Grace, a tad baffled, frowned. ‘And your conclusion is what, exactly, Donald?’
‘Well, sir, he doesn’t fit any of these profiles of a murderer.’
‘So we can safely ignore him?’ Grace was trying hard to mask his scepticism.
‘No, I wouldn’t say that exactly, sir.’
‘OK, what would you say?’
‘Well,’ he replied, ponderously, ‘Kipp Brown is a person who could well slip under our net if we were to run a profiling matrix.’
Just what planet did Cassian Pewe find this guy on, Grace wondered, still unsure what the hell he was talking about. But, mindful that with Pewe’s unpredictable machinations Donald Dull could end up being his boss in the near future, he kept his calm. ‘So if I understand correctly, Donald, Kipp Brown is a potential suspect, albeit from left field?’
‘You could interpret the data that way, sir, yes. But I wouldn’t rely on it.’
‘So is there something in your findings we can rely on?’
Norman Potting raised a hand. ‘Yes, chief, getting a good mortgage deal from this man!’
He paused for a moment to look around but no one reacted.
‘Trust Kipp!’ Potting continued. ‘He says it, so it must be true.’
‘Thank you, Norman,’ Grace said. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years it’s when someone tells you that you can trust them, it usually means you can’t.’
‘So,’ Batchelor said, ‘at this moment we have three possible suspects: Corin Belling; Seymour Darling; and now Kipp Brown. To recap on the evidence to date: we have fingerprint and DNA confirmation that Lorna’s late husband, Corin, who had a history of abuse against her, was in the flat at some point prior to her death. We also know that he released six tiny puppies she had been rearing out onto the street, just to get at her. That’s a pretty good indicator of the state of his mind.’
He looked around the room, then continued. ‘We have Seymour Darling, extremely aggrieved about being screwed trying to purchase her car. He blames her, but might well be a victim of cyber fraud. And now we have in the frame Kipp Brown, a successful Brighton businessman — and a married man. What is his contact with our victim? And we still cannot rule out suicide, given the distressing history of her marital relationship.’
Jon Exton raised a hand, addressing Batchelor. ‘What has this character, Brown, had to say, Guy?’
Grace had been looking at Exton carefully, several times, during this meeting. As he had noticed last week, the normally neatly dressed detective’s hair was untidy, he was unshaven, and his complexion was sallow. He would have another quiet word with him later, he decided, concerned for him.
‘We haven’t talked to him yet, Jon. I’m intending to talk to him tomorrow.’
Batchelor then ran through the lines of enquiry to date. The most important at this time were the outside enquiry teams; they were interviewing everyone who lived in Vallance Mansions, as well as the tradesmen visiting the apartment building; checking for CCTV in the surrounding area, and talking to all the neighbours; checking vehicle movements with the nearest ANPR — Automatic Numberplate Recognition devices — to the area immediately around Vallance Mansions; and finding and interviewing all Lorna Belling’s friends, relatives, clients and associates, and continuing to build the association chart for her — which was pinned up on the fourth whiteboard. He would hold a full press conference in the morning, at which he would appeal to the Argus and the local media in particular to put out a request to the public for any sightings of anyone unfamiliar in the vicinity of Vallance Mansions on the afternoon and evening of Wednesday, April 20th.
Fifty minutes later the meeting was terminated. Guy Batchelor told them the next briefing would be tomorrow morning.
He went back to his office, sat down at his desk, pulled up the information he had on Kipp Brown, which included the distinctive personalized registration number of his Porsche, then put in a request for an ANPR plot on the movements of this car during the past week.
Ten minutes later he had the information. Every weekday, the car left Brown’s residence in Dyke Road Avenue, Hove, headed to Kemp Town, then turned back on itself, heading west across the city towards where the offices of Kipp Brown Financial Services were located. He frowned. Why did Brown dogleg across the city to get to work? Did he drop someone off en route?’
He looked back at the information Donald Dull had come up with on Brown, and then the penny dropped.
52
Sunday 24 April
Twenty minutes after the briefing ended, there was a knock on Roy Grace’s office door. He was looking forward to an evening at home with Cleo and the kids. ‘Come in!’
Jon Exton entered, wearing a suit that seemed to be hanging off him. He was looking apprehensive.
How much weight had he lost, Grace wondered? Exton, a bright DS, was well overdue for promotion. But something was wrong. What?
‘Have a seat, Jon.’ Grace indicated the chair in front of his desk.
‘Thanks, boss,’ he said, perching awkwardly on the edge of it. ‘You said you wanted to see me?’
‘I just wanted to know if you are OK, Jon?’
‘Me?’ He looked surprised. ‘Yes, yes I am. Absolutely.’
‘You know you can come and talk to me in confidence if there’s anything on your mind.’
‘Thanks, but I’m fine.’
‘Maybe it’s your Sunday look?’
‘Sunday look?’
‘You haven’t shaved and your hair’s a mess. You’re normally Mr Dapper. And you’ve lost weight. I noticed the change in your appearance a couple of days ago, but you now look worse. I’m just concerned about you.’
‘Ah, you see, I’m training for the Beachy Head Marathon.’
‘OK — respect!’
‘I’m doing it in aid of the Martlets Hospice. Perhaps I could get you to sponsor me — I’ve got a Just Giving page.’
‘Of course, good cause. Ping me the link.’ He looked at him carefully again. ‘You’re sure there’s nothing wrong? Nothing you want to talk about to a sympathetic ear and get off your chest?’
‘No, absolutely nothing.’
‘OK.’ Grace smiled. ‘See you tomorrow.’
Watching him leave, he remained unconvinced. There was definitely something very wrong. He picked up the phone and called Batchelor.
‘Guy, I’m concerned about Jon Exton. I’d like you to keep a close eye on him. See if he’ll open up to you.’
‘Yes, of course. What’s the problem?’
‘He’s not his normal self — I’m worried about his health. There must be something going on in his life that’s not right. I don’t know if he’s having a mid-life crisis or something.’
‘Leave it with me, boss, I’ll see what I can find out.’
Grace thanked him then left for home.
53
Sunday 24 April
Roy Grace loved this time of year, as the evenings became progressively lighter, regardless of what the weather was doing.
Shortly before after 7 p.m. as he headed along Henfield High Street, which was becoming more and more familiar to him, he felt a new mood of optimism. Finally he was truly free of the shadow Sandy had cast across his life. He felt no bitterness or anger — just sadness for how she had ended up. That beautiful, intelligent and fun woman he had married, whose life had spiralled out of control; ending up a total wreck, both physically and mentally, in a Munich hospital, unable to see any kind of future.