Dead Like You

utter dismay, last year Pewe had moved down to Sussex CID with the rank of detective superintendent, and Alison Vosper had given him Grace’s cold-case workload – plus the clear signal that the former Met officer would be taking over more and more of Grace’s duties.
    Cassian Pewe fancied himself as a ladies’ man. He had golden hair, angelic blue eyes and a permanent tan. He preened and strutted, exuding a natural air of authority, always acting as if he was in charge, even when he wasn’t. Working secretly, behind Grace’s back, Pewe had taken it upon himself to ruin Grace’s career by trying to reopen investigations into Sandy’s disappearance – and point suspicion at him. Returning from a trip to New York last October, Grace found, to his utter incredulity, that Pewe had assembled a Police Search Unit team to scan and dig up his garden for Sandy’s suspected remains.
    Fortunately, that had proved a step too far. Pewe left Sussex CID and returned to the Met not long after, with his tail between his legs.
    After a few more questions to Jim Doyle, Grace hung up and then stood thinking for some moments. There was no way, at this stage, he could mention anything openly to his team. Questioning another officer as high-ranking as Pewe as a suspect would have to be done discreetly, regardless of his personal feelings towards the man.
    He would do this himself and it would be a pleasure.

71
    Wednesday 14 January
    twitter
jessiesheldonuk
    Working late today. Audit review – soooo boring! But Benedict taking me out after for sushi meal at Moshi Moshi. Yayyyy!
    He read the text which had just Tweeted through on his phone. Sushi , he thought disdainfully. He didn’t understand that stuff. What was the point of going to a restaurant to eat uncooked fish? Seemed like easy money for the chef. He’d read somewhere that in Japan there were restaurants where you could eat sushi off the naked bodies of women. He could think of much better things to do with naked women.
    He was looking forward to doing those things with Jessie Sheldon.
    Too bad Jessie was going to be busy tonight. But it didn’t matter. Dee Burchmore was making her speech at the Martlets lunch tomorrow. She would be wearing her blue satin Manolo Blahniks with the diamanté buckles. He knew where she was going to park and the place was perfect. He was going to enjoy her.
    Meantime, Jessie Sheldon would be keeping in touch. She had 322 followers on Twitter. It was so thoughtful of her to let him know all her movements.

72
    Wednesday 14 January
    Back in his office after the morning briefing, Roy Grace was deep in thought. Was it possible that a serving police officer could be the Shoe Man?
    There had been bad apples in the Sussex Police, as in all other forces around the country in the past, at some time or other. Murderers, rapists, thieves, porn merchants, drug dealers and fraudsters hiding behind one of the ultimate façades of respectability and trust. It was rare, but with a team of over 5,000 people in Sussex alone, it could never be ruled out.
    And it fitted. The inside information that had been fed to the press on the Shoe Man back in 1997, and now on the current investigation, could have been supplied by anyone with the access codes to the Sussex Police computer network. Cassian Pewe had access to them back in October last year. Who knew what he could have copied or taken then?
    He dialled the central internal number for the London Metropolitan Police, his thoughts on what he planned to say crystal clear.
    After two minutes of being shunted around various extensions, he heard Detective Superintendent Pewe’s voice, as sharp and invasive as a dentist’s drill, and as charming as a pipette full of sulphuric acid.
    ‘Roy! How good to hear from you! Need me back, do you?’
    Cutting to the chase, he said, ‘No, I need some information from you. When you were with us, you logged out a cold-case file from the storeroom. You are the last signature on the form. It’s regarding a missing person, Rachael Ryan, who disappeared on Christmas morning, 1997. Ring a bell?’
    ‘I looked at a lot of files in the brief time I was with you, Roy.’ His voice sounded pained.
    ‘Well, there are two pages missing from this one, Cassian. Just wondering if by any chance you had given them to anyone else? A researcher perhaps?’
    ‘Let me think. No, absolutely not. No way! I wanted to review everything myself.’
    ‘Did you read that particular