He switched on his torch for a few seconds, saw the tiny inspection hatch door, and switched it off again. He opened it, again pushed his rucksack through in front of him, then he crawled forwards, and through it, on to the first two steps of a wooden staircase, into pitch darkness. Switching on the torch again, he pulled the door shut behind him. His whole body was pounding. He was shorting out with excitement.
Oh yes, baby, oh yes!
He could safely keep the torch on now. He crawled forward, up several more steps, then on to a wooden platform. The interior of the dome mirrored the exterior, like a second skin. The exterior was rendered in carved stone, but the interior frame was constructed from wooden slats, like a concave ladder.
There was no point in climbing it now, he knew from his previous recce, because it just got progressively steeper. He would be more comfortable staying here, on this platform.
If the production stuck to its schedule tomorrow, after the Royal Pavilion closed to the public, Brooker Brody Productions would start filming one of the key scenes in the movie. His movie. King George IV and Mrs Fitzherbert sitting at the banqueting table, directly beneath the massive chandelier that His Majesty was so nervous of.
The fixings supporting the chandelier were directly above him. A two-minute climb. From the top he could look down, through a tiny crack, at the top of the chandelier, and almost the whole of the room.
With luck if he got his timings right, Gaia Lafayette and Judd Halpern would be pulped.
That would put an end to the ridiculous travesty that Brooker Brody Productions had written into the script, about Maria Fitzherbert committing suicide after being dumped by the king.
Much better for her to die like this.
83
At 1.30 a.m. Roy Grace, snuggled up against Cleo, was woken by a solid kick in his ribs.
‘Ouch!’ he said, for an instant thinking it was Cleo giving him a dig with her elbow, which she did on the rare occasions when he snored. But she seemed to be sound asleep. Then he felt another kick.
It was the baby.
Then another kick.
Without moving, Cleo murmured, ‘I think Bump’s practising for the London Marathon. He hasn’t stopped.’
Grace felt another sudden movement but gentler this time. He said quietly, ‘Hey, Bump, do you mind, I need some sleep! We all need to get some sleep, okay?’
‘Not sure I can remember what sleep is any more,’ Cleo said. ‘I’ve got terrible heartburn and I’ve been to the loo four times.’
‘I didn’t hear you.’
‘You were well away.’
‘I was? It didn’t feel like it. I don’t feel like I’ve slept a wink, either.’ He kissed her on the cheek.
‘I’m wired,’ she said. ‘I’m so wide awake I could do some studying.’
‘Don’t, try to rest.’
‘I can’t take sleeping pills. I can’t have a drink. God, you’re so lucky you’re a man!’ Then she felt the baby move again, and she smiled. She placed Roy’s hand on her abdomen. ‘It’s amazing, isn’t it? That’s a mini us in there! I definitely think it’s a boy. Everyone’s telling me I look like I’m carrying a boy. You’d prefer a boy, wouldn’t you?’
‘All I want is for you and our child to be healthy. I’ll love it just as much whether it’s a boy or a girl.’
She slipped out of bed and padded to the loo. He lay there, his mind a tangle of thoughts suddenly. The enormity of what it meant to bring a child into the world. And tragic Myles Royce – an example of what could happen to a child.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the case. With every major enquiry, he always fretted that he might be overlooking something vital and obvious. What was he overlooking here?
‘I’ve found several baby car seats on the internet,’ Cleo said, returning from the loo.
‘Car seats?’
‘We need one.’
‘Of course.’ Yet another thing to add to the never-ending list of stuff they had to have. And never-ending cost.
‘Do you think we should get a new one, or buy one on eBay – be a fraction of the cost.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘What are we talking about in potential savings?’
‘One hundred and fifty pounds, maybe.’
‘That’s a lot of money.’
‘It is.’
Back in his days in uniform he had attended some terrible car crashes. One he had never forgotten, where a baby, strapped into a car seat that had sheared from its mountings in a head-on collision, smashed into the back of his mother’s head, breaking her neck and killing her instantly and then hitting the front windscreen.
‘Let me ask you a question, darling,’ he said. ‘If you were going to jump out of an aeroplane, wearing a parachute, would you rather know that the parachute you had on your back had been bought because it was the cheapest available on the market, or because it was the best?’
She squeezed his hand. ‘The best, of course.’
‘So there’s your answer. We’re talking about our baby’s life. It wouldn’t be much of a bargain if it turned out to have stress fractures from involvement in a previous accident.’
‘Being a detective makes you so suspicious, doesn’t it?’
‘I was born suspicious,’ he said. ‘Maybe I have my dad to thank. But that’s my view.’
He lapsed back into his own troubled thoughts. Amis Smallbone’s intention to rob Gaia. Well, good luck, sunshine. No one was going to get past the goons guarding her suite. He’d notified Chief Superintendent Barrington, and the number of officers guarding her had been increased as an extra precaution.
Then his brain switched back to Myles Royce. At least now they had a name. But one thing was going around and around in his mind. Royce had been a Gaia fan. Gaia was now here in Brighton.
Someone had tried to kill her in Los Angeles.
She’d been sent death threats through an anonymous email account.
The LAPD had the suspect in custody. They were convinced they had the perp.
Was he reading too much into Royce being a Gaia fan?
Every major crime enquiry was a hugely complex puzzle. Thousands of pieces to be fitted painstakingly together. Except, when the puzzle was complete, there were never happily smiling faces. Just the grim satisfaction of knowing they had achieved justice for the victim, and possibly some closure for the family.
Provided of course he got a conviction.
‘There was a documentary on the box tonight about Gaia,’ Cleo murmured suddenly.
‘There was? Did you watch it?’
‘Not really my thing, but I recorded it, in case it was helpful for you.’
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll watch it tomorrow. You’re an angel.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘Never forget that, Detective Superintendent!’
He kissed her, then slowly fell into troubled sleep.
84
At 1.45 a.m. Anna Galicia walked along New Road, Brighton, across the street from the Theatre Royal, wearing a bomber jacket and jeans and a baseball cap pulled on tight against the blustery wind. She stopped by a low wall, screened by some shrubs, watching the activity in the Royal Pavilion grounds wind down for the night. Two police officers strode along the pavement and she turned her face away from them. There was a tantalizing smell of frying bacon coming from the catering truck that still appeared to be open.
A short while ago, burning with hatred, she had watched Gaia leave her swanky trailer and step up into the back of a black Range Rover. The car had swept out of the grounds in a presidential-style convoy of identical vehicles.
You don’t care about the environment really, do you, Gaia? Anna thought, her anger tinged with sadness. Your whole persona, your act – and even your bloody name – is all a lie, isn’t it? Do you really need five Range Rovers just to transport you less than half a mile from the set to your hotel and back?