There was a long silence. Then Shannon said, weakly, ‘Three years.’
‘Are you aware how lenient a sentence that is?’
There was another long silence. Finally she sat down. Grace and Branson sat opposite her.
‘Why are you here?’ she asked.
Grace leaned a little towards her. ‘I’ve spoken to the relevant authorities to see if I could get special dispensation to grant you an early release on licence if you agree to cooperate with us.’
She sat back in her chair, her face tight. ‘Meaning?’
‘You have a lot of knowledge about the dark web, Shannon, right?’
‘So what if I do?’
‘We are currently running an investigation of national importance. We need someone on the team with extensive knowledge of the criminal wheeling and dealing on the dark web.’
‘I thought you have your own Digital Forensics people.’
‘We do,’ Grace said. ‘But they work with the police, looking in from the outside. We need someone who has been inside the labyrinth as a criminal, who’s prepared to work with us. I thought of you.’
‘And what would be in it for me?’
Grace looked at her levelly. ‘I’ve got agreement that you would be released tomorrow, subject to certain conditions.’
‘Which are?’ She looked suspiciously at each detective in turn. Branson attempted and failed a reassuring nod.
‘That you work from home for as long as we need you on this investigation — and for which you will be paid the going rate. Do you still own a property?’
‘I’ve got a small flat in Hove, in Westbourne Villas.’
‘You could stay there?’
‘Of course.’
‘Any reasonable expenses would be covered, and the only restriction is you would need to be visited by a probation officer monthly.’
She was silent for a while. She stared at Branson then again at Grace before speaking. ‘How can I trust you? How do I know I won’t get banged up in here again once I’ve served whatever purpose it is?’
‘There’ll be a legal document,’ Branson said. ‘Your release terms and your terms of temporary assignment to the Sussex Police. If you agree it’ll be drafted and signed by late afternoon. We’ll arrange someone to collect you from the prison entrance and take you straight to your flat to start work.’
She touched her mouth with a finger, and scraped between two teeth with the nail, her eyes darting wildly, almost like a hunted creature, Grace thought.
‘And what if I say no?’
Grace shrugged. ‘Why would you?’
61
Monday 27 November 2023
Grace and Branson were led back to the reception area by the same officer. Grace wondered again, as he did each time he visited a prison, how much of a chore the officers found it to be constantly unlocking and locking two sets of doors to move from one area to another. Or did your mind just switch off to it? Or, his mind wandered mischievously for a moment, did prison officers have double doors in their homes that they had to constantly lock and unlock, to keep their hand in?
They collected their phones from their respective lockers, handed over their passes and locker keys and went back out into the blustery morning.
‘Well?’ Branson asked as they walked towards the car.
‘She’ll do it. For King and Country. Once she’s considered her options.’
‘You smooth-talking salesman,’ he retorted, grinning.
Grace concentrated on powering his phone up and entering the code, as Branson was doing the same with his. Then he frowned. There were two texts from Magellan-Lacey, one from Jack Alexander, and one from ACC Downing. All of them said pretty much the same thing, that they couldn’t get through to him and please call them back extremely urgently.
The second text from Sir Tommy read:
Roy, don’t know if you’ve heard the news about Geoffrey Bailey. Please call me as soon as you can.
Grace called him back first, and the Master of the Royal Household answered almost immediately, sounding very relieved to hear the detective’s voice. ‘Roy, thank goodness. Have you heard?’ His voice was calm but urgent.
‘No, I’m sorry. I’ve been in a meeting — with my phone off.’
‘Right, well, we’ve got a bit of a shit show going on here. The footman — Geoffrey Bailey — who a couple of your chaps were coming to interview later today — has been found dead.’
Grace stopped in his tracks. He felt a strange sensation, as if something heavy had just sunk all the way through his body. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination but the sky seemed to have darkened suddenly, too. ‘Dead?’ he echoed, and saw Branson glance quizzically at him. ‘Under what circumstances, exactly? Suspicious?’
‘Well, I don’t imagine he climbed into the anaerobic digester by himself,’ Magellan-Lacey responded.
‘The anaerobic digester — that you showed us — which converts waste into heat?’
‘Exactly.’
Grace hit mute on his phone and turned to Branson. ‘That footman Polly and Jack were going to interview this afternoon has been found dead — sounds like he’s been murdered.’
Branson frowned. ‘Geoffrey Bailey?’
Grace nodded, unmuting the phone. ‘What can you tell me about the situation?’
‘Well to be frank it’s bloody awful. We’ve got a sealed-off crime scene right outside the Garden Entrance to the West Wing, right below The King and The Queen’s offices, with a whole caravan of Met Police vehicles arriving and parking on the gravel. Bailey was discovered by an elderly gardener, a super chap.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Arthur Lambourne. He’s completely distraught, as are both Their Majesties — The King would like to see you as soon as you can get here.’
‘I’m very happy to talk to him, but the Met will have primacy on this — and the investigation will be under one of their SIOs.’
‘I know, Roy — the SIO’s already here and throwing his weight around.’
‘Don’t tell me his name,’ Grace said. ‘Greg Mosse?’
‘How did you guess?’
Grace decided to save for later the explanation that Greg Mosse was the Met Detective Superintendent who’d tried to take primacy on the shooting of Sir Peregrine Greaves. ‘I can come straight up now. I’m currently in Sutton — I could be with you in an hour or so.’
‘I think that would be a very good idea, Roy. I think you’d be a calming influence.’
Ending the call, Grace turned to Branson. ‘You’re always going on to me about your driving skills. I’m authorizing you to do a blue light run to the Palace. Fill your boots — and try not to kill us both. Just remember how many times you’ve scared the shit out of me.’
‘Yeah, and just remember how many times you’ve survived!’
Grace gave him a sideways look. ‘Who was it who said, “Live every day as if it’s your last, because one day it will be”?’
‘I think,’ Branson said with a wicked grin, ‘it was someone who isn’t around any more.’
62
Monday 27 November 2023
Ask any young, fresh-out-of-probation police officer what the big bangs of the job were, Grace thought, and they were likely to tell you it was driving on blue lights and getting into a bundle — a roll-up — a good old full-on brawl. Totally legally. He knew, he’d loved all that stuff when he’d first joined.
After officers matured a bit — at least most of them — they would realize that the real bang of their chosen career was making a difference to people’s lives, in a way that few other jobs could. That was true for Roy Grace, but being something of a petrol head, the thrill of driving on blue lights had remained. And although his focus at this moment was fully on the case, and he was nervous about what The King might confront him with, cutting through the London traffic with the blue lights on and the siren wailing was quite the thrill.