Dead Man's Time

the deaths of Macario and Barnes. If the shoe-prints on the boat match his henchman’s, then we
have him too. Don’t forget there’s an historical association between Amis Smallbone and Eamonn Pollock.’
    ‘Yes, I’m aware. But there’s one thing still bothering me. All the sets of shoeprints are from trainers: Haydn Kelly’s identified the one in the letting agent’s and
Smallbone’s house – and now on the boat – as a Nike shoe, of which there are tens of thousands. The other one on the boat are Asics, again tens of thousands sold.’
    ‘There are a number of ways to put those people at those scenes,’ Grace replied. ‘In addition to the same make, model and size of the trainers there’s also the comparison
of wear patterns – Haydn Kelly explained this to me a few days ago and, if we can obtain the trainers, a comparison can be performed of the insoles in the trainers to the insoles in the
suspect’s footwear as these give an imprint of the person’s foot. If there is a match there, then that is pretty much game, set and match! We may also get lucky with DNA deposits inside
the trainers.’
    ‘Good stuff! Brilliant! Plenty of options for us.’
    ‘If we stay alive long enough,’ Grace said, eyeing the road ahead nervously.

123
    In his office at 3 p.m., Grace had just finished a call with Haydn Kelly, discussing in further detail the shoeprints they had. He sipped a strong cup of tea and then yawned.
In half an hour a Detective Superintendent from Surrey, whom he had never met, would be arriving to conduct a review of Operation Flounder. It was standard practice, at certain intervals during a
major crime investigation, for an experienced outsider to look through the policy book, and all lines of enquiry that the SIO had running, as well as the size and make-up of the team.
    It was likely to be a slow and tedious process, Grace knew, and he could seriously have done without this today – particularly with the way things were moving, he was fast getting this
whole case wrapped up. With luck the review would be finished by the evening briefing at 6.30 p.m. which he would attend, and then he would head home. He was about to type an email to ACC Rigg to
give him a summary, before meeting to brief him fully tomorrow morning, when his phone rang.
    It was Pat Lanigan. ‘Hey, how you doing, Roy? Home safe?’
    ‘Yes, thanks.’
    ‘Is all okay? Cleo? The baby?’
    ‘Yes, thanks, all is fine. They’re safe and well.’
    ‘Hopefully that punk was acting on his own.’
    ‘I hope so, too.’
    Then Lanigan’s tone changed, becoming more serious. ‘Ithought you’d want to know this right away. The old guy, Gavin Daly, didn’t wake up this morning.’
    Grace felt a sudden, deep twinge of sadness. ‘He’s dead?’
    ‘Seems like he passed away peacefully during the night. He had some heart problems, so maybe the stress of being arrested – it’s a pretty big thing for anyone, but especially a
guy of that age – maybe that’s what did it. I guess we’ll know more after the autopsy.’
    ‘I’ll never forget the sight of him on that dive boat, looking inside the tarp. Ever,’ Grace said.
    ‘Yeah, that was something. You know what? I think he knew he was going to go last night. The prison officer taking care of him said he was very funny about breakfast, saying he
wasn’t going to need any. Made him wonder if the guy was a bit suicidal, so he kept an extra eye on him.’
    ‘I don’t think he was suicidal, Pat. I think he’d done the one thing he had left in his life that he wanted to do. He told me some of his story, about his father and mother,
over a cigar in his sister’s garden a couple of weeks back. I was moved.’
    ‘Uh huh? Maybe. But you know, he spent the evening, before the lights went down, writing instructions. He wanted his father’s remains to be buried in Brooklyn Cemetery as close as
possible to his mother’s. He wanted restitution paid to the antiques guy, Rosenblaum, for the gunshot damage in his office. And – you’ll like this – he asked if someone
could contact you and apologize for the trouble you’ve been put to.’
    ‘Very nice of him,’ Grace said, with a grin.
    ‘To me, that sounds like a suicide note, pal.’
    ‘Either way, he’s gone, Pat. Does it actually matter? Nothing’s going to bring him back – and, you know, I don’t think he would have wanted to come back.
Life’s not compulsory!’
    ‘I like that!’ Lanigan said.