‘Cleo, darling, you have to understand. It’s me who has the relationship with the NYPD, with Detective Pat Lanigan – his help is going to be crucial to this.’

‘Does he know you have a two-month-old baby?’

‘I’ll only be a few days, I promise.’

‘I know you. You’ll be at least a week. And then probably another week. I understand your work is important, Roy, but you being around to help me with Noah is important too.’

‘What about getting your mother or your sister to stay with you?’

‘I can ask my mother, but we’ll probably start killing each other after a few days. Charlie’s away in Shanghai on her new job.’

‘Cleo, this is a really important case for me. If I send someone else and they screw up, I’m never going to forgive myself. Come on, you know the score.’

‘Why can’t you send Glenn? He’s deputized for you before.’

‘Because his wife is being buried on Wednesday, okay?’

Another long silence. The baby was silent, too. Then Cleo spoke again.

‘Who are you taking with you?’

‘Well, I wanted to take Jon Exton. But the idiot’s passport ran out in May. So I’m taking DS Batchelor, and a sharp new recruit on the team, DC Alexander. I’ll make it up to you when I’m back, I promise.’

Oh yes, you will, Amis Smallbone thought. You’re going to be making it up to her by buying a beautiful coffin for your son. And I will be there at the funeral, standing a short distance behind you with a smile on my face. So you will know, Detective Superintendent Grace. You will know who made you suffer. You will remember me for the rest of your life.

He crushed out his cigarette, lit another, adjusted the volume level on his headphones with shaking hands, and continued to enjoy the show.

85

As they had cleared immigration at New York’s Newark Liberty International airport, Roy Grace had texted Cleo. Landed! XX

Then he had phoned the Incident Room and spoken to DC Alec Davies, who gave him an update over the past few hours Grace had been out of contact, but there was nothing significant to report.

Now DS Guy Batchelor and DC Jack Alexander both had their suitcases loaded on their trolleys. Roy Grace, feeling increasingly glum, watched several unclaimed bags make their fourth, or maybe fifth, or perhaps their sixth circuit of the carousel. He held his phone in front of him, waiting equally forlornly for a text back. He was missing Cleo and Noah already, badly.

Then the carousel stopped.

‘Shit!’ he said.

‘Happened to Lena and me last year,’ Guy Batchelor said. ‘We went on holiday to Turkey. Didn’t get my suitcase for three days.’

‘Thanks, Guy,’ he said. ‘That’s cheered me up no end.’ It was 5 p.m. New York time, 10 p.m. in England. The three of them had sat side by side on the flight, discussing strategy for some time, before relaxing after their meal. Guy Batchelor and Jack Alexander had put on their headsets and watched a movie, but Grace had been too wired to watch a film or sleep. Instead he had been feeling bad about leaving Cleo, which was distracting him from focusing on the task ahead. Now he felt ragged.

Wearily he trudged over to the British Airways baggage office, joined a short queue, then presented his baggage stub. The man behind the desk tapped the details into his computer then gave him the news he really did not want to hear. ‘Sorry, it’s not showing up.’

‘Terrific.’

His phone pinged with an incoming text. Great! Now get the next flight home. Noah and I are missing you. X

No sodding suitcase, he texted back.

Ha! Poetic justice! XX

He grinned and texted, Call you when I get to hotel. Love you. XXXXXX

Moments later he got a reply. Love you too, but I don’t know why. XXXXXXXX

‘The best thing would be, sir, if you phoned us around 8 p.m. after the next UK flight has come in.’

‘Actually,’ Roy Grace said, ‘the best thing would be if you phoned me and told me you had my sodding suitcase.’

*

Roy Grace’s mood, already lifted by Cleo’s text, improved further as the trio entered the arrivals hall and he saw the smiling figure of Detective Pat Lanigan.

Lanigan was a tall, imposing character in his mid-fifties, with broad shoulders and a powerful physique. He had a ruggedly good-looking, pockmarked face, a greying brush-cut, and was wearing a checked sports jacket over a polo shirt, jeans and workman’s boots. He was the kind of cop few people would choose to pick a fight with. He greeted Grace with a bear hug, then looking at his attaché case quizzed him on why he was travelling so light.

‘Don’t ask!’ Grace responded, introducing him to his colleagues.

‘I’ll go sort them out, don’t you worry!’ he said in his nasally Brooklyn accent. Pulling out his police badge, Lanigan strode in through the exit doors and was gone ten minutes. He emerged with a triumphant smile. ‘It’ll be at your hotel by ten o’clock.’

‘You’re a star!’ Grace was instantly feeling more confident about his mission.

‘Not a problem. I just explained to the baggage guy, the Chief of Police of England doesn’t want to have his bag lost. Sorted.’ He pinched Roy Grace’s face.

‘How’s Francene?’ Grace asked.

‘Francene’s great! If we get time, she’d love to see you. So, you’re a daddy now! Hey, you, congratulations!’

Roy Grace had always sworn he would never be one of those fathers who carried pictures of their babies in their wallets, but he dug his hand into his jacket pocket, and proudly drew out a photograph of Noah and showed it to the New Yorker.

‘He’s a good-looking fella! Going to be a tough guy, like his dad, I’d say. Can see a lot of you in him!’

Guy Batchelor and Jack Alexander looked at the photograph, too, and Roy Grace felt a sudden, intense moment of pride. His child, his and Cleo’s! Their son! He was a part of him, that tiny little pudgy-faced character they were all looking at.

*

Pat Lanigan’s private car, a Honda sports utility, was parked right outside, with an ON NYPD BUSINESS card displayed in the windscreen.

Five minutes later they were on the freeway heading towards Manhattan. ‘Figured you guys would like an early night. We’ll start in earnest tomorrow, 9 a.m. at my office. Anything you need, you tell me. I’ve got the antiques experts from the Major Case Squad working the streets. They have sources in New York City from auction houses and confidential informants. I’ve also got a detective coming along who’s not assigned to this squad, but has connections in this field. Keith Johnson, you’ll like him.’

Addressing the two detectives in the back, he asked, ‘Either of you been to New York?’

‘Yes, several times,’ Guy Batchelor said. ‘My wife was in the travel business.’

‘Never,’ Jack Alexander said. ‘If there’s a chance, I’d love to go to Abercrombie and Fitch.’

Grace thought about getting something for Cleo. They’d recently watched the movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s on television – and he wondered now if there would be anything in that store he could afford.

‘We’ll make time,’ Lanigan said. ‘This is a great city, know what I’m saying? Beautiful people. We’ll get these bastards, and maybe we’ll have time for fun too. First thing on my list to tell you, Roy: we checked out the hotel addresses put down on the immigration forms by Eamonn Pollock, Gavin Daly and Lucas Daly. None of them showed up at those hotels.

‘There’s a bunch of different ways of searching for a hotel – or hotels – the suspects might be staying in. We’ve checked the US customs forms for all three. They’ve all given false addresses. But they’ll have used credit cards on check-in. I’m having my team check to see if the details are merely held on the hotel records until check-out or if they are put through. If they are put through, then we’ll find them that way.’