Love You Dead (32 page)

‘Are there any other people you’d like me to contact?’

‘No, certainly not. How did you find me anyway? I didn’t want you here, I really don’t want to be doing this. I don’t need this right now, it’s too much,
Roy.’

‘You know there are all kinds of legal ramifications. I’m going to have to report this to both the German and Sussex Police.’

‘You had me declared dead.’

He started to raise his voice. ‘What the hell did you expect me to do?’

She closed her eyes for some moments and appeared to have fallen asleep again. Suddenly, she said, ‘I’m due to see the consultant this week, he’s going to talk about my
treatment in the future and my prognosis. Now I’m starting to get stronger, slowly, they’ll be wanting to move me out of this hospital. But I’m quite worried about that, I
don’t know how I’m going to cope on my own. I feel so alone, Roy. So alone in the world. Now you’re bringing me all this, I can’t face it.’ She began to cry.

He took her hand again and held it tightly. ‘You’ll be fine. I’ll do what I can to help. It wasn’t my intention to upset you, but I have to know the truth – you
turned my life upside down, and now you’re doing it again.’ He paused for a moment. ‘There’s something that might make you smile. Remember Marlon? The goldfish I won at that
fairground on the Level in Brighton by target shooting – I guess about eleven years ago? We brought it home in a plastic bag, and we didn’t know if it was a him or her. You named him
Marlon, after Marlon Brando, because you thought he was such a moody creature. You said that fairground goldfish never live for long and it would be dead in a few months. Well, you know what,
he’s still alive! Still going strong. Still miserable as hell! I’ve bought him several companions over the years, and each time the sod has eaten them! I love that fish because –
it may sound daft – because he’s been the one connection I still have to you. Every day when I wake up and go downstairs, I hope he’s still alive and that I’m not going to
find him floating on the top of his tank. And when I see him, I smile. You probably think that’s daft, don’t you?’

‘I think you should leave now, Roy, I didn’t ask you to come. I’m getting tired,’ was all she said in reply.

He let go of her hand. ‘Well, I still need answers. I’ll come back and see you again soon.’

He turned and walked out of the room, looking back at her one last time.

Sandy lay there, tears streaming down her face.

The plane touched down at Heathrow Airport, shortly after 4 p.m., slowed and then began taxiing. A cabin crew member’s voice crackled through the intercom that passengers
were now welcome to use their mobile phones.

Roy Grace had already jumped the gun and switched his back on. As soon as he got a signal, his phone beeped with a series of text and voicemail messages.

The first was from Kelly Nicholls, the financial investigator he had tasked to find anything she could on the names he had given her. Nicholls asked him to call, saying she had some information
for him.

He rang her back and it went to voicemail. He left a message.

The next was a text from the Coroner’s Officer, Michelle Websdale, saying that Jodie had cleared Heathrow immigration that morning at about 7.15 a.m.

The next was a text from Branson.

He rang him. Glenn answered after two rings.

‘How did it go, mate?’ Branson asked him.

‘Didn’t get many answers, she looked bloody terrible. But she is awake and getting stronger, so we’ll see her again soon – and hopefully find out just why on earth she
left. And she’s got a kid. There are all kinds of legal questions I’m going to have to sort out – God knows how she’s going to start explaining it to everyone. Especially
her parents. It’s a complete mess.’ He looked at his wife. They’d spent the entire short flight from Munich talking about Sandy.

‘Jeez,’ Branson replied.

‘How about you, what’s your news, mate?’

‘I have a significant development to report regarding Crisp. The French police are dropping charges.’

‘What?’

‘Seems he wasn’t the killer of the sex worker. Her boyfriend has confessed. According to the police here he was her pimp, high on crack cocaine, and had a row with her about money
after seeing her get out of Crisp’s car. He thought she was pocketing some of her clients’ money. Apparently he’s made a full confession.’

‘So our dear, sweet, Dr Crisp is an innocent little baby?’

‘So far as the French police are concerned, yes.’

‘Great. So now we can move forward with the extradition process?’

‘As I understand it, they’re very happy to get him off their hands. Formalities for his extradition are being fast-tracked and the paperwork authorizing his release to the
Extradition Unit should be signed later today by a French Presiding Magistrate. The Extradition Unit are arranging to bring him back to the UK tomorrow.’

‘So where are you now and what are your plans?’

‘We’re checking into a hotel at the moment. Norman’s been trying to chat up the receptionist. We’re going to liaise with the Extradition Unit and see Crisp tomorrow
morning.’

‘Good man.’

‘Doesn’t seem the French police are over the moon to see us. No one’s invited us to any gourmet dinner. Looks like it’s going to be me and Norman – and the
receptionist if he pulls.’

‘Good to know he’s getting back to his old form.’

‘Yeah? That stingy sod Tony Case has booked us into a double room. I’m going to have to share with Norman and put up with him snoring. Just hope he doesn’t get anywhere with
the receptionist. Don’t fancy the idea of having to listen to him shagging his arse off all night.’

Grace grinned, then winced. ‘I’m with you on that one! Bell me tomorrow, when you’re on your way.’

‘You’re right about one thing, though, Roy.’

‘What?’

‘Lyon – it’s a nice city.’

‘Enjoy!’

‘Huh.’

As Roy Grace drove out of the short-term car park he felt drained.

‘Thank you,’ Cleo said.

‘For what?’

‘For taking me with you. I know it was hard.’

‘Listen, it was hard for both of us. Not something we thought was going to be coming into our lives.’

She shrugged. ‘From what you said on the plane, that conversation must have been really hard for you both. It really shook you seeing her, didn’t it?’

‘It did. Even more than I’d expected. The irony is that I still don’t really know anything. For all this time I’d hoped one day to have answers. Now finally I find her
and get to talk to her and she’s told me little I didn’t already know, and still no explanation as to why she left.’

‘She’ll tell you one day, Roy. The important thing is you’ve had contact finally, she’s alive. She sounds really stressed. You’ll get a chance to ask
again.’

‘I hope so. I really do need to know. I have to know. So many questions.’

‘At least she’s not been found dead somewhere, abducted and murdered.’

Grace fell silent, looking at the satnav screen, then at the road signs. Rain was falling. The wipers clunked, the sky above them was dark and gloomy.

‘Thank you for coming,’ he said. ‘You were brave.’

She shook her head. ‘No. That wasn’t about being brave. I needed to know.’

‘To know what?’

‘About you. I lost the last man I loved, to God.’

Grace nodded. He knew the whole story, she’d told him before. Richard, the barrister she’d dated for three years, who’d joined a charismatic church.

‘I needed to know I wasn’t losing you too, to a ghost.’

He stared at her bleakly. ‘Sandy put me through ten years of hell. I didn’t believe it would ever be possible to be happy again. You’ve made me happier than ever, and you know
I love you more than I knew was possible. Nothing could change that.’

She leaned over and kissed him. ‘I believe you.’

He shot a glance at her. ‘For years I wondered how I would feel if she turned up on my doorstep. I would have taken her back, I guess. But not now. Not any more.’ He sniffed,
blinking away tears. ‘You won’t lose me. Not to a ghost. Not to anything.’

As he focused on the road ahead, out of the corner of his eye he saw Cleo looking at him, And he felt deep in his heart the intensity of her love. One thing he knew now for sure was where his
future lay.

Even if Sandy did make a full recovery, it would change nothing.

Jodie had been flat out since arriving home. Her first priority had been the creatures in her reptile room. Checking their automated water and food supplies and cleaning their
vivariums. And checking the excretions.

She checked one snake in particular, her nine-foot boa constrictor. So far, nothing. It could be days yet.

Then she turned her focus to coping with the formalities of her deceased husband, about whom she knew so very little, other than the important stuff, to her, such as where he lived and how to
get in. She’d visited his beachfront house, but she could find hardly any documentation there, other than a few banking details in his study, but she did locate his address book and took that
home with her. She’d also made a very thorough inspection of his antiques and paintings, photographing some to see if she could find them on the internet to see what they were worth. Back
home she also checked on Zoopla for the current value of the property.

Whilst in India she had informed Rowley’s eldest daughter of his unfortunate demise, explaining, to his daughter’s shock and dismay, about their marriage a few days earlier, and
asked her to inform the rest of the family.

She found the name of Rowley’s family solicitor in the address book, and called him. He told her that he had already been informed, and had been asked by the
Daily Telegraph
to
write his obituary. The man had sounded genuinely sad, as if he had lost not just a client but a dear and treasured friend. He’d told Jodie they should arrange to meet, and asked if in the
meantime she could send him a copy of the death certificate. He added that their marriage had revoked the previous will and that her husband had actually died intestate. He explained what that
meant to her and told her he would get back to her with more information. Then, in finishing, he told Jodie that whilst Rowley Carmichael was a very wealthy man, he had a decade ago made over a
substantial part of his assets to his children and grandchildren, to mitigate inheritance tax and death duties.

She was still confident she would inherit a reasonable amount from Rowley, but it was unlikely to be anywhere near enough to fulfil her dreams. As she was still contemplating this, a lady, who
introduced herself as Michelle Websdale, the Coroner’s Officer, had called her on the mobile number she had given the Goan police, to ask a series of questions.

So far, she felt, she had acquitted herself well as the suddenly bereaved newly-wed. In the past twenty-four hours she’d shed more tears than she could remember.

She had engaged a firm of funeral directors, whom she was going to meet later today to discuss the details of Rowley Carmichael’s funeral. His eldest daughter, a very frosty and haughty
woman, said that her father had a fear of crematoriums, and wanted to be buried. Jodie had decided to ignore that. She’d read enough around the subject to know that buried bodies could be
exhumed, sometimes years after burial. Cremation would be a much safer option. So, without informing any of the family in advance, she told the funeral directors that her husband’s express
wish was to be cremated.

Screw his last wishes. She was going to have enough of a fight on her hands as it was. And hey, dead men didn’t complain, did they?

Grace dropped Cleo home, played with Noah for a few minutes, then headed into Brighton. He was glad of the time alone in his car to reflect on the past twenty-four hours.

Sandy had looked so fragile and vulnerable. When they were together she had always been strong and positive. She’d made the decision to walk out on him. Now, finally, his life was back
together, and he was at a crucial point in his career, with a boss who would seize on any weakness he showed. He owed it to Cleo, to Noah and to himself to put the past behind him and focus on the
present and the future.

But he was determined to get answers to all his questions out of Sandy.

Ten minutes later he pulled into the parking bay marked head of major crime in front of Sussex House, and hurried in, just in time for the 6.30 p.m. briefing of Operation Spider. He dashed into
his office, grabbed his policy book and notes, prepared by his assistant Lesley, along with a copy of the
Argus
, which she had placed there with a Post-it note beside a photograph on page
five of a woman in an evening dress and a man in a dinner jacket, then headed through into the Major Crime suite.

As he walked along the corridor towards the conference room, his phone rang and he answered without stopping. It was a very apologetic Kelly Nicholls, the financial investigator.

‘So sorry, sir, I’ve been in court all day. You asked me if I could find anything on a Jodie Bentley, also using other names.’

‘Yes, Kelly. What do you have?’ He leaned his notebook against a wall and pulled out his pen.

‘Well, it’s taken a while, and as you can understand it’s a huge process. DS Billin and I wanted to be sure, and we are now. We’ve found credit cards in three names:
Jodie Bentley, Jemma Smith and Judith Forshaw. We’ve obtained copies of all the original credit card application forms and there are a number of similarities, which we are now investigating
further. She is currently using cards in all three names, with the balance paid off in full, monthly, via direct debit.’

‘Good work, Kelly,’ Grace said.

‘Thank you, sir. There’s more. The credit card companies all use sophisticated software now that can sift through not just the original applications for similarities but also the
subsequent spending patterns.’