Even his name! Yech, creepy!’
‘You should have met his wife. She was a charmer.’
She pinched a drag of his cigarette. ‘Yup, well, as my mum always says, there’s someone out there for everyone.’
He smiled. ‘So where are the kids?’
‘It’s going to take a while to get used to the plural.’ She sipped some wine and hunched her shoulders. ‘Noah’s asleep, he’s been fine all day — really taking an interest in his play mat thing — and finishing The Times crossword.’
Roy grinned. ‘Maybe I should let him read my investigator’s notes on Operation Bantam. He might solve it for us! And Bruno — where’s he?’
‘In his room, gaming — the last time I looked in.’
‘What kind of game?’
‘Football. He’s playing it on his television with Erik in Germany.’
‘So how was it with Jason and Stan at the football game today — how did he get on with Stan?’
‘He was a bit subdued when he came home — I think he was shattered, to be honest. But it sounds like it was OK. Jason said he’d have a word with Stan about inviting him over to play. And as soon as he gets settled in at school, I’m sure he’ll make more friends.’
‘Has he had supper?’
‘I made him spaghetti bolognese, because that’s what the Lipperts told you he liked. But he only had a few mouthfuls before excusing himself, very politely, and going up to his room. Probably because he was exhausted.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ Grace smoked some more of the cigarette. ‘It’s hard to imagine what this is like for him. This kid’s been brought up as a single-parent child, by a wonky mother who spent part of his childhood a junkie. She commits suicide, and the next thing is a father he’d never been told about pitches up, takes him away from his home, from everything he knows, and dumps him in the middle of nowhere, in rural England, with a bunch of strangers. How would that feel if it was you?’
She pinched another drag of his cigarette. Exhaling the smoke, she replied, ‘Like I’d won the bloody lottery!’
‘Maybe he doesn’t see it quite that way.’
Noah began to cry. Cleo shot an irritated glance upstairs. Then she picked up her wine glass. ‘That was a frivolous answer I gave you, I’m sorry. But, honestly? I don’t know.’
‘Something I read in one of those books on philosophy you gave me — I can’t remember the title — kind of makes sense here.’
She looked at him, quizzically.
‘It was one of the American Indian tribes. Before you judge any man first walk ten moons in his shoes.’
She seemed about to say something, then fell silent.
‘What?’ Roy Grace asked.
She remained silent.
‘What, darling?’
She shook her head then drank some wine. ‘I want to help Bruno, make him happy. I guess I don’t know where to begin.’
‘Do you think I should go up and say a quick hi to him, and see how he is?’
‘I think that would be nice.’
His phone rang.
‘Roy Grace,’ he answered. Then with dismay he heard the voice of his boss, Pewe.
‘Roy?’ Pewe said. ‘Are you back from Germany? Sounds like it from your ringtone.’
‘I am, sir.’
‘Why has no one given me an update on Operation Bantam?’
Grace held his temper. ‘As you’re off this weekend, I thought the good news could wait.’
‘Good news?’
‘We have a suspect in custody.’
For a brief, sweet moment which he relished, Roy Grace knew that he had rendered the ACC, albeit momentarily, lost for a snide reply.
44
Sunday 24 April
Roy Grace and Guy Batchelor met in HQ at 7 a.m. on Sunday to plan their interview strategy. Grace had worked so many weekends during his career that it never felt odd for him to be suited and booted on a Saturday or Sunday. His right leg was giving him grief, and he knew he needed to organize some massages and time in a steam room. Cleo’s idea about joining Wickwoods was a good one, but he had no time right now.
Seated in his office, cradling a mug of coffee, Grace yawned, feeling tired. He discussed with Batchelor the order of the questions they would put to Darling, their tactic being to try to get him to say as much as possible, before they revealed what they knew. He often thought suspect interviews were like games of poker, at times. The cards you held in your hand and the way you bluffed could be the key to winning.
This was assuming the creep didn’t continue going no-comment on them, as he had done last night. Hopefully he’d have been talked out of that by his solicitor, if he had nothing to hide. It was of course everyone’s right under questioning, but that was a big waste of time and most briefs knew that it did not look good to a jury when endless ‘no-comment’ replies from the accused were read out in court.
Grace looked at his watch. ‘Probably too early to call the lab, especially on a Sunday. Let’s try them in an hour. If we can get a DNA match to Darling with the semen that would be very helpful.’
‘But equally I guess, boss, if it isn’t a match, that doesn’t necessarily mean he didn’t murder Lorna.’
‘I agree. Let’s see what we can get out of him now — it might make the DNA irrelevant one way or another.’
At 8.30 a.m., with a light drizzle falling, they headed into Brighton in one car, so they could continue talking. The custody block, where they had booked Darling in last night, was located right behind Sussex House, the building on the edge of the Hollingbury industrial estate which had been Roy Grace’s second home for the best part of a decade.
He wondered what had happened to Duncan on the front desk, who was also a runner like himself. It was strange to think it was now empty and would soon be demolished. ‘Bugger!’ he said, suddenly.
Batchelor looked at him. ‘What, boss?’
‘I’m craving a coffee. Was just thinking about grabbing a couple from Asda for us, but I forgot it’ll be shut.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Doesn’t open until ten on Sundays.’
‘Yup.’
‘You OK, Guy?’
‘OK?’
‘You’re very quiet.’
‘I’m fine, boss, thanks. Had one of those nights where I couldn’t get to sleep — brain whirring.’
‘I get plenty of those sleepless nights, particularly when my leg’s playing up. Hate them.’