Dead Man's Time

name?’
    ‘Robert Kenton.’
    ‘Robert Kenton?’
    ‘Do you know him?’
    ‘No, I’ve never heard of him.’
    ‘No guarantee that’s his real name.’
    ‘Indeed.’ Gavin thanked him and hung up. He debated for some moments whether to phone Detective Superintendent Grace, then decided against it.
    Instead, he poured himself another drink, relit his cigar and thought hard.

61
    ‘Team, we have a result,’ Glenn Branson announced, rejoining the evening briefing after having stepped out to take a phone call. ‘Boss, that call I had this
afternoon at the funeral, right? The two bodies found in the harbour at Puerto Banus close to the yacht,
Contented?
Its upturned dinghy near them. The boat owned by the man your informant
in Lewes Prison told you about, yeah?’
    Grace looked up at the large rectangle of paper that had been slightly crookedly Blu-Tacked to a whiteboard. On it was written, OPERATION FLOUNDER – ASSOCIATION CHART.
EAMONN POLLOCK. Computer-generated, it looked like a family tree from school history books, but with modern heads and shoulders, the men in blue, the women red.
    ‘The one who has previous for fencing, you were told,’ Branson continued.
    ‘Yes, that’s right – with another old friend of ours.’ Grace pointed at a line running to a small box to the right on the Association Chart. ‘Look what we have
here, our very own Six Degrees of Separation. Except there’s no separation. On the fencing job Pollock was done for – a haul of watches – Amis Smallbone was known to be involved.
I had a look at the file; Smallbone was charged but released for lack of evidence.’ He turned to the indexer, Annalise Vineer. ‘Nice work, Annalise,’ he said, then turned back to
Branson.
    ‘I think you got your money’s worth from your informant, chief.’
    ‘Tell me more.’
    Glenn Branson had everyone in the Conference Room’s attention. Roy Grace shot a glance at Bella Moy then at Norman Potting. Although they were both on his team, they both deserved some
happiness. So as far as he was concerned, good luck to them.
    ‘That was my Spanish Interpol contact calling me. They’ve got positive IDs on both of the bodies. One’s called Anthony Joseph Macario and the other Kenneth Oliver Barnes. Both
– despite Macario’s name – Irish citizens.’ He looked at the indexer. ‘Can you do a nationwide check on those names as quickly as possible and see if that throws up
anything?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Good work, Glenn,’ Grace said. ‘So, we have the knocker-boy, Ricky Moore, who we think may have been the originator of this burglary, apparently tortured within twenty-four
hours of Aileen McWhirter being found. Then Gavin Daly’s son goes to Marbella on a “golfing” holiday, despite there being no evidence he’s ever picked up a golf club in his
life. Eamonn Pollock becomes a possible Person of Interest. And now two bodies are found in the vicinity of his boat. If we could connect Macario or Barnes to the house in Withdean Road or to
Pollock, we might be getting somewhere.’
    Grace looked at DC Alec Davies, one of the younger members of his team. ‘Alec, I’m tasking you with finding out if Lucas Daly flew to Spain alone or was accompanied. Start with the
airlines, like easyJet; they should be able to tell you if he was on his own or not.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    He looked at Potting. ‘Norman, I’d like you to fly out to Marbella and see what you can find.’
    ‘Yes, chief.’ Potting’s eyes darted momentarily towards Bella, then back to Grace. ‘Should I take someone with me?’
    ‘Not with our current budget, I’m afraid.’
    ‘Don’t forget your bucket and spade, Norman,’ Guy Batchelor said. ‘Nice beaches there, I’m told.’
    ‘I got the shits last time I was in Spain,’ Potting replied. ‘From a dodgy paella.’
    Grace’s phone, on silent, vibrated with an incoming call. He was about to kill the call, then thought better of it, and took it. ‘Roy Grace,’ he said quietly.
    Two minutes later he ended the call, feeling a real buzz for the first time on this case. He looked at Potting. ‘Got your Holy Bible with you, Norman?’
    A titter of laugher rippled through the assembled company of thirty-five police officers and civilian support staff.
    ‘Think I must have left it on my regular pew, chief,’ Potting replied with a grin.
    Bibles were needed when a police officer requested a search warrant from a magistrate.
    ‘Lucky I keep one in my