Dead Like You

file?’
    ‘I honestly can’t remember.’
    ‘Try harder.’
    Pewe sounded uneasy suddenly. ‘What is this, Roy?’
    ‘I’m asking you a question. Did you read that file? It’s only a few months ago.’
    ‘It rings a faint bell,’ he said defensively.
    ‘Would you have noticed if the last two pages were missing?’
    ‘Well, yes, of course I would.’
    ‘So they weren’t missing when you read them?’
    ‘I don’t think so.’
    ‘Do you remember what they said?’
    ‘No – no, I don’t.’
    ‘I need you to remember what they said, because they may now be crucial to a current investigation.’
    ‘Roy!’ He sounded pained. ‘Come on. Do you remember stuff you read three months ago?’
    ‘Yes, actually, I do. I have a good memory. Isn’t that what detectives are supposed to have?’
    ‘Roy, I’m sorry. I’m really busy at the moment on a report I need to have finished by midday.’
    ‘Would it help to refresh your memory if I had you arrested and brought you back down here?’
    Grace heard a sound like the blade of a lawnmower striking a half-buried flint. ‘Ha-ha! You are joking, aren’t you?’
    On an operation last October, Roy Grace had saved Cassian Pewe’s life – at considerable risk to himself. Yet Pewe had barely thanked him. It was hard to imagine that he could ever feel more contempt for any human than he felt for this man. Grace hoped it wasn’t clouding his judgement, although at this moment he didn’t really care that much if it was.
    ‘Cassian, Tony Case, our Senior Support Officer, whom you will remember from when you were with us, has informed me that since Sussex House became operational, back in 1996, all cold-case files have been kept down in a secure storeroom in the basement. Access is strictly controlled, for chain-of-evidence purposes. A digital alarm protects it and anyone entering needs access codes, which are registered. He has a log, signed by you, showing that you returned the Shoe Man’s file to one of his assistants last October. No one has looked at that file subsequently, until the Cold Case Team this week. OK?’
    He was greeted with silence.
    ‘You were in Brighton during the Labour Party Conference of 1997, weren’t you? On secondment from the Met when you were working for Special Branch. You then continued working in Brighton straight after that, on an inquiry into a series of armed jewellery raids in London that were linked with Brighton. You bought a flat, with a view to living here. Correct?’
    ‘Yes. So?’
    ‘The dates you were in this city coincide exactly with the dates that the Shoe Man committed his offences. You spent Christmas Eve, 1997, in Brighton, didn’t you?’
    ‘I can’t remember without checking my diary.’
    ‘One of my staff can verify that, Cassian. Bella Moy? Remember her?’
    ‘Should I?’
    ‘You tried to shag her in the back of your car at about midnight, after a boozy night out with a bunch of local officers. You drove her home, then tried to stop her getting out of your car. Remember now?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Probably a good thing. She remembers it well. You’re lucky she didn’t press charges for sexual harassment.’
    ‘Roy, are you trying to tell me you’ve never snogged a girl pissed?’
    Ignoring him, Grace said, ‘I want to know what you did after you left Bella outside her mother’s house. Those hours between midnight and Christmas morning? I want to know what you did on Halloween, 1997. I have more dates for you. I want to know where you were a fortnight ago on New Year’s Eve. Where were you last Thursday evening, 8 January? Where were you last Saturday evening, 10 January? I hope you are writing all those down, Cassian.’
    ‘You’re wasting police time, Roy!’ He tried to sound good-humoured. ‘Come on. Do you really expect me to be able to tell you where I was at any given moment twelve years ago? Could you tell me where you were?’
    ‘I could, Cassian. I could tell you exactly. So tell me, this past New Year’s Eve – where did you spend it?’
    There was a long silence. Then Pewe said reluctantly, ‘In Brighton, actually.’
    ‘Can someone vouch for you?’
    There was another long silence before Pewe said, ‘I’m sorry, Roy, I’m not prepared to continue this conversation. I don’t like your tone. I don’t like your questions.’
    ‘And I don’t like your answers,’ Grace replied.

73
    Wednesday 14 January
    Yac was tired. At 3 a.m. the city had been quiet. The second Tuesday