Dead Man's Time

passing this on to the charity Crimestoppers to put on their website and posters for anonymous informants, and to Sue Fleet in the press office.
    He was worrying about Glenn Branson. Twice when he had called, Glenn had told him he couldn’t speak at the moment and would bell him back.
    As Grace looked down at his notes, preparing to start the 6.30 p.m. briefing, David Green said, ‘Chief, I thought that little turd Smallbone was inside.’
    ‘He’s out on licence,’ DS Guy Batchelor replied. ‘This has his handwriting all over it. High-value house with the victim tortured. Never him personally, of course. He
gets scrotes to do his dirty work, gives them a cut. He’s his father’s son – except not as smart.’
    ‘I’d dearly love to go and have a chat with him myself, but I don’t think that would be too productive,’ Grace said, bearing in mind their past animosity. He turned to a
new addition to his enquiry team, DC Sam Tovey, a slim, quiet-natured woman with short, dark hair and a pleasant, if slightly brisk, no-nonsense air about her. Smallbone was a bully, but like all
male bullies he’d find it less easy to bully strong women, and Grace remembered him being intimidated by smart women officers in the past. As he looked around the team he thought hard about
the best people to send, and decided Bella Moy should be one of them. At thirty-five, she was mature enough to stand up to Amis, who was sixty-two. ‘Sam and Bella, I’d like you to go
and have a chat with Smallbone. Ask for an alibi for the night of Tuesday, August the 21st. I have an address for him on file, but he may have moved. The Probation Service will have it. Best not
send him my regards!’
    There was a titter of laughter. Several members of the team knew Roy Grace’s past history with Amis Smallbone, one of the Brighton underworld’s nastier specimens. Almost thirteen
years ago, Grace, then a young Detective Inspector, had been his arresting officer, and almost single-handedly responsible for putting Small-bone away for life. Just over two months ago, Smallbone
had been released from jail on licence.
    Smallbone’s late father, Morris, the brains behind what was, at one time, a widespread crime empire, had slipped through police hands countless times. Other people did time inside for him,
but never Morris – he was too smart. Less so his son, whose sadistic streak had been his undoing.
    Amis Smallbone had gone down on a charge of murdering a rival drug dealer in the city, by dropping an electric heater into his bathtub. At the time of his arrest, the villain had threatened
retribution against Roy Grace personally, and against his wife, Sandy. Three weeks later, with Smallbone in prison, someone had sprayed every plant in the garden of Grace’s home with
weedkiller.
    In the centre of the lawn had been burned the words:
    UR DEAD
    Smallbone had been on Roy Grace’s radar right from his very earliest days as a detective, after he had been the prime suspect in a number of scams involving tricking elderly, vulnerable
people out of their cash and valuable possessions, using threats and actual violence whenever necessary. There wasn’t an area of the Brighton and Hove crime scene, including burglary, drugs,
protection racketeering, prostitution, fake designer goods, vehicle theft and car clocking, that Smallbone’s family didn’t have a finger in. But what interested Roy Grace now was that
Smallbone’s credentials included fencing high-end antiques – most of which were shipped overseas, predominantly to Spain, within hours of being stolen.
    If an offender was freed on licence, as Smallbone had been, then if that person committed just one offence, of any nature, they would be straight back inside for many years. ‘Is there
anything to connect Smallbone with this?’ he asked.
    ‘Surely he wouldn’t be that stupid so soon after coming out, would he?’ Emma-Jane Boutwood said.
    ‘If it’s in the blood, it’s in the blood,’ Norman Potting said. Grace noticed he was perspiring heavily. ‘Smallbone was used to living high on the hog,’
Potting continued. ‘From memory, we pretty much cleaned him out after his conviction. He’ll be needing to earn again.’
    Grace nodded, then addressed Sam Tovey and Bella Moy. ‘Smallbone will have an alibi for last Tuesday evening, I’ll guarantee. He’ll have spent the evening in a pub where
he’s known, and there’ll be a dozen people there who can vouch for him.