‘She did,’ Grace confirmed. ‘This is not a conversation His Majesty was likely to have forgotten.’
‘So someone hasn’t been telling the truth?’ Branson suggested.
‘Either Sir Peregrine lied to his wife. Or Lady Greaves lied to Polly. Or—’
‘Or your new bestie, The King, lied to you?’
Grace smiled. ‘Shall we do a process of elimination? Top of my list to eliminate is The King.’
‘Shame,’ Branson said with a broad grin. ‘Imagine the press coverage you’d get! Top Sussex copper arrests King Charles III as prime suspect in murder case! It would go viral. You’d instantly become the most famous detective in the world!’
‘I’m not sure it would be the smartest career move.’
‘Probably not.’
‘So, Lady Greaves. What reason would she have to lie?’
‘Trying to protect her late husband’s reputation? Or were they both in it together?’
‘In what, together?’ Grace quizzed.
‘In whatever the hell’s going on — the murder of Sir Peregrine, the murder of Geoffrey Bailey?’
He nodded, reflectively. ‘That is a possibility, although I feel unlikely. Hopefully we’ll get a clearer picture soon.’
‘What do you think?’ Branson asked. ‘What’s your gut telling you?’
‘I think Lady Greaves was telling the truth. And The King was, too. Which means Sir Peregrine was lying.’
‘Why?’
Grace thought for a moment. ‘John Gotti, former head of the New York Gambino family, and a major player across the New York Mafia families, famously said: I never lie because I don’t fear anyone. You only lie when you’re afraid.’
‘You think Sir Peregrine was afraid of something? Such as what, losing his life?’
‘Let’s consider the options. If he was one of the conspirators, he was afraid of getting caught. He wasn’t going to risk telling his wife because he knew she wouldn’t approve.’ Grace raised his eyebrows.
‘That’s one possibility,’ Branson conceded.
‘Option Two. He was suspicious that something was going on with some members of the Royal Household on the dark web. He wanted to have a look for himself, but was nervous of telling his wife for some reason — perhaps that she might be a gossip.’
Branson nodded.
‘Option Three — he’d discovered what was going on and was scared for his own life if he confronted the conspirators. So instead he decided to take a secret deep dive into their activities.’
Branson nodded again. ‘All plausible. But we’ve heard about his inappropriate relationship. And about the strange torch signalling in Sir Peregrine’s office late at night. We know the dark web is a place where you can get pretty much anything you want that you won’t find on sale in your local high street, or Amazon. Maybe he was just looking for company. Bailey had a crush on him, which was flattering, he didn’t say no. And it’s nothing to do with our enquiry. I mean, he’s sure not going to have told his wife that, and making it up that he was improving his computer coding skills at The King’s request would make it seem totally kosher.’
Before Branson could respond, Grace’s phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, but answered. ‘Detective Superintendent Grace.’
‘It’s Shannon,’ she said. ‘Are you free to talk?’
‘Go ahead.’ He put the phone on loudspeaker for Branson to hear.
‘Do you have Rose Cadoret on your list of Persons of Interest?’ she asked.
‘Rose Cadoret, the Deputy Director of the Royal Collection?’
‘Correct.’
‘She is very much on my list, Shannon. I’m hoping to interview her on Thursday.’
‘I’m working on getting more information, but from what I have so far, I would say definitely she’s one to watch. I’ll have more information for you by tomorrow.’
‘What can you tell me about her now, Shannon?’
‘I’ve only just come across her name, but it’s unusual, I wanted to make sure.’
Grace spelled it out for her.
‘Yup,’ she said. ‘That’s her. Rose Cadoret.’
‘OK,’ Grace said, ‘I have another name for your list, to check out, too.’
‘Sure, who is it?’
‘Sir Jason Finch.’
‘Leave it with me.’
87
Wednesday 29 November 2023
Rose Cadoret had come in early. She wanted to be here when there weren’t many people around, and before the workmen had started. Not that there would be any workmen in this part of the Palace, the south-west wing, today, nor for at least another month.
Her ribs were hurting less today than they had yesterday. Smoke had told her she should go and see the Palace doctor, but she knew there was nothing you could do about bruised ribs, you just had to ride the pain out, avoid coughing, sneezing and laughing. And sleep on your back — easier said than done.
She was tired and tetchy after a restless night and annoyed Smoke wasn’t here. He was on the night shift, due to finish at 7 a.m., which was five minutes ago, and just perfect timing for her plan. She stood, high on a corner some feet below the former footmen’s floor, on the steep, narrow wooden staircase, which she’d climbed two days ago with Smoke. It had been easier then, it hadn’t been so uncomfortable.
She decided to go on, and wait for him higher up. She ducked under the strip of red and yellow tape carrying the warning sign EXTREME DANGER — KEEP OUT! Then she continued on to the top and stood, getting her breath back, sustained by the knowledge that in just two days’ time she would be on a plane, that gorgeous Airbus 380, it was called. Smoke had told her that you got your own private cabin, and there was a shower room big enough to swing a substantial animal in.
Too bad he wouldn’t be joining her.
She heard footsteps clumping up the stairs. Police boots. Then he came into view, all kitted up, with his weapons and his Kevlar vest and all the rest of his clobber. He was sweating and looked tired. Well, he had been up all night, and he’d told her many times that it wasn’t the late hours that got you, it was the boredom that dulled your brain.
How dulled was it now? Very, she hoped.
‘Hey babe!’ His breath was rancid as he pecked her on the cheek. He smelled like unwashed laundry.
As they had on Monday, they stood in front of the jagged, unguarded opening that had been bashed through the wall of the light shaft, with the grimy ceiling above them. Rose turned away from him, placed her hands either side of the opening, leaned in, and looked down. Checking.
In the weak light, she could see at the very bottom the six thin steel spikes rising vertically several feet. The workmen from the lift company would be returning in a month or so when the renovations, under the guidance of Sir Tommy Magellan-Lacey, began in earnest on this wing.
Until then it was all sealed off. But not forgotten. Certainly not by Rose Cadoret.
‘Why’ve you brought me up here again, babe?’ He looked at her expectantly, signalling he remembered they’d had sex here two days previously. ‘Cos you want me again?’
She stepped back. ‘I read the highest distance onto a hard surface that a human can survive is a forty-foot drop,’ she said.
‘OK.’ He gave her a puzzled frown.
‘We have a big problem with Lorraine McKnight — as I’ve told you.’
‘It’s Exeat in two days. We’ll all be gone. Larging it in the sun. Rum sours for lunch. G&Ts and Negronis at sunset. Lorraine McKnight will be history. It’ll all be history. Their history, our future!’