Dead Like You

would mean Monday morning at the very earliest.’
    ‘That’s too long to wait. It would mean a whole thirty hours before we could even begin to start searching for any forensic evidence that might help us. We’d be looking at the middle of this coming week, at the very earliest, on any possible matches. I think every hour could be crucial. We can’t leave it that long. This really could be the difference between life and death.’
    There was a long silence. Grace knew he was asking for a massive leap of faith. He was taking a huge personal gamble in making this request. It still was not 100 percent certain that Jessie Sheldon had been abducted. The likelihood was that, after twelve years, there would be no forensic evidence that could help his inquiry anyway. But he’d spoken to Joan Major, the forensic archaeologist that Sussex CID regularly consulted, who told him that it would at least be worth a try.
    With the pressures on him at this moment, he was willing to clutch at any straw. But he believed what he was requesting now was much more than that.
    Her voice becoming even more imperious, the Coroner said, ‘You want to do this in a public cemetery, in broad daylight, on a Sunday, Detective Superintendent? Just how do you think any bereaved people, visiting the graves of their loved ones on the holy day, might feel about this?’
    ‘I’m sure they’d be very distressed,’ he replied. ‘But not half as distressed as this young woman, Jessie Sheldon, who is missing. I believe the Shoe Man may have taken her. I could be wrong. We could be too late already. But if there’s a chance of saving her life, that’s more important than temporarily hurting the feelings of a few bereaved people who’ll probably leave the cemetery and head off to do their shopping in ASDA or Tesco, or wherever else they shop on the holy day,’ he said, making his point.
    ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll sign the order. Just be as discreet as you can. I’m sure you will.’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘I’ll meet you at my office in thirty minutes. I take it you’ve never been involved in one of these before?’
    ‘No, I haven’t.’
    ‘You won’t believe the bureaucracy that’s involved.’
    Grace could believe it. But at this moment he was more interested in saving Jessie Sheldon than in worrying about pleasing a bunch of pen-pushers. But he didn’t want to risk saying anything inflammatory. He thanked the Coroner and told her that he would be there in thirty minutes.

105
    Sunday 18 January
    Jessie heard the familiar grating clatter of the side door of the camper van opening. Then the vehicle rocked slightly and she was aware of footsteps right beside her. She was quaking in terror.
    An instant later, she was dazzled by the beam of a torch straight in her face.
    He sounded furious. ‘You stink,’ he said. ‘You stink of urine. You’ve wet yourself. You filthy cow.’
    The beam moved away from her face. Blinking, she looked up. He was now directing the beam on to his own hooded face deliberately, so she could see him.
    ‘I don’t like dirty women,’ he said. ‘That’s your problem, isn’t it? You’re all dirty. How do you expect to pleasure me when you stink like you do?’
    She pleaded with her eyes. Please untie me. Please free my mouth. I’ll do anything. I won’t fight. I’ll do anything. Please. I’ll do what you want, then let me go, OK? Deal? Do we have a deal?
    She was suddenly desperate to pee again, even though she had drunk nothing for what seemed an eternity and her mouth was all furred. What time was it? It was morning, she guessed, from the light that had momentarily filled the interior of the van a few minutes ago.
    ‘I have a Sunday lunch engagement,’ he said. ‘I don’t have time to sort you out and get you cleaned up, I’ll have to come back later. Too bad I can’t invite you. Are you hungry?’
    He shone the torch back on her face.
    She pleaded with her eyes for water. Tried to form the word inside her clamped mouth, inside her gullet, but all that came out was an undulating moan.
    She was desperate for water. And shaking, trying to keep control of her bladder.
    ‘Can’t quite understand what you’re saying – are you wishing me bon appétit?’
    ‘Grnnnnmmmmmoooowhhh.’
    ‘That’s so sweet of you!’ he said.
    She pleaded with her eyes again. Water. Water.
    ‘You probably want water. I’ll bet that’s what you’re saying. The problem is, if I bring you some, you’re just