by James, Peter
As he lowered himself in his seat to be as inconspicuous as possible, Branson murmured, ‘Looks like she’s still in the car.’
Grace raised his binoculars. ‘She is,’ he confirmed.
As soon as he was settled, Grace looked out of his side window.
Then they both stiffened as they heard the roar of a car approaching at high speed. Headlights appeared. A boy racer shot past in what looked and sounded, in the darkness, like a clapped-out Subaru with a boombox exhaust.
Then silence again.
The rain had lessened, but a strong wind buffeted the vehicle. Grace watched the red dot on his screen, all his sadness over Bruno momentarily put to one side, into a compartment, his focus now completely on the job he was here to do. And he realized that being here, right now, in the moment – the thrill of the hunt, the anticipation, feeling the buzz – this was one of the things he loved most about his work.
A call came in from another surveillance car, further along Beachy Head Road, the detective nicknamed Smudger. ‘Nissan Micra, Bravo Delta Five One Sierra Mike Romeo, driving slowly, seems to be looking for something.’
‘Copy that,’ came Taylor’s voice.
Moments later, just as the heavens opened again, headlights appeared, and then a small car turned in. Watching through his night-vision binoculars, Grace saw it was a Nissan Micra, with the licence plate Smudger had just given. He watched it drive around the car park, before coming to a halt some distance from any of the other vehicles. He immediately called the Control Room. ‘I need a PNC check on a Nissan Micra, index Bravo Delta Five One Sierra Mike Romeo, please.’
The Control Room operator came back in seconds. ‘No trace lost or stolen. Registered owner is Ginevra Mary Stoneley of Woodbury Cottage, Chiddingly, East Sussex. Postcode—’
He cut her short. ‘Thanks, that’s good enough.’
Turning to Branson, he said, ‘Ginevra Mary Stoneley, that name mean anything?’
He flipped his phone face down, not wanting the light to show, and signalled to Branson to do the same. Then he picked up his binoculars. He could just make out the silhouette of the driver, through the rain, but it was hard to see the face clearly. They were wearing a baseball or golfing cap pulled down low, and sunglasses, despite the darkness.
‘Ginevra Mary Stoneley? Unusual name, Ginevra. No, doesn’t mean anything.’ He also trained his binoculars on the Micra. They both watched through the rain that was coming down even harder now. The occupant of the car was just sitting. Biding her – or his – time – for what?
Meeting someone? Or just for the rain to stop and go for a walk? Or to jump?
Lowering the binoculars, Grace turned his phone over and glanced at the red dot of Niall Paternoster’s rental Fiesta. It was very definitely moving in this direction, the app estimating a time of less than ten minutes away.
Mark Taylor confirmed over the radio that a surveillance car had it in sight.
It was 11.42 p.m.
The shower was slowly dying down. Passing through.
‘Occupant’s getting out!’ Branson said.
Grace raised his binoculars again. The driver’s door of the Micra was ajar, the interior light on, but their view of the driver’s face was blocked by an umbrella. Then the figure alighted, the face still completely hidden from view by the umbrella. The door was pushed shut, then the indicators flashed – the car had been locked by remote.
‘Shit, who is it? Male or female?’ Grace whispered.
The person’s back was to them now, walking across the car park to the road. A calf-length dark raincoat with a hood raised over the cap and jeans tucked into walking boots.
‘Female, I reckon,’ Branson said. ‘From the way she’s walking.’
Grace nodded as the subject’s stride quickened across the car park towards the road. The figure, umbrella still raised, crossed over and walked a short distance up a grassy incline on the far side, towards the edge, before turning right and striding off into the night.
Both continued watching until the subject was out of sight, then they lowered their glasses and frowned at each other in the faint glow from their phones. ‘What’s going on there?’ Branson said. ‘A late constitutional along the top of the cliffs?’
Grace shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but it definitely does not feel right.’ He turned his binoculars back on the Range Rover. The figure was still in the driving seat – Rebecca, he was sure, but he couldn’t see her face clearly.
‘A lovers’ rendezvous – perhaps just being ultra-cautious – the partner parked up somewhere, concealed? I mean, they’re hardly going to be able to do it in a Micra, are they? Not unless they’re extremely small.’
‘Yep, good luck with that one,’ Grace murmured.
The rain suddenly became heavier again, worsening into a torrent. Grace looked at his phone. At the red dot. Six minutes away now.
A minute later the rain stopped, almost as suddenly as it had started, and there was a break in the clouds. Branson kept his binoculars glued to the Range Rover. Then he exclaimed, ‘She’s on the move!’
Grace raised his glasses. He saw a female figure in a knee-length belted coat and jeans, umbrella low over her head, walking across the car park towards the road. She then crossed, striding determinedly over the grass in the direction of the clifftop.
‘What the hell?’ Branson asked.
Both detectives kept their binoculars trained on her as she walked up the grassy slope towards the cliff edge.
‘What’s she doing?’ Glenn said. ‘Why’s she going there?’
Grace looked down at the red dot, which was moving ever closer. ‘I don’t know, mate,’ he replied.
She stopped some distance short of the edge, then stood, as if she was looking out to sea admiring the view. Except, Grace was well aware, in this darkness there was no view, other than the possibility of a few silent lights far away on the horizon, of supertankers and container vessels out in the English Channel’s shipping lanes.
Suddenly they heard Smudger’s voice. ‘Vehicle containing subject one approaching from west.’
Grace felt a rush of excitement as bright lights appeared from their right and a Fiesta came into sight, driving slowly. A red glow inside might have been the driver, presumably Paternoster, smoking a cigarette.
A second later the car began indicating and turned into the car park. As it did so a trail of small sparks of red flared fleetingly behind it.
105
Thursday 12 September
Niall Paternoster was in a sunny mood, despite the darkness and the crappy weather. And his mood improved even further as he put the window back up, barely noticing the sparks of the remains of his fag in the rear-view mirrors as he drove into the car park.
Rebecca was already here!
He glanced happily at the Range Rover and thought about what lay ahead with his lover – his very adventurous lover. He liked that about her. A lot.
Sex with Eden, more recently, had become so bloody boring. So bloody unsexy. But with Rebecca – wow. It was the real deal!
He was pleased to see she’d parked in a discreet spot, shielded from most of the rest of the large car park by a temporary industrial unit. Only a few other vehicles in here, he clocked, looking around, making sure her husband’s car wasn’t one of them, spying on her. But there was only a Nissan Micra, a camper van and an empty dark-coloured saloon parked alongside it.
Pulling up close to the Range Rover, he reached into the door pocket and pulled out a pack of mints, popping one into his mouth. He felt the tingle of arousal deep in the pit of his stomach. In daylight he’d have had to wait to get out of the car until his swelling had subsided. But hey, in the darkness it was fine. Who could see it?
His phone pinged with a text.
u have to see this, incredible! XX
Frowning, he texted back.
u need to see what I have for you! XX
A reply came back seconds later.
I mean it! Reflection
of the moon on the sea – like, something magical! XXX
Where are u?
Walk straight across the road and keep going, you’ll see me! I’m crazy for u! XXXX
Coming! XXXXX
106
Friday 13 September
The rain had stopped now and the moon was shining through a break in the clouds. The woman at the cliff edge, with her back to them, lowered her umbrella, still facing out to sea, her stance showing she was braced against the wind. Grace and Branson could clearly see, through their binoculars, her razored blonde hair rippling. It was Rebecca Watkins.
But wouldn’t she have heard the Fiesta arriving? Caught the headlights out of the corner of her eye? Why didn’t she turn to see if it was her lover, instead of continuing to stare ahead without even a glance? Staring as if she was looking for something far out to sea. A signal from a boat? No, that made no sense.
Grace swung his glasses in the direction of the Fiesta, and a few seconds later the distinctive figure of Niall Paternoster appeared on the far side of the vehicle. Grace watched as he hurried across the road and headed over the grass towards Rebecca. She still didn’t turn round.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Branson asked.
Grace didn’t reply, he was watching intently. Again thinking back to the words relayed by Sharon Orman. The rendezvous between Rebecca Watkins and Niall Paternoster. Something at the time had felt wrong about it, and it felt even more wrong now, but he couldn’t say why. Something about Rebecca’s body language?
Through the green glow of the night vision, Grace watched Paternoster getting closer to her. Closer. Closer.
She still wasn’t moving, just staring ahead, like a statue. Rocking slightly in the wind.
Was she aware he was coming up behind her? Could Niall be about to push her over the edge? Was the sound of the wind making her unable to hear him? For a split-second Grace toyed with hitting the horn or flashing the lights to warn her and distract Paternoster. He braced himself, ready to leap out and run across. But he held himself in check, dismissing that thought. This was two lovers meeting. Their rendezvous. Their assignation. Meeting for sex according to the conversation Sharon Orman had lip-read in the pub.
But Grace still didn’t think that was all. Something else was going on, he was more and more certain. And hoping to hell he wasn’t going to be proved wrong.
107
Friday 13 September
The grass was wet and Niall Paternoster was only wearing suede loafers, his brand-new, very expensive, tasselled beige ones, and they were going to be ruined. They were already soaked through after just a few paces, making his bare feet inside them wet, too. His hair was being torn from its roots and his eyes were watering from the wind.
What was so special about a moonlit sea that was worth ruining his shoes for? If he’d known he was going to have to traipse through uncut grass, he’d have worn boots – he’d only put these on because they’d be easy to kick off. Who the hell wanted to waste valuable time undoing laces? Quick release! It was for the same reason, speed – as well as a surprise for her – and turn-on for him – that he’d gone commando tonight.
His foot squelched in something – mud, please God, not dog’s mess. Yech. Why was she putting him through this? He didn’t really give a monkey’s about the view, he’d not come all this way to look at that. The only view he wanted was Rebecca’s gorgeous face, while he held her body in his arms.
Honestly, he sighed to himself, striding on towards her, feeling excited and annoyed in almost equal measures. ‘Hey!’ he called out. ‘Hey, gorgeous! This view had better be worth it!’
She didn’t react. She just continued facing out to sea.
Was it the view that was distracting her? he wondered.
When he was just a few feet from her, about to put his arms around her, she turned sharply to face him, brandishing the umbrella like a weapon.
And he froze.
108
Friday 13 September
In the camper van, binoculars glued to his eyes, Roy Grace shouted, ‘Shit! That’s not Rebecca Watkins!’
‘It’s Eden,’ Branson said. ‘Jesus, what’s going on?’
‘We’re about to find out,’ Grace replied.
‘Nice to see you, Niall,’ Eden said. ‘But not that nice.’
He opened his mouth, too astonished for a moment to speak. Before he could get a word out, Eden, holding the point of the umbrella out in front of her, said, ‘Shut up a minute, just wait.’
‘What the hell is this about? What bloody game are you playing, Eden? Do you have any idea of the shit I’ve been through? Do you have any fucking idea?’
‘Whatever it is, it’s not enough for all the crap you’ve put me through.’
Despite shaking with nerves, she managed a smile, managed to keep the tremble out of her voice. That gulp of whisky she’d taken before leaving the car was helping, a lot. She gave him another very sweet smile. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me? You don’t look very happy that I’m still alive.’
‘Very funny.’ He grimaced, his mind a furnace of fury. ‘Don’t push your luck, baby. This is just you and me. I could shove you over the edge right now, after you’ve set your disappearance up so cleverly. They’ll find your body in a few days and mark you down as a suicide. I’d have just left you dead. Have you thought about that? How it would look to anyone? You tried to frame your husband and, when that didn’t work, you decided to end it all?’
‘Oh yes, I’ve thought about it, Niall,’ Eden replied, speaking verbatim from the script Rebecca had written for her. ‘Which is why I’m wearing a wire, with every word you or I say being transmitted to a recording device at the Police HQ in Lewes. I saw the texts to your lover, whoever she is, where you talked about your plans to “get rid of” me.’
She saw the hesitation in his face and knew her words had struck home – enough to sow doubt about whether she was telling the truth or not. ‘Still going to shove me over the edge?’
‘Look, we need to talk,’ he said. ‘Like, those texts – they were just a joke, you know.’
‘Great joke, so funny, they had me in hysterics. Can’t remember when I laughed so much, Niall. Especially the bit about my will, thinking you would inherit everything when I was gone. And you and your lover had a plan. You told her you knew exactly how to kill me and dispose of my body so it would never be found. I particularly liked that bit where you told her that if the police couldn’t find a body, it made a prosecution very hard. A “no body” murder, I think you called it, right?’
He stared at her in numb silence.
‘So, I thought I would turn the tables. You deserve it. You killed our unborn baby and ruined my life, you evil bastard. Can a dead person commit a murder, Niall?’
‘There’s one flaw in that, Eden,’ he said, more calmly now. ‘The police don’t believe you’re dead.’
‘Obviously not if they’ve wired me with a mic.’ She smiled. ‘Do you want to hear what your lover told me, while we were in bed together?’
‘What?’ Now he stared at her both confused and dumbstruck.
Rebecca had told her exactly the words to say and the moves to make. Keep taunting him, ramping it up, and up again, until he lunged at her, and as he did so to instantly hit the ground. He would trip over her and be gone, over the edge.
But she couldn’t do it. She knew the words, what she had to say. The taunt about his manhood. The first time he’d ever hit her was when she had done that, and totally unintentionally then.
The script was so clear in her head now. She just had to say the words and he would lunge, he was that livid.
She also told me you couldn’t satisfy her.
But the words lodged in her throat. She couldn’t get them out.
Instead, she stared at him, at her husband, at the man she hated so much, on the edge of a 500-foot drop, knowing just how easily he could kill her, and that he could do it without any sense of remorse. But she was unable to spit out
the words that would trigger him.
‘You don’t have a wiretap, Eden. You and I have watched enough police documentaries to know that. Police never put a key witness in danger like this. You’re lying. Bullshit. This is just you and me. No one’s listening. No one’s coming to save you. You’re lying about the police and Rebecca. Whatever your crazy plan is, your stupid ploy, you’ve actually just made it very easy for me.’
She froze. Her eyes adjusting more and more to the darkness. Staring at him, at the anger in his face.
And suddenly, now, she was scared. Really scared.
‘Like I said, Eden, you’re a very stupid woman with your hare-brained plan to try to frame me. All you’ve actually done is set me up with the perfect alibi. I don’t need a “no body” murder any more. You see, it’s not possible to murder a dead person.’
He took a step towards her. ‘Too bad you didn’t work that one out, but then you never were as smart as you thought at chess.’ He took another step towards her, remembering the words of the tall, burly copper who’d first come to the house to interview him. ‘Our unfinished game, Eden. You thought you were beating me, but you’d made a fatal error with that one. A move you hadn’t spotted. Black Queen’s Knight to King’s Pawn three, eh? Shall we call this my last checkmate?’
‘Shit! Something’s going to happen here,’ Roy Grace yelled, dropping his glasses and frantically looking for the door handle. ‘GO, GO, GO!’
He clambered down from the camper and, closely followed by Branson, sprinted across the car park towards the road, radioing Taylor for backup as he did.
Suddenly, all Eden’s confidence had drained away. Niall was just inches away from her and the cliff edge was just two feet behind her. She stared at him, trembling in terror. There wasn’t enough room between them now for her to drop to the ground, as Rebecca had instructed her. Her brain raced desperately, thinking of what to do, what to say.