Dead Man's Footsteps

by Peter James

  She loved the view from here, lying on the thick, soft mattress on the lounger on the white sand beach, staring out across the bay. And she loved this time of day – late afternoon, when the heat was less fierce and she didn’t need the shade of her parasol. She put her book down for a moment, took another sip and watched the yellow paragliding boat as it powered away from the wooden jetty, across the flat water, heading out into the bay, the orange and red parachute rising into the clear sky.

  She might have another swim in a few minutes. She pondered whether to go in the sea or in the hotel’s vast infinity pool, which was a little cooler and more refreshing. Such tough decisions!

  She thought constantly about her mother, and about Ronnie and Ricky. Despite all her anger about Ricky, and her shock about Ronnie, she couldn’t help feeling just a tiny bit sorry for each of them, in different ways.

  But not that sorry.

  ‘Are you enjoying that book?’ the woman on the lounger next to her asked suddenly.

  Abby had noticed her earlier, asleep, with a copy of a novel she had read recently, Restless, lying on top of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy on the small white table beside her.

  ‘I am,’ she said. ‘Yes. But most of all, I’m a big Douglas Adams fan. I think I’ve read everything he wrote.’

  ‘Me too!’

  He was the author of one of Abby’s favourite quotations, which she had come across again only recently:

  I seldom end up where I wanted to go, but almost always

  end up where I need to be.

  Which was pretty much how she felt at this moment.

  She took another sip of her drink. ‘They make the world’s best margaritas here,’ she said.

  ‘Maybe I should try one. I only arrived today, so I haven’t sussed out what’s what yet.’

  ‘It’s great. It’s paradise!’

  ‘Seems it.’

  Abby smiled. ‘I’m Sarah,’ she said.

  ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Sandy.’

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Although the Roy Grace novels are fiction, the backgrounds in all the areas of law enforcement in which my characters exist and function are real. For help with the writing of this novel I am indebted as ever to the Sussex Police Force, and also to the NYPD and the New York City Office of the District Attorney, and to the Victoria Police, New South Wales, Australia.

  Special thanks to the Chief Constable of Sussex Police, Martin Richards, for his kind sanction, and to Detective Chief Superintendents Kevin Moore and Graham Bartlett for generously opening so many doors for me. And a very singular thank you to former Detective Chief Superintendent Dave Gaylor, who has helped me in more ways than I can ever repay.

  To single out a few other names in particular in Sussex Police who have really helped make a difference to this book (and please forgive any omissions), thank you to Chief Superintendent Peter Coll; Brian Cook, Scientific Support Branch Manager; Senior Support Officer Tony Case of the HQ Criminal Investigation Department; DCI Ian Pollard; DI William Warner; DS Patrick Sweeney; Inspector Stephen Curry; DI Jason Tingley, Ops/Intel HQ CID; Inspector Andrew Kundert; Sgt Phil Taylor, Head of the High Tech Crime Unit; Computer Crime Analyst Ray Packham of the High Tech Crime Unit; PC Paul Grzegorzek of the LST; PC James Bowes; PC Dave Curtis; Inspector Phil Clarke; Sgt Mel Doyle; PC Tony Omotoso; PC Ian Upperton; PC Andrew King; Sgt Malcolm (Choppy) Wauchope; PC Darren Balcombe; Sgt Sean McDonald; PC Danny Swietlik; PC Steve Cheesman; Ron King, Forces Controller; and Sue Heard, Press and PR Officer.

  Thank you also to forensic archaeologist Lucy Sibun. And to Abigail Bradley of Cellmark Forensics; Essex Coroner Dr Peter Dean; consultant pathologist Dr Nigel Kirkham; Dr Andrew Davey; Mr Andrew Yelland, MB BS, FRCSEd, MD, FRCS; Dr Jonathan Pash; Nigel Hodge; Steve Cowling: and Christopher Gebbie. And I owe an extremely special and massive thanks to the terrific team at the Brighton and Hove Mortuary, Elsie Sweetman, Victor Sindon and Sean Didcott.

  In New York a huge debt to Detective Investigator Dennis Bootle of the Rackets Bureau, Office of the District Attorney; and Detective Investigator Patrick Lanigan, Special Investigations Unit, Office of the District Attorney. In Australia a very huge thank you also to DI Lucio Rovis, Victoria Police Homicide Unit; Detective Senior Sergeant George Vickers and DS Troy Burg, Carlton Crime Investigation Unit; Detective Senior Constable Damian Jackson; Sgt Ed Pollard, Victoria Police State Coroner’s Assistants Unit; Andrea Petrie of The Age newspaper; and my Australian linguist, Janet Vickers!

  Thanks to Gordon Camping for his invaluable master classes in stamps; to Rob Kempson; to Colin Witham of HSBC; to Peter Bailey for his encyclopaedic knowledge of Brighton modern and past; to Peter Wingate-Saul, Oli Rigg, and to Phil White of the East Sussex Fire Brigade, and Dave Storey of the Nottingham Fire and Rescue Service; to Robert Frankis, who caught me out on cars again - and to Chris Webb for keeping my Mac alive despite all the abuse I give it!

  Very big thanks to Anna-Lisa Lindeblad, who has been my tireless and wonderful ‘unofficial’ editor and commentator throughout the Roy Grace series, and to Sue Ansell, whose sharp eye for detail has saved me many an embarrassment.

  Professionally I have a total dream team: the wonderful Carole Blake representing me, together with Oli Munson, and my awesome publicist, Amelia Rowland of Midas PR; and there is simply not enough space to say a proper thank you to everyone in Macmillan. Suffice it to say that it is an absolute joy to be published by them, and I totally lucked into the jackpot in having Stef Bierwerth as my editor. A huge thank you also to all of my foreign publishers. Danke! Merci! Grazie! ! Gracias! Dank u! Tack! Obrigado!

  As ever, Helen has been a rock, keeping me nourished with saintly patience and constant wisdom.

  And lastly I have to say farewells to my deeply loved canine friends Sooty and Bertie, who have both sadly departed to the Big Boneyard in the sky, and a welcome to Oscar, who has now joined Phoebe under my desk, waiting to chew to shreds any loose pages of manuscript that should fall to the floor …

  Peter James

  Sussex, England

  scary@pavilion.co.uk

  www.peterjames.com

  93

  OCTOBER 2007

  As Glenn Branson was walking back to his desk after the 6.30 p.m. briefing on Operation Dingo, his mobile phone rang. The caller ID showed an unfamiliar Brighton number.

  ‘DS Branson,’ he answered. Then immediately recognized the rather smart voice at the other end.

  ‘Oh, Detective Sergeant, apologies for calling you a bit late.’

  ‘No problem at all, Mr Hegarty. What can I do for you?’ Glenn continued walking.

  ‘Is this a good moment?’

  ‘Absolutely fine.’

  ‘Well, the damnedest thing just happened,’ Hugo Hegarty said. ‘You remember when you and your very charming colleague came back this afternoon, I gave you a list? A list and description of all the stamps I purchased for Lorraine Wilson back in 2002?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well – look – this could just be one of those strange coincidences, but I’ve been in this game for too long and I really don’t think it is.’

  Glenn reached the doorway of Major Incident Room One, and stepped inside. ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘I’ve just had a phone call from a woman – sounded like a young woman, and rather nervous. She asked me if I would be able to sell a collection of high-value stamps that she has. I asked her to give me the details and what she described is exactly – and I mean exactly – what I purchased for Lorraine Wilson. Less just a few, which may have been sold off along the way.’

  Still holding the phone to his ear, Branson went over to his work station and sat down, absorbing the significance of this. ‘Are you really sure it’s not just coincidence, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, they are mostly rare plates of mint stamps, desirable for all collections, plus some individual stamps. I doubt I would be able to remember from five years ago whether the postage marks on these are the same. But to give
you a bit of a steer, there are two Plate 77 Penny Reds – I believe the last sale price fetched one hundred and sixty thousand pounds. There were several Plate 10 and Plate 11 Penny Blacks – they’re worth between twelve and thirteen thousand pounds each – very easily tradable. Then quite a substantial quantity of Tuppenny Blues, plus a whole raft of other rarer stamps. It might be coincidence if she had just one or two of these, but the same items, the same quantities?’

  ‘It does sound a little strange, sir, yes.’

  ‘To be honest,’ Hegarty said, ‘if I hadn’t gone through the files today to compile the list for you, I doubt I would have remembered it was such an exact match.’

  ‘Sounds like that might have been a stroke of good fortune. I appreciate your telling us. Did you ask her where she obtained them?’

  Hegarty dropped his voice, as if nervous of being overheard. ‘She said she’d inherited them from an aunt in Australia and that someone she’d met at a party in Melbourne told her I was one of the dealers she should talk to.’

  ‘You, rather than anyone in Australia, sir?’

  ‘She said she was told that she would get a better price in the UK or in the States. As she was moving back here to look after her elderly mother, she thought she would try me first. She’s coming over tomorrow morning at 10 o’clock to show me them. I thought I would ask her a few discreet questions then.’

  Branson looked at his notes. ‘Do you have an interest in buying them?’

  He could almost feel the twinkle in Hegarty’s eyes as the man replied.

  ‘Well, she said she was in a hurry to sell – and that’s usually the best time to buy. Not many dealers would have the kind of ready cash needed to buy this lot in one go – it would be more usual to break it up into auction lots. But I’d want to ensure they were all certificated. I’d hate to part with all that money and get a knock on my front door from you boys a few hours later. That’s why I rang you.’

  Of course. This isn’t about Hugo Hegarty being a dutiful citizen. It’s about him protecting his own backside, Glenn Branson thought. Still, such was human nature, so he could hardly blame the man.

  ‘Roughly what value would you put on these, sir?’

  ‘As a buyer or a seller?’ Now he was sounding even more wily.

  ‘As both.’

  ‘Well, total catalogue value at today’s prices, we’re looking around four – four and a half million. So, as a seller, that’s what I would be aiming to achieve.’

  ‘Pounds?’

  ‘Oh yes, pounds.’

  Branson was astonished. The original three and a quarter million pounds Lorraine Wilson had come into had gone up by around thirty per cent – and that was after a substantial number of them, probably, had been sold off.

  ‘And as a buyer, sir?’

  Suddenly Hegarty sounded reticent. ‘The price I’d be willing to pay would depend on their provenance. I’d need more information.’

  Branson’s brain was whirring. ‘She’s coming to you at 10 tomorrow morning? That’s definite?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Katherine Jennings.’

  ‘Did she give you an address or phone number?’

  ‘No, she didn’t.’

  The DS wrote the name down, thanked him and hung up. Then he pulled his keyboard closer, tapped the keys to call up the serials log and entered the name Katherine Jennings.

  Within a few seconds a match came up.