Dead Man's Time

appreciate a few hours out of prison,’ Roy Grace, in the front passenger seat, said. It was midday, and they had to return Dupont by 5 p.m. Guy Batchelor
reversed the car out of the custody block bay. The police always had to be discreet when taking prisoners out on a Production Order, to avoid other prisoners finding out. The slightest whiff that
one might be a grass, and life inside could be extremely unpleasant and dangerous.
    The reason given in this instance was that Gareth Dupont was going to show the police addresses of other domestic burglaries he had done in and around Sussex, in the hope of leniency on that
part of his sentence. Even so, rather than collecting him from the prison, he had first been transferred to the custody block behind Sussex House.
    ‘I’d prefer not to be in there in the first place.’
    ‘Your choice,’ Grace said. ‘Right?’
    Batchelor drove down to the electric gate and waited while it slid open.
    ‘I didn’t hurt the old lady. I didn’t have any part in that.’
    ‘So what part did you have, Gareth?’
    He held up his handcuffed arms in front of him. ‘Any chance you could remove these? I’m not going to try to escape.’
    ‘That’s very big of you,’ Grace said. ‘Let’s see how co-operative you are, and we might do even better than that – perhaps get you a decent meal?’ He
raised his eyebrows.
    Dupont visibly perked up at that. ‘What about prison – can you get me a better cell?’
    ‘One with a sunken bathtub? I think the one with the four-poster bed’s already been taken.’
    ‘Haha. I’m sharing with a moron who stinks, and snores like a hog. But like, he really stinks, know what I mean? He’s disgusting.’
    ‘I’ll see what I can do, but I’m not making any promises – I don’t have the authority to. But if you are helpful to us, I’ll speak to the Governor. So, what
takes your fancy for lunch?’
    ‘Any chance of a Big Mac?’
    ‘With fries and a Coke?’
    ‘Don’t get my hopes up.’
    ‘Happy to get you all of those, Gareth, if you’re helpful to us.’
    They headed along the A27, then up the hill and turned off onto Dyke Road Avenue, a wide road running along the spine of Brighton and Hove, lined on both sides with some of the city’s most
expensive houses, although some had long been converted into nursing homes. A short distance along they pulled over, outside wrought-iron gates; a large red-brick house sat well back, with a
Bentley and a Ferrari in the drive.
    ‘Recognize this place?’ Grace asked.
    Dupont shook his head.
    ‘It was burgled three years ago. A large haul of paintings and Georgian silver. No one’s ever been apprehended. One of yours?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘You’re sure? It’ll be better for you to admit other offences before your trial; the judge will be more lenient that way. Otherwise you could find more time being added to your
sentence.’
    ‘I don’t think anyone can add much time to a life sentence. No, I never burgled this place. And, look, I didn’t play any part in hurting the old lady. You have to believe
me.’
    ‘Why do I have to believe you?’
    ‘Because – oh shit.’ He sighed. ‘Those arseholes didn’t need to torture her. I already had the safe code, and I knew about the dummy door at the back of
it.’
    ‘You knew about the Patek Philippe watch that was in it?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Really? Who from?’
    ‘I can’t tell you; he’d kill me.’
    ‘
He?
Are you sure it wasn’t
she
?’
    ‘It was
he
,’ he said, adamantly. His eyes told Grace he was telling the truth.
    Grace nodded at DS Batchelor to drive on, then turned back to Dupont. ‘So it’s entirely coincidence you were – are – having an affair with Lucas Daly’s wife, and
then you were involved with burgling her husband’s aunt’s house?’
    Dupont shrugged. ‘I might have picked her brains on a few things.’
    ‘Did you specifically target her, or was meeting her just a lucky coincidence?’
    ‘Know one of the things I believe in?’ the prisoner responded. ‘Serendipity. Sometimes in life you get lucky.’
    Batchelor turned right, down tree-lined Tongdean Road, which was even more exclusive than Dyke Road Avenue. Some of the houses were concealed behind walls and shrubbery. They passed one with
white columns the proportions of an ancient Greek temple, then turned left into Tongdean Avenue, considered by many to be the city’s most exclusive street. Batchelor steered around three
learner drivers in