Dead Man's Grip

still at work?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Thanks for staying so late. So, tell me?’
    ‘Just had a call from Thames Valley Road Policing Unit. It’s in a parking area at Newport Pagnell Services on the M1.’
    ‘How did they find it?’ Grace was doing his best to think clearly through his tiredness.
    ‘It was logged by an ANPR camera as it entered Bucks on the M1 on Tuesday night, boss. There were no further logs, so we asked the local police to check likely pull-ins.’
    ‘Good stuff. What CCTV do they have at the service station?’
    ‘They’ve got cameras on the private vehicle and truckers’ entrances.’
    ‘OK, we need those, to see if Ferguson went inside. How long are you planning on staying up?’
    ‘As long as you need me.’
    ‘Ask them for copies of the videos from the time the ANPR clocked him to now and get them down to us as quickly as possible. If it helps them, we can send someone up there.’
    ‘Will do.’
    Grace stroked the dog again. He knew he wasn’t thinking as clearly as he needed to at this moment.
    ‘Sorry, one other important thing – Ferguson’s lorry. I want it protected as a crime scene. Get on to Thames Valley Police to secure it. They need to cordon off a good twenty-foot radius around it. If the driver was attacked, it’s likely to have happened close to the vehicle. We need a search team on to it at first light. What’s the weather up there at the moment?’
    ‘Dry, light wind – it’s been the same since Tuesday night. Forecast the same for the morning.’
    That was a relief to Grace. Rain could wash away forensic evidence very rapidly.
    ‘I’ll sort out the search team, Duncan. If you deal with the CCTV, please. Then go home and get some sleep. You’ve done well.’
    ‘Thanks, boss.’
    Grace let Humphrey out on to the patio and watched him pee. Then he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Upstairs he heard the sound of the loo flushing and wondered, for a moment, if Cleo was going to come down and join him. But instead he heard the bedroom door slam – a little too loudly.
    Sandy used to slam the bedroom door when she was angry about a late-night phone call that had disturbed her. Cleo was a lot more tolerant, but he could sense her pregnancy getting to her. It was getting to both of them. Most of the time it was a shared joy, or a shared anxiety, but just occasionally it seemed like a growing wedge between them and she had been in a really grumpy mood last night.
    He made a phone call, apologetically waking Crime Scene Manager Tracy Stocker and bringing her up to speed. He asked her to send a SOCO team up to Newport Pagnell – about a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Brighton – to be there ready to start at dawn. At the same time, in light of the latest development, he discussed the joint strategy she would need with the POLSA – the Police Search Advisor – and search team.
    Then he spooned instant coffee into a mug, poured boiling water on to it, stirred it and carried it out into the living room. He felt chilly, but he could not be bothered to put on any more clothes.
    He sat down on the sofa with his laptop, bleary-eyed, stirring the coffee again and staring at the laptop as it powered up. Humphrey found a chew and started a life or death tussle with it on the floor. Grace smiled at him, envying him his uncomplicated life. Maybe if he got the chance to choose, when he died he’d come back as a dog. So long as he got to pick his owners.
    He Googled Newport Pagnell Services. M oments later he had a full listing of what was there, but that did not help him. He opened Google Earth and again he entered Newport Pagnell Services .
    When the globe appeared, he zoomed in. Within moments he saw a close-up of the M1 motorway and the surrounding area. He stared at it, sipping his hot coffee and thinking hard.
    Ferguson must have continued on down to Sussex in another vehicle. His assailant’s? So how had he met his assailant?
    Was it someone he knew and had arranged to rendezvous with
in the car park? Possible, he thought. But to his mind, it was more probable that the assailant had been following him, looking for a suitable opportunity. And if this assumption was right, it meant that the assailant could not have been more than a few vehicles behind Ferguson’s lorry.
    He put his coffee down and started suddenly, pacing around the room. Humphrey jumped up at him again, wanting to play.
    ‘Down!’ he hissed, and then he dialled MIR-1, relieved when DS