Dead Like You

‘Target One sighted! Turning right-right into Edward Street!’
    Target One was the code designated to John Kerridge – Yac. Target Two , and further numbers, would be applied to any white van or pedestrian arousing suspicion.
    Instantly, Grace put down the foil dish and tapped the command to bring up, on one of the wall-mounted monitors, the CCTV camera trained on the junction of Edward Street and Old Steine. He saw a Peugeot estate taxi, in the turquoise and white Brighton livery, accelerate out of the camera’s view along the road.
    ‘One female passenger. He is proceeding east-east!’ he heard.
    Moments later Grace saw a small Peugeot heading in the same direction. The transponder showed on the grid this was one of his covert cars, no. 4.
    He called up the next image in sequence on the CCTV screens and saw the taxi crossing the intersection with Egremont Place, where Edward Street became Eastern Road.
    Almost exactly the same pattern as last night, Grace thought. But this time, although he could not have explained why, he sensed there was a difference. At the same time, he was still worried about the amount of faith he had put in Proudfoot’s judgement.
    He spoke on the internal phone to his Silver. ‘Have we found out his destination from the taxi company?’
    ‘No, chief, didn’t want to alert them, in case the operator says anything to the driver. We’ve enough cover to keep him in view if he stays in the area.’
    ‘OK.’
    Another excited voice crackled on the radio phone. ‘He’s turning right – right into – what’s that street – Montague, I think. Yes, Montague! He’s stopping! Rear door opening! She’s out of the car! Oh, my God, she’s running!’

95
    Saturday 17 January
    He had come early in the afternoon, to ensure he got a parking space in one of the pay-and-display bays close to her flat. One that she would have to walk past on her way back from her kick-boxing class.
    But every damned one of them was taken when he arrived. So he had waited, at the end of the road, on a yellow line.
    This area to the south of Eastern Road was a warren of narrow streets of two- and three-storey Victorian terraced houses, popular with students and singles, and in the heart of the gay community. There were several estate agent’s hoardings, advertising properties for sale or to let. Cars, mostly small and grimy, and a few vans were parked along both sides.
    He’d had to wait over an hour, to almost 3.30 p.m. before, to his relief, a rusty old Land Cruiser had driven off, leaving behind a space big enough for him. It was just thirty feet from the front door of the pale blue house, with bay windows, where Jessie Sheldon had the upstairs flat. The gods were smiling on him!
    It was perfect. He had put sufficient coins in to cover him until 6.30 p.m., when the parking restrictions expired. It was now just past that time.
    An hour and ten minutes ago, Jessie had come out of her front door in her tracksuit and trainers, and walked straight past him on her way to her kick-boxing class – the one she attended every Saturday afternoon, and which she had chattered about on Facebook. He could have taken her then, but it wasn’t quite dark enough, and there had been people around.
    But now it was dark and, for the moment, the street was deserted.
    She would have to hurry home, he knew. She had informed the world that she was going to have to rush in order to get changed into her finery, to take Benedict to meet her parents for the first time.
    I am soooooooooo nervous about that meeting! she had put on Facebook.
    What if they don’t like him?
    She added that she was sooooooooo excited about the Anya Hindmarch shoes she had bought!
    He was sooooooooo excited about the pair of Anya Hindmarch shoes he had bought too. They were lying on the floor right behind him, waiting for her! And he was soooooooooo nervous also. But nervous in a nice, excited, tingly-all-over way.
    Where are you tonight, Detective Superintendent Big-Swinging-Dick Detective Superintendent Roy Grace?
    Not here, are you? You haven’t a clue! Again!
    He had parked so that he could watch her approaching through the crack in the rear window curtains, although these were hardly necessary. He’d applied dense black-out privacy film to all the rear and side windows. It was impossible to see in from outside, even in broad daylight. Of course, he knew, aficionados of these classic VW camper vans would frown at such a thing as darkened windows.