‘Was it some kind of code?’ Branson suggested.
‘Three long flashes each time. Could be the O in SOS — but she only saw it a couple more times. Once we both sat in darkness around that hour and waited, but nothing happened.’
Grace was silent for a moment, thinking. Remembering the deciphered lines from the diary.
I hope my dear wife Margot could be shielded from this particular detail, as she has no idea of my proclivities.
Proclivities.
Was Sir Peregrine signalling to someone? A late-night assignation?
Geoffrey Bailey?
‘Before we wrap up for today,’ the Master said, ‘I just want to give you a quick update on a couple of bits of detective work your team has charged me with. The first was a list of all Royal Protection Officers who are in possession of a motorbike licence — as well as those who actually own a motorbike. My deputy, Matthew Corbin, has completed that task and handed over the list to your chap in Sussex, Luke Stanstead.’
‘Excellent,’ Grace said.
‘And secondly, Matthew has also sent Stanstead a list of all Household staff and RaSPs who had a day off last Monday. He will set up interviews with any of the names on either list for your team.’
‘That’s very helpful.’
‘Good. Right, anything else?’
‘Two things, quickly, Sir Tommy,’ Grace said. ‘The first is the press — as soon as they get hold of this second murder, whether connected or not, the world’s media is going to go crazy.’
The Master put his right hand to his mouth and momentarily, with a thoughtful expression, tore at his thumbnail. ‘Yes — Buckingham Palace Comms have already had their first calls. Until we have drafted a statement, in conjunction with the police, they are fending them off.’
‘What are you intending the statement to say?’ Grace said.
‘It will be along the lines that the Palace believes at this stage there is no apparent link between the shooting of Sir Peregrine and the death of this footman.’
‘And you think the world press will accept that?’ Branson asked.
‘Nope!’ Sir Tommy gave a defiant beam. ‘Not a chance, not for one second.’ He shrugged. ‘When it comes to the British Royal Family, the world media invent their own stories.’
‘Indeed. I can’t imagine how frustrating that must be for everyone.’
He waved a hand, as if swatting away a cluster of flies. ‘They’ve all grown up with it. They’ve mostly developed pretty tough hides.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘And the second thing?’
‘Well, it’s not connected with this enquiry at all,’ Grace said. ‘Out of interest I’ve been googling Buckingham Palace and the Royal Household, to learn as much about its history as I can — and I came across something that really intrigued me. “Granny’s Personal Chips”. I’d be fascinated to see them some time — is that a possibility?’
‘Yes, I’m sure that could be arranged. I’ll speak to Lorraine McKnight, the Director of the Royal Collection. I’m sure she’ll be very happy to arrange for someone to show you them. But you know, if you are interested in jewellery, I can ask her to find you some things on your next visit that I think are even more beautiful.’
‘Thank you,’ he replied. ‘I’d like that. I would also like to interview her at some point this week, as well as Sir Jason Finch.’
‘Of course, I can arrange that very easily.’ The Master looked like he was frowning. ‘But actually Jason’s away for some time this week on annual leave — I believe to Amsterdam. I’ll speak to his secretary and get something in the diary for as soon as he’s back.’
Sir Tommy walked with them back over to Buckingham Palace, to their car. Grace tapped Sussex Police HQ into the satnav, and Glenn drove them out through the gates. He turned left up Constitution Hill, now obeying the speed limit.
As they approached the queue of traffic going into Hyde Park Corner, Branson turned to Grace. ‘Jewellery? Since when have you been interested in jewellery?’
66
Monday 27 November 2023
I would also like to interview her at some point this week, as well as Sir Jason Finch.
That fleeting frown across Sir Tommy’s face, when he’d said this, was what had been bugging Roy Grace most of all since they’d left the Palace. It was bugging him even more than Detective Superintendent Mosse’s refusal to engage or cooperate.
‘You’re very quiet,’ Glenn Branson said. ‘Are you still alive?’
They were in south London, crawling in heavy traffic through the urban sprawl of Streatham, but Grace had been so submerged in thought he’d barely noticed where they were. Part of it was unpacking the meeting they’d just had with the Master of the Royal Household. But it wasn’t just that, he had a very bad feeling deep inside him. When he tried to analyse it he realized it wasn’t just because the shooting of Sir Peregrine had happened on his manor, on his watch. Or now the murder of the footman.
It was because the world had changed in so many ways in these past few years. And not in a way he liked. It kept him awake at night worrying. Worrying about so much. About the future his kids, Noah and Molly, had in front of them. A weird, crazy world, where every day when you opened the newspaper you’d read of more violence, more of man’s inhumanity to man, and of yet another new war in a country you’d never heard of, full of deprived and starving people and atrocities perpetrated on them.
‘Tell me something — are you an optimist or a pessimist?’ he asked Branson.
‘You know the definition of a pessimist?’ Branson replied after some moments.
Grace shook his head. ‘Go on?’
‘A pessimist is an optimist with experience.’
Grace, smiling thinly, reflected for a moment. Then he retorted, ‘You could say the same about a defeatist. Is that you?’
‘Never!’ Branson replied, halting at traffic lights.
Grace nodded. ‘That’s what I saw in you when we first met. An optimist. I saw a bit of me in you. That you were someone who not only genuinely cared but had the passion in your heart. The belief that as a copper you could make things better for people. We have right now the highest profile case of our careers so far — maybe the highest we will ever face. And all we have to go on, so far, is a description of a motorbike — which fits thousands of machines — a list of Royal Protection Officers with motorbike licences, a list of Household staff, including RaSPs, who had last Monday off, a rope ladder in a tunnel air vent and forensic analysis of gunpowder residue, which we’re waiting on and might confirm a bullet type — but that probably won’t take us anywhere — plus a part-decoded diary. And you know the biggest irony of all? That our best hope lies with a convicted criminal who you and I put behind bars. Ain’t life grand?’
Branson smiled. ‘That witness, Sarah Stratten, might remember more in time?’
‘Maybe, but I’m not sure she has more to give that will take us anywhere. The telephone analysis shows the call was made from a burner that could have been bought in a million shops or online.’ He shook his head and looked down at his lap, as if he was expecting to find some answers printed in the creases in his charcoal suit trousers. ‘We have, as I’ve said before, a dinosaur running the enquiry into the footman’s death. A dinosaur angry he didn’t get to be SIO on Sir Peregrine’s investigation, who’s made it clear he’s not interested in cooperating with us. Which is just plain nuts.’