‘How many entrances and exits do you have here?’ he asked the security guard.

‘Two this floor. Two down below. Then we have the fire escapes.’ He thought for a moment, then said, ‘Six of them.’

Ten exits, Grace thought. Two cops covering them – both of whom were asleep. How great was that?

‘Can you show me them?’ he asked.

‘Sorry, boss, not allowed to leave this station.’

‘Mind if I help myself?’

‘Be my guest.’

102

Back in his hotel room, shortly after 4 a.m., Roy Grace suddenly felt dog-tired. He undressed and climbed back into bed, and set his alarm for half an hour’s time. Almost instantly he fell asleep, only to be woken, what seemed like seconds later, by his phone ringing.

It was Glenn Branson. ‘Yo, old timer, you awake?’

‘I wasn’t but I am now. What’s happening?’ he said, checking the time. It was 4.20 a.m; 9.20 a.m. in Brighton, he calculated.

‘Quite a lot while you’ve been zizzing away.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Well, I can’t be sure, but it looks like someone might have been trying to break into your house last night.’

‘Which house?’

‘Cleo’s.’

Grace sat bolt upright, fear surging through him. ‘What do you mean? What happened?’

‘I’m standing outside the house right now. We’ve got a dead body – looks like he fell from the roof. Got his face blackened; he’s all kitted out in black, with night-vision goggles, and a whole set of house-breaking tools on him.’ Glenn deliberately omitted the barber’s razor, not wanting to worry his friend further.

Grace felt sudden deep dread grip him. ‘Is Cleo okay? Have you checked on her and Noah?’

‘They’re fine.’

‘Fell from the roof? Do you have an ID on him?’

‘Not yet. He’s not carrying a wallet or any other ID.’

‘He’s definitely dead?’

‘Certified by the paramedic. The Coroner’s Officer’s just arrived.’

‘Why do you think he might have been trying to break in, Glenn?’

‘He’s six feet in front of her house. If he isn’t a burglar, then he’s come from a fancy-dress party dressed as one.’

‘I need to speak to Cleo,’ Grace said. ‘I’ll bell you back.’

His finger shaking, he dialled Cleo’s house phone, but it was busy. He tried her mobile but that went straight to voicemail. He redialled the house number and finally she answered, sounding terrible.

‘I was trying to call you,’ she said. ‘It must have been the noise I heard last night – when the television went all fuzzy – someone sliding down the roof. What was he doing up there on our roof, Roy? What the hell was someone doing on our roof?’

His phone was beeping. Caller waiting was flashing on his display. ‘Darling, hold one sec, okay? I’m just putting you on hold, in case this is urgent.’

It was Glenn Branson. ‘Roy, the Coroner’s Officer, Philip Keay, says he recognizes the dead man from some years back. I’m not sure you’re going to like this much – it’s Amis Smallbone.’

Sitting on the edge of his bed, the news was almost surreal. It took a moment for it to sink in. ‘Amis Smallbone? Is he sure?’

‘Yes, absolutely certain.’

‘I’ll call you back in a minute.’ He switched to Cleo. ‘I’m coming straight home – as soon as I can get a flight, darling. I won’t be able to get one until this evening – the earliest I’ll get back is tomorrow morning. But I’m putting a police officer in the house with you until I’m back. I’ll get a Family Liaison Officer.’

‘Please come back quickly,’ she said, her voice cracking.

‘I love you, darling,’ he said. ‘You’re fine, you and Noah. But I don’t want you leaving the house until I get back and find out what’s going on, okay?’

He could barely decipher her reply through her sobbing. And he was shaking himself. Just what the hell had the little shit been up to?

103

Roy Grace sat on the edge of his bed, shivering from the air-con, his face in his hands, thinking. Amis Smallbone with house-breaking kit. There was no alternative scenario, no other possible hypothesis. Smallbone had been there to break into the house. Period. The unanswered question was, what had he planned to do?

Harm Cleo or Noah, or both? He thought back to the vile, chilling words carved with a chisel on Cleo’s car, back in June: COPPER’S TART. UR BABY IS NEXT. Smallbone had vigorously denied it was his handiwork. That had been followed by an obituary notice placed anonymously in the Argus, shortly after Noah had been born. The person who had done that had still not been identified, but Grace had a pretty shrewd idea it was Amis Smallbone who had been responsible for both.

Did he have an accomplice? Grace thought that unlikely. If Smallbone had wanted something taken from the house, he would have hired someone to do that. No. Whatever he’d planned, he had intended doing it himself. And now he was dead. One less piece of vermin on this planet. He doubted many people would be mourning him. A nasty, futile, squandered gift of life.

His phone pinged with an incoming text. He looked at the display and saw it was from Pat Lanigan.

They’re awake now, pal, with pepper up their asses!

He grinned, then phoned Glenn Branson back. ‘Has anyone checked Cleo’s house for signs of forced entry?’

‘We’ve done that and it’s all secure.’

‘She’s very shaken, Glenn. Can you get someone to stay with her?’

‘I’m on it. I’m organizing an FLO to be with her until you get back.’

‘Thanks. I thought you weren’t going to be at work today – isn’t Ari’s funeral this week? Wednesday?’

‘I wasn’t, then I saw the address of the incident on the serial and I came over. I have Ari’s sister staying at the house to help with the kids, so it’s okay.’

‘I really appreciate it. Thanks, matey.’

‘I’ll phone you with any updates. How’s it going there?’

‘For half four on a Monday morning, quite lively, so far,’ Grace said, wryly. He gave him a quick update, ended the call, then immediately phoned Tony Case, the Senior Support Officer, who was responsible for travel arrangements. He explained the circumstances and asked Case if he could get him an emergency ticket home.

‘Hmm, that’s going to cost,’ Tony Case said. A former police officer himself, he could be a bit of a curmudgeon. ‘I got you all a good deal on return tickets, but they’re non-refundable.’

‘I’ll pay it out of my own pocket.’

That seemed to cheer Case a little. ‘Well, leave it with me, Roy. May not be necessary. You’re on your mobile?’

‘Yes.’

‘Give me half an hour or so.’

With no interest in – or prospect of – any more sleep, he ordered a pot of coffee, then stepped into the hard, hot jets of the shower, making a mental note to check with Cleo that she had arranged for flowers to be sent to Ari Branson’s funeral.

*

Twenty minutes later, invigorated from the shower and from his second cup of coffee, Roy Grace checked his emails. But there were no further updates so far regarding Cleo’s house, beyond the information Glenn Branson had already given him.

It was 5.10 a.m. His eyes felt tired, but his brain was wired. In three-quarters of an hour he was due to meet Guy Batchelor and Jack Alexander down in the lobby, and then head up to Central Park South and Eamonn Pollock’s hotel.

He called MIR-1 and asked Bella Moy for an update. There were no significant developments, she told him. Then as he ended the call, Glenn Branson rang again.

‘You’re not going to like this at all,’ he said.

‘I’m not liking it already!’ Grace replied.

104

‘I thought in our last session you were going to talk more about the father of your son,’ Dr Eberstark said. ‘You told me you were having an affair with one of your husband’s work colleagues. Do you believe this man is the father?’