Dead Man's Grip

There was so much to take on board. And all that on top of his police workload.
    From the moment Cleo had first given him the news that she was pregnant, he had determined that he would be an involved and committed parent. But now, reading through these books, the time and responsibilities required of him seemed daunting. He wanted to commit that time and he wanted those responsibilities, but how was it all going to be possible?
    At 5.30 he finally quit trying to sleep, slipped out of bed, went into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. His eyes felt like he’d been rubbing them with sandpaper. He wondered whether a short run would perk him up, but he felt just too tired. Instead, pulling on his tracksuit, he decided on a walk around the
block, focusing his thoughts on the day ahead, and taking Humphrey, who had insisted on joining him, on his lead. Then he dosed himself up on coffee, showered and dressed, and drove to the office.
    He arrived there just before 7 a.m., drank a Red Bull and made a phone call to the senior officer of the Close Protection Team that was concealed outside Carly Chase’s house. To his relief, all had been quiet.
    For this past night, at any rate.

72
    ‘I want you all to know,’ said Roy Grace at the start of the 8.30 a.m. briefing in MIR-1, ‘that I am not a happy sodding bunny.’
    Everyone in the room was already up to speed on the murder of the lorry driver. Major developments in an inquiry of this scale were passed around instantly.
    Taking a sip of his coffee and looking down at his notes, he went on, ‘Item One on my agenda is the ongoing series of leaks coming from someone to our friend Kevin Spinella at the Argus . OK?’
    He looked up at thirty-five solemn faces. Yesterday afternoon’s horrific discovery had shaken even the most hardened of this bunch. ‘I’m not accusing any of you, but someone has leaked to him about Preece’s hands being superglued to the steering wheel of his van. It is either a member of this inquiry team, or the Specialist Search Unit, or an employee at Shoreham Harbour, or one of the team in the mortuary. At some point I’m going to find that person and, when I do, I’m going to hang them out to dry on something even more painful than a meat hook. Do I make myself clear?’
    Everyone nodded. All those who worked with Roy Grace knew him to be even-tempered and placid, someone who rarely lost his head. It startled them to see him in a temper.
    He took another sip of his coffee. ‘Our media strategy could be vitally important. We believe a professional contract killer is here in Brighton, in all probability hired by the Revere family in New York to avenge their son’s death. We need to manage the media extremely carefully, both to try to get assistance from the public in finding this killer before he strikes again and to avoid any possible impact on the community.’
    ‘Sir,’ said DC Stacey Horobin, a bright-looking young woman in her early thirties, with fashionable straggly brown hair, who had been newly drafted into the inquiry team, ‘what exactly are your concerns on community impact?’
    Nick Nicholl’s phone rang. Under Grace’s withering glare, he hastily silenced it. There was a brief moment when Grace looked as if he would explode, but his response was calm. ‘I think we can assure the public, if it comes to it, that there is no general risk to them,’ he replied. ‘But I do not want our force to appear incapable of protecting an innocent member of the public.’
    ‘Was the Osman served on Mrs Chase, chief?’ asked Duncan Crocker.
    ‘Yes,’ Glenn Branson replied on Grace’s behalf. ‘Bella and I served it yesterday evening just after 6 p.m. Mrs Chase was offered the opportunity to be moved away, out of the area, but she refused for family and business reasons. Frankly, I think she’s unwise. DS Moy spent the night in her house, pending the installation of CCTV equipment this morning, and a Close Protection Team unit have been in place outside her residence since 9 p.m. last night. So far without incident.’
    ‘Is there any protection on her commute to work?’ asked Norman Potting. ‘And while she’s in her workplace?’
    ‘I’ve spoken to Inspector Hazzard at the Hove Neighbourhood Policing Team,’ Grace said. ‘Today and tomorrow, and for the first part of next week, she will be driven to and from work in a marked police car. And I’m putting a PCSO in reception at her office. I want to send