Dead Man's Footsteps

meet Roy!’ she said. ‘Roy, meet Humphrey!’
    ‘Who – whose is this?’ he asked, bewildered.
    ‘Mine. I got him this afternoon. He’s a five-month-old rescue puppy – a Lab and Border Collie cross.’
    Roy’s right foot felt uncomfortably warm as the urine seeped in. And a strange hot flush of confusion swirled through him as he knelt and felt the dog’s slippery tongue lick his hand. He was totally astonished.
    ‘You – you never told me you were getting a puppy!’
    ‘Yep, well, there’s lots you don’t tell me either, Roy,’ she said breezily.
    An elderly woman came into the waiting room, gave him a suspicious look, as if to say, I’ve got the first appointment, sonny boy , then sat down.
    Roy had a packed schedule. At 9 a.m. he was going to see Alison Vosper and have it out with her about Cassian Pewe. At 9.45, later than normal, he was holding the first briefing meeting of Operation Dingo – the random name thrown up by the Sussex House computer for the investigation into the death of the Unknown Female , as the skeleton in the storm drain was currently called. Then at 10.30 he was due at morning prayers – the jokey name given to the newly reinstated weekly management team meetings.
    At midday he was scheduled to hold a press conference on the finding of the skeleton. Not a huge amount to tell at this point, but hopefully by revealing the age of the deadwoman, the physical characteristics and the approximate period when she died, it might jog someone’s memory about a mis-per from around that time. Supposing, of course, that it was not Sandy.
    ‘Roy! Good to see you!’
    Steve Cowling stood in the doorway in his white gown, beaming with his perfect white teeth. A tall man in his mid-fifties, with a ramrod-straight military bearing, immaculate hair becoming increasingly grey every time Roy saw him, he exuded charm and confidence in equal measure, combined always with a certain boyish enthusiasm, as if teeth really were the most exciting thing in the world.
    ‘Come in, old chap!’
    Grace gave an apologetic nod to the elderly lady, who looked distinctly miffed, and followed the dentist in to his bright, airy torture chamber.
    While, like himself, Steve Cowling grew a little older with each visit, the dentist had an endless succession of assistants who grew younger and more attractive. The latest, a leggy brunette in her early twenties, holding a buff envelope, smiled at him, then removed a clutch of negatives and handed them to Cowling with a flirty glance.
    He picked up the alginate cast Roy had given him twenty minutes earlier. ‘Right, Roy. This is really quite interesting. The first thing I have to say is that it is definitely not Sandy.’
    ‘It’s not?’ he echoed, a little flatly.
    ‘Absolutely not.’ Cowling pointed at the negatives. ‘Those are Sandy’s – there’s no comparison at all. But the cast provides quite a lot of information that may be helpful.’ He gave Grace a bright smile.
    ‘Good.’
    ‘This woman has had implants, which would have beenquite expensive when they were done. Screw-type titanium – made by a Swiss company, Straumann. They’re basically a hollow cylinder put over a root, which then grows into them and makes a permanent fixing.’
    Grace felt a conflicting surge of emotions as he listened, trying to concentrate but finding it hard suddenly.
    ‘What is interesting, old boy, is that we can put a rough date on these – which corresponds to an estimate of how long ago this woman died. They started going out of fashion about fifteen years ago. She’s had some other quite costly work done, some restorations and bridge work. If she’s from this area, then I would say there are only about five or six dentists who could have done this work. A good place to start would be Chris Gebbie, who practises in Lewes. I’ll write down the others for you as well. And it means that she’d have been reasonably well off.’
    Grace listened, but his thoughts were elsewhere. If this skeleton had been Sandy, however grim, it would have brought some kind of closure. But now the agony of uncertainty continued.
    He didn’t know whether he felt disappointed or relieved.

34
SEPTEMBER 2007
    The stench that erupted from the car’s boot made everyone on the river bank gag. It was like a blocked drain that had suddenly been cleared and months – maybe years – of trapped gases from decomposition were freed into the air, all at once.
    Lisa backed away in shock,