His colleague, much younger, a tall, alert-looking woman, nodded in agreement.
‘A black cab?’ Grace asked. ‘Do you know the company?’
Both officers shook their heads.
‘Did either Sir Tommy or his wife tell you where they were going?’
Again they shook their heads.
‘Do you have CCTV here?’ Branson asked.
‘We do, yes, sir,’ the female RaSP said and the man nodded.
Five minutes later, Grace and Branson, crammed into the small hut with the two officers, watched the CCTV replay. On Grace’s watch, the time was currently 13.10.
The colour footage was scrolling forward from 10.30 a.m. At 11.32 a.m. a black taxi came into view and the red and white barrier was raised. It pulled up outside the Magellan-Laceys’ front door. The number plate was clearly visible.
Grace memorized it and immediately dialled Greg Mosse’s mobile phone.
The Detective Superintendent answered on the second ring. ‘Roy, good to hear from you! How’s it going, any developments?’
‘I’ll give you the full download, but this is really urgent, Greg. A black cab picked up the Magellan-Laceys from their St James’s residence at 11.32 a.m. today. I have the cab’s licence plate. I need you to find out which cab picked them up and where the driver was taking them.’
‘Am I missing something here, Roy?’
‘Possibly, Greg. I’ll update you, but first can you do this, as a matter of the greatest urgency — in our new spirit of cooperation?’
‘Absolutely, Roy. Consider it done! I’m on it, like a car bonnet!’
Promising to call Mosse back to explain, Grace ended the call and turned back to the RaSPs. ‘Do you have a bosher?’
‘You mean a big red key, sir?’
‘Exactly.’
‘What do you need that for, sir?’
‘To get into the Magellan-Laceys’ house.’
‘You don’t need a bosher, sir. They never lock the door. It’s not like they’re going to get burgled, with us standing fifty feet away, twenty-four-seven, is it?’
105
Thursday 30 November 2023
Roy Grace and Glenn Branson entered the Magellan-Laceys’ London residence, which was starting to feel familiar, Grace thought. Although it had a strangely empty atmosphere now. But maybe that was his imagination?
As before, it felt to him extremely homely, more like being in a family farmhouse than a palatial residence. They both heard a plaintive miaow. Grace looked around and saw the couple’s dark brown cat sitting halfway up the staircase.
‘Hello, cat!’ Branson said. Then he turned to Grace. ‘Can you remember its name?’
‘George,’ Grace said.
‘Hello, George!’ Branson called.
The cat miaowed again, louder and more pitifully.
‘Sounds like he’s hungry.’
Lost in thought, Grace barely heard him. He was very mindful that Rose Cadoret could have been lying. But it was more than just mildly suspicious that, in the middle of all that was going on, Sir Tommy and his wife had gone off on holiday without mentioning a word about it to him.
And that they had a lot of luggage with them, too. Travelling like royalty, the RaSP had just said. A lot of luggage?
As they entered the kitchen, Branson said, ‘What the hell?’
‘That wasn’t here before,’ Grace said.
‘It sure wasn’t.’
Out in the hallway was a shrill, ‘Cuckoo’. But they barely noticed it as they stared at the tall, black machine standing beside the wooden kitchen table. It looked like an industrial-size photocopier. But both detectives instantly recognized it as a paper shredder. The bin tray was open, showing it was full to the brim.
Alongside a ceramic bowl of bananas and apples on the table was a tall stack of A4 paper, all with printing on. It looked like someone had been interrupted in the middle of shredding it.
Grace and Branson looked at the top sheet. But couldn’t make any sense of what they saw.
/
@app.route(’/’)
def index():
return render_template(’index.html’)
@app.route(’/login’, methods=[’POST’])
def login():
submitted_key = request.form[’key’].encode(’utf-8’)
if submitted_key == b’correct_key’: # Simulate key checking return “Invalid Key. Access Denied.”
The next page contained more of the same. As did the next, and the one after. And reams more.
Grace looked at Branson, frowning. ‘Recognize the language?’
‘I’m guessing it’s computer,’ the DI replied. ‘Code, algorithms, some kind of software program.’
Grace took a photograph of several sheets. ‘I know someone who’ll be able to tell us.’ Then he emailed them with a note to Shannon, asking her to call him as an absolute priority the moment she received this. He glanced at his watch, and decided he would give her five minutes.
But she needed less than two. He stared at her emailed reply.
A little basic, I’d have done it differently. It’s software code for an online auction site — on the dark web.
106
Thursday 30 November 2023
‘It looks like the very charming Rose Cadoret might be right,’ Grace said.
Branson nodded, pensively.
‘I think we—’ Grace was interrupted by his phone ringing. He answered. It was Greg Mosse.
‘Is this fast enough for you, Roy? I’ve got what you need.’
‘Already? Nice work, tell me?’
‘The black cab that picked up Sir Tommy and Lady Fiona was booked yesterday afternoon at 5.24 p.m., for a pickup at 11.20 this morning.’
Grace thought back. That was shortly after he’d been in communication with Sir Tommy about interviewing Rose Cadoret, and the whereabouts of Jon Smoke. ‘Where did it take them, Greg?’
‘To London Heathrow Airport — Terminal 5.’
‘Did they talk to the driver at all, about where they were going?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. My officer spoke to the driver, but the driver said they hadn’t spoken — but they paid him and gave him an extremely good tip, in cash. What’s going on, Roy?’
‘It looks like Sir Tommy is doing a runner.’
‘A runner?’
‘Let me explain it all later. We need to find them, stop them getting on a plane.’
‘Them?’
‘Him and his wife. I’ll call you back, I’m going to be needing your help.’
‘I’m here!’
As he ended the call, Grace looked at his watch. It was now almost 1.15 p.m. The drive from here to Terminal 5 would take around forty minutes. Sir Tommy and his wife would have reached it at about midday. Given that airlines, particularly if you had check-in baggage, required you to be there a minimum of two hours ahead, it was likely their flight wouldn’t be until 2 p.m. at the earliest. One of dozens taking off every hour. Which gave the police at the airport a possible window of only forty-five minutes to find the couple.
He turned to Branson. ‘Where the hell have they gone?’
‘What was it Rose Cadoret said? You’re the detective, you figure it out.’
Grace studied Branson’s face for a moment, as if the answer was written on it. ‘I’m the detective, figure it out,’ he murmured. ‘So let’s imagine he has so much luggage because it’s full of loot — stolen items. And he knows the police are after him. Where’s he going to go?’ He looked quizzically at his colleague.
From out in the hallway they heard a sharp, ‘Cuckoo!’