Dead Man's Footsteps

prove, one hundred per cent, that you had nothing to do with her disappearance, it would end that once and for all.’
    ‘I’ve never heard any innuendo,’ Grace said.
    ‘With respect, Roy,’ Pewe said, ‘quite a few people think that the original investigation was a rushed job and thatyou had a hand in bringing it to a premature stop. They are asking why.’
    ‘Name one of them?’
    ‘That wouldn’t be fair on them. All I’m trying to do is to revisit the evidence, using the best modern techniques and technology we have, in order to totally exonerate you.’
    Grace had to bite his tongue; he could not believe the man’s arrogance. But this wasn’t the moment to start a slanging match. He needed to get away from here in a few minutes and into position for Abby Dawson’s rendezvous, which had been set for 10.30.
    ‘Jack, can we come back to this later? I’m not at all happy about it, but I have to get going.’
    ‘Actually, I was thinking it might be a good idea if Cassian came with you, in your car. He could be invaluable to your team in the current situation.’ He turned to Pewe. ‘I’m correct, aren’t I, Cassian, that you are an experienced hostage negotiator?’
    ‘I am, yes.’
    Grace could hardly believe his ears. God help any poor sodding hostage who ends up with Pewe negotiating for him , he thought.
    ‘I think also it would be good for him to see how we operate down in Sussex. We clearly handle some things in a different way from the Met. Might be a good learning curve for you, Cassian, I think, to observe how one of our most experienced officers handles a major operation.’ He looked at Grace and the message could not be clearer.
    But Roy was in no mood for smiling.

117
OCTOBER 2007
    It had been a long time since she had last come here, Abby thought, threading the car along the winding road that climbed steadily between fields of grass and vast areas of stubble. Maybe it was her heightened nerves, but the colours of the landscape seemed almost preternaturally vivid. The sky was a canopy of intense blue, with just a few tiny clouds here and there, scudding across. It felt almost as if she was wearing tinted glasses.
    She gripped the steering wheel hard, feeling the gusting wind buffeting the car, trying to push it off course. She had a lump in her throat and the needles in her stomach were burning even more fiercely.
    She also had a small lump on her chest. A tiny microphone, held in place by gaffer tape that was pulling uncomfortably on her skin with every movement she made. She wondered if Detective Sergeant Branson, or whichever of his colleagues were listening at the other end, could hear the deep breaths she was taking.
    The DS had at first wanted her to wear an ear-piece so that she could listen to any instructions they needed to give her. However, when she told him that Ricky had picked up some previous conversations she’d had, he decided it was too risky. But they would hear her, everyword. All she had to do was ask them for help and they would move in, he assured her.
    She couldn’t remember when she had last prayed, but she found herself praying now, suddenly, silently. Dear God, please let Mum be OK. Please help me through this. Please, dear God.
    There was a car in front of her, driving slowly, an elderly maroon Alfa Romeo with two men inside, the passenger talking on what she presumed was his mobile phone. She followed it round a sharp left-hand bend, passing a hotel on the right, and the Cuckmere river estuary below. The brake lights of the Alfa came on, as it slowed to let a delivery van cross a narrow bridge, then it accelerated again. Now the road was climbing.
    After a few more minutes she saw a road sign ahead. The brake lights on the Alfa came on once more, then its right-turn indicator began flashing.
    The sign read TOWN CENTRE A259 , with an arrow pointing straight on, and SEAFRONT BEACHY HEAD , with an arrow pointing right.
    She followed the Alfa Romeo to the right. It continued to drive at a maddeningly slow pace, and she glanced at the car’s clock and her watch. The clock was a minute slower, but she knew her watch was accurate, she had set it earlier: 10.25 a.m. Just five minutes. She was tempted to overtake, worried that she would be late.
    Then her phone rang. Private number calling.
    She answered it on the in-car speaker plugged into the cigarette lighter which the police had given her so they could hear any conversation.
    ‘Yes?’ she