Dead Man's Time

on the driveway, in front of the integral garage; the other one was empty. They
climbed out and walked to the front door, entering the porch, and Grace rang the bell.
    They could hear an aggressive beat of music coming from somewhere inside the house.
    ‘
The Number of the Beast
,’ Guy Batchelor said.
    ‘Iron Maiden?’ Grace asked.
    He nodded.
    ‘Didn’t know you were into music, Guy?’
    ‘Yeah, well, when you have a teenage daughter . . .’
    Grace grinned, and at that moment the heavy oak front door was opened by a barefoot woman in a cream silk dressing gown. She looked smaller in real life, and without make-up her face looked a
little bleached out; her long, dark hair was pushed up inside a towel, wrapped around like a turban. For a moment he hesitated in recognizing her as the strikingly attractive local TV news anchor
he had so often seen. She also looked a little nervy, a little frightened. Not at all the confident, assured woman on his television screen.
    ‘Hello?’ she said suspiciously. ‘Who are you?’
    ‘Sarah Courteney?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Grace held up his warrant card, and Batchelor did likewise. ‘I’m Detective Superintendent Grace and this is Detective Sergeant Batchelor of Sussex and Surrey CID, Major Crime
Branch,’ he said. ‘Would it be possible to have a quick word?’
    She glanced down at her watch. ‘This is to do with my husband’s aunt, presumably?’
    ‘Yes,’ Grace replied.
    ‘So dreadful. I still can’t quite believe it. Okay, come in. I can only give you a few minutes – the car’s on its way to take me to the studio. But I’d rather you
came in than stood out here – I’ve been besieged by the press over this.’
    ‘Of course. I’m a big fan of yours by the way!’ Grace said, then blushed, aware just how cheesy that had sounded.
    She gave him a genuinely warm smile. ‘Thank you so much!’
    They entered a hallway which smelled of fragrant pot-pourri. It was decorated with an exquisite antique table, two high-back chairs and a long-case clock. Photographs of the newscaster lined the
walls. One was of her with Fatboy Slim, another, together with the man Grace presumed to be her husband, with sports commentator Des Lynam. Another was her with Dame Vera Lynn, and another with
David Cameron. The music, coming from upstairs, was much louder in here. ‘Apologies for the din,’ she said with a grin. ‘My son, home from uni for the summer. That’s all he
does all day long.’ She led them through into the drawing room. ‘Can I offer you something to drink?’
    ‘No, we’re fine, thank you. We’ll be very quick.’ Grace’s eyes roamed the large, elegant but comfortable room; it was furnished almost entirely in antiques, with a
view out onto a well-kept lawn and a swimming pool. Two large, brown leather chesterfields faced each other in front of a marble fireplace, separated by an ornate wooden chest which served as a
coffee table. A huge television screen peeped out of what looked like an adapted mahogany tallboy. A trophy cabinet sat in one corner, and the mantel above the fireplace was stacked with
invitations. The room had a masculine feel, with just a few feminine touches.
The sign of a dominant husband
, Grace thought. Her dressing gown gaped open momentarily, before she clamped it
shut defensively, and in that moment he noticed some bruises high up on her chest. Had her husband done that? A man who might brutally torture someone, who also beat his wife?
    ‘Have you had any luck on the case?’ she asked.
    ‘We’re making progress,’ Grace replied. ‘But no arrests yet.’
    ‘These people are monsters – I hope you get them.’
    ‘We’re very hopeful,’ he said.
    ‘I can’t believe what they did to her.’
    ‘Were you and your husband close to Mrs McWhirter?’ Batchelor asked.
    She was quiet for a moment then she said, ‘I’m afraid no, not really. She and I always got on really well – we actually became quite close – but she had issues with
Lucas.’
    ‘What kind of issues?’
    ‘Well, the thing is that Lucas and his father don’t get along.’
    ‘So I’ve gathered,’ Grace said. ‘What is the problem there?’
    ‘His father’s a tough act to follow – a highly successful self-made man. I think he put a lot of pressure on Lucas, and my husband’s a strong man – it’s like
fire against fire.’
    ‘I think there’s often a problem when a relative works in a family business.’
    She shrugged. ‘I suppose