Dead Like You

on its way. But this is why I thought it might be of interest. It’s a current model Ford Transit – sounds similar to the one you have an alert out on.’
    The news made Grace uneasy. ‘Any casualties?’
    ‘It appears to be empty.’
    ‘No one seen running away from it?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Anything from its registration?’
    ‘The licence plates are burned beyond recognition, I’m told, sir.’
    ‘OK, thanks,’ he said. ‘We have our man in custody. It may not be connected. But keep me updated.’
    ‘I will, sir.’
    Grace ended the call and entered the front door of Sussex House, nodding a greeting to the night security man.
    ‘Hi, Duncan. How’s the running?’
    The tall, athletic forty-year-old smiled at him proudly. ‘Completed a half-marathon last weekend. Came fifteenth out of seven hundred.’
    ‘Brilliant!’
    ‘Working up for the London marathon this year. Hope I can touch you for some sponsorship – for St Wilfred’s Hospice?’
    ‘Absolutely!’
    Grace walked through to the rear of the building and out of the door, crossing the courtyard. He passed the wheelie bins and the SOCO vehicles which were permanently housed there, then went up the steep incline towards the custody block. As he pressed his key card against the security panel to unlock the door, his phone rang again.
    It was Inspector Rob Leet once more.
    ‘Roy, I thought I’d better call you right away. I know you have the Shoe Man in custody, but we’ve got a unit on site in Sudeley Place, Kemp Town, attending a Grade One.’
    This was the highest category of emergency call, requiring immediate attendance. Grace knew Sudeley Place. It was just south of Eastern Road. The tone of Leet’s voice worried him. What the Duty Inspector had to say fuelled that worry further.
    ‘Apparently a local resident happened to be looking out of her window and saw a woman having a fight with a man over a fridge.’
    ‘A fridge?’
    ‘He was in some sort of van – a camper of some kind – she’s not very good on vehicles, couldn’t give us the make. She reckons he hit her, then drove off at high speed.’
    ‘With her on board?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘When was this?’
    ‘About thirty-five minutes ago – just after 6.30 p.m.’
    ‘He could be anywhere by now. Did she get the registration?’
    ‘No. But I’m treating this as a possible abduction and I’ve cordoned off that section of pavement. I’ve asked Road Policing to check all camper vans on the move in the vicinity of the city. We’re going to see if we can get anything from CCTV.’
    ‘OK. Look, I’m not quite sure why you’re telling me this. We have our Shoe Man suspect in custody. I’m about to go and see him.’
    ‘There’s a reason why I think it could be significant for you, sir.’ Leet hesitated. ‘My officers attending have found a woman’s shoe on the pavement.
    ‘What kind of a shoe?’
    ‘Very new, apparently. Black patent leather, with a high heel. The witness saw it fall out of the camper.’
    Grace felt a falling sensation deep in the pit of his stomach. His mind was whirling. They had the Shoe Man. At this very moment they were booking John Kerridge into custody.
    But he did not like the sound of the burning van.
    And he liked the sound of this new incident even less.

99
    Saturday 17 January
    In the CCTV room of Sussex Remote Monitoring Services, Dunstan Christmas shifted his twenty-stone bulk on the chair, careful not to lift his weight off altogether and trigger the alarm sensor. It was only 7.30 p.m. Shit. Another hour and half to wait before he would be relieved for a five-minute comfort break.
    He was not due on nights for another two weeks, but he’d agreed to cover for someone who was sick because he needed the overtime pay. Time wasn’t even crawling by; it felt like it had stopped altogether. Maybe it was even going backwards, like in a sci-fi movie he’d watched recently on Sky. It was going to be a long night.
    But thinking about the money he was making cheered him. Mr Starling might be a strange boss, but he paid well. The money here was good; much better than in his previous job, watching X-rayed luggage at Gatwick Airport.
    He reached forward, pulled a handful of Doritos out of the giant-size packet in front of him, munched them and washed them down with a swig of Coca-Cola from the two-litre bottle, then belched. As he routinely ran his eyes over all twenty screens, his hand close to the microphone button in case he should happen to