‘I’ve already been in contact with a bathroom company called Starling Row — the Porsche guy down the lane recommended them earlier — they’re a small Sussex firm apparently — I’ve arranged for them to come and do a site visit next week, to give us some options.’
‘Good thinking,’ he said.
‘So how was your day?’
‘Interesting — to put it mildly. But the positive is that Guy Batchelor is handling his new role well, which is giving me a bit more time to get on with all the pre-trial paperwork I have to deal with.’
‘Good, darling. I didn’t think you’d be home until much later so I told Bruno I’d take him to Wickwoods for a swim. Do you want to come with us? Maybe you could try the sauna and see if it helps your leg.’
‘Sure, good idea. I’m sure Noah would love it too.’
She nodded. ‘Oh, there’s one other thing — that American band you like — Blitzen Trapper?’
‘Yes?’
‘I read in the Argus they’re doing a gig in a pub on Queens Road, Brighton, next Sunday evening. Do you think you might be able to avoid working then?’
They were his current favourite band. ‘Is the Pope Catholic?’ he retorted.
‘Is Luxembourg small?’
He hugged her again. ‘Yes! How do we get tickets?’
‘I’ve already booked them — online. And I’ve booked Kaitlynn.’
Kaitlynn Defelice was their nanny — a Californian currently living over here, who they both liked a lot, and even more importantly, trusted. The only issue, for Roy Grace, was a silver ring through her right nostril. But she had such a warm, engaging personality that he dismissed any problem he had over that, putting it down to a youth culture he was too old to understand.
‘I knew there was a reason why I loved you,’ he said.
‘Only one?’
54
Sunday 24 April
Half an hour later, Roy Grace in the fancy Gresham Blake swimming trunks with guns on them that Cleo had given him for his last birthday, and a towel slung round his neck, was perched on a lounger beside the large indoor pool at Wickwoods, watching Cleo and Bruno doing lengths. Noah was asleep beside him in his pushchair, breathing steadily, seemingly unfussed by the activity around.
They had the place to themselves. Cleo, in a turquoise swimming cap, was doing a steady backstroke, while Bruno, wearing goggles, did a powerful crawl, ripping past her as if his life depended on it. He reached the end and did a fancy flip turn, then raced past her in the opposite direction. He would ask Bruno sometime to teach him how to do those turns, which he had never got the hang of.
After ten minutes, Cleo climbed back out of the pool. ‘Darling, I’m done,’ she said. ‘Go to the sauna, I’ll sit with Noah.’
‘OK, thanks. Oh — I meant to ask you, how do you change the clock on your Audi? Do you know how to put it forward an hour?’
She shook her head. ‘Dunno! I just leave it — for six months every year it tells the right time!’
Grinning at her logic, he headed towards the sauna, pulled open the door and entered the blast of heat.
Laying out his towel, he sat down on it, grabbed the wooden ladle, spooned up some water and tipped it onto the electric brazier. Instantly there was a burst of steam and the temperature rose. He repeated the action, then leaned back, soaking up the heat, breaking into a sweat within moments.
His mind returned to work. To Operation Bantam. And to the caseload of trials looming up. Brighton’s first serial killer in some years, the vile Dr Crisp, the man who had shot him — the reason why he was in this sauna now, to try to relieve the pain. Jodie Bentley, the black widow, whom he knew for sure had been targeting and murdering a whole series of rich elderly men — but he could not be certain, from the evidence he had so far, of getting a conviction. He had a lot of work to do on this case. And with both of these he had the shadow of ACC Cassian Pewe hanging over him.
And now he had Lorna Belling’s suspicious death. Suicide was still a possibility, given her history with domestic violence. But there was an increasing list of suspects. Her dead psycho husband, Corin. Creepy Seymour Darling, the pissed-off and very dubious character who had been buying her car. Her newest acquaintance, Kipp Brown, whose involvement was yet to be determined.
He thought about Corin Belling. Certainly he had a history of escalating violence against her. She had lived dangerously, renting a flat — as a bolthole, or as a secret trysting place with her lovers? But letting the puppies out onto the street — that sounded like a message to her — something he wanted her to see, another nasty way of getting at her. If he had killed her, what would have been the point in doing that?
Gail Sanders, a counsellor he had spoken to earlier at RISE, told him that in her view, Lorna Belling had been playing with fire, apparently renting a place in secret. Discovering it could well have been enough to tip her husband over the edge. Corin Belling at this point had to be their strongest suspect, although pathetic and nasty Seymour Darling ticked a lot of boxes. They would know more about Kipp Brown when he was questioned.
Grace was glad that Glenn Branson would be back at work tomorrow. He was missing his mate, and he needed his help with the trial cases.
How well did any of us know anyone? He thought about Jon Exton. The DS had not convinced him when they had spoken earlier that all was OK. He was certain there was something troubling him, and he needed to get to the bottom of it. Then he returned to his thoughts to the case.
Was he missing something? The obvious that was staring him in the face?
Shit, it was getting hot in here. He had always been slightly claustrophobic, and this tiny sauna, with the misted-up window in the wooden door in front of him, and the searing heat, making it harder and harder to breathe, was getting to him.
He stood up, pushed the door. It did not move. Shit. He pushed harder and it still did not move. The heat felt like it was searing his skin and his lungs, and he felt panicky. He pushed even harder, and suddenly the door swung open, a cooling blast of air greeting him. Stepping out with relief, he pushed it shut behind him. He’d tell the receptionist the door needed looking at — someone less strong could easily get stuck in there.
There was a small, square plunge pool ahead of him, with a warning sign advising that people with a heart condition should consult their doctor before using it.
Holding his breath, he jumped into it.
Hoooooollllllllyyyy shit!
He was shivering as his head bobbed to the surface.
It felt like he had jumped into a vat of acid.
But he hung on in there. The cold biting away at him, until he couldn’t stand it any longer. He hauled himself out and hurried back into the retreat of the sauna cabin, pulling the wooden door shut behind him again, but not quite so tightly this time.
As he sat back down on his now hot towel, he suddenly realized that his right leg wasn’t aching any more.
Result!
He ladled more water onto the brazier, and lay back, eyes shut, as the steam exploded all around him. Within minutes it became unbearable.
But he stuck it out.
This is doing me good. Doing me good. This is doing me good. Doing me good.
Until he couldn’t take it any longer.
He pushed the door, and to his surprise, even though he’d not shut it so hard, again it did not budge. He charged it with his shoulder, bursting through it, hurried through the changing room and jumped into the deep end of the pool.
Like a fish in its element, Bruno did a flip turn right beside him, and powered away towards the far end.