Looking Good Dead

believed the dictum of one of his favourite characters in fiction, Sherlock Holmes. ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable , must be the truth.’
    His thoughts were interrupted by the chirrup of his mobile phone. He looked at the display but the number was withheld – most likely it was a colleague, standard practice among police officers. Answering it he said, ‘Roy Grace.’
    ‘Yo, old wise man!’ said a familiar voice.
    ‘Fuck off, I’m busy,’ Grace said with a grin. After three hours trying to make conversation with the miserably silent Dr Frazer Theobald, itwas good to hear a friendly voice. Glenn Branson was a Detective Sergeant with whom he was close mates. They had worked together on and off for several years, and he was the first person Grace had recruited onto his Major Incident Team for this murder.
    ‘Well you can fuck off too, old timer. While you’re lounging around on your second brandy after a long lunch, I’m working my butt off doing your job for you.’
    The unpleasant taste of a sardine and tomato sandwich, Grace’s lunch which seemed like an aeon ago, still lingered in his memory. ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ he said.
    ‘Saw a well brilliant film last night. Serpico . Al Pacino playing this “tec” routing out bent cops in the New York Police Department. Ever see it?’ Branson was a total movie buff.
    ‘I saw it about thirty years ago, when I was in my cradle.’
    ‘It was made in 1973.’
    ‘Films take a long time to reach your local picture house, do they?’
    ‘Very witty. You should see it again – it’s so good. Al Pacino, he’s the man.’
    ‘Thanks for this valuable piece of information, Glenn,’ he said, stepping out of the awning and out of earshot of the pathologist, a police photographer named Martin Pile, and Dennis Ponds, the senior Sussex Police Public Relations Officer, who had just arrived and was waiting to be briefed by Grace for the press. From his experience, at this stage in a major incident it was best to say very little. The less information the press printed about what had actually been found, the state of the body or body parts and the location, the easier it would be to weed out crank phone calls and time wasters – and to tell when there was a caller with genuine information.
    At the same time the police had to recognize the wisdom of maintaining a good working relationship with the media – although in Grace’s case that had been souring fast over the past couple of weeks. He’d been pilloried in today’s news over the death of two suspects, and he’d been savaged last week for admitting in court, during a murder trial, that he had consulted a medium.
    ‘I’m standing on a hill in the pissing rain. How exactly does this help our enquiry?’
    ‘It doesn’t; it’s for your education. All you ever watch is crap.’

    ‘Nothing wrong with Desperate Housewives .’
    ‘Tell me about it, I live with one. But I have some information for you.’
    ‘Uh huh?’
    ‘A trainee solicitor – an articled clerk. Just come in.’
    ‘Well that would be a loss,’ Grace said sarcastically.
    ‘You know, man, you’re sick.’
    ‘No, just honest.’
    Like most of his police colleagues, Roy Grace disliked the legal profession, criminal lawyers in particular, for whom the law was just a game. Every day police officers risked their lives trying to catch criminals; their lawyers made good livings trying to outwit the law and free them. Sure, Grace knew, innocent people who were arrested had to be protected. But it was still early days in Glenn’s career – he wasn’t long enough in the tooth as a cop yet. He hadn’t experienced enough human scum escaping justice thanks to smart lawyers.
    ‘Yeah, whatever. She didn’t turn up for work today. One of her friends checked her flat. She’s not there; they’re well worried.’
    ‘So? When was she last seen?’
    ‘At work yesterday afternoon. She had an important client meeting this morning and she never showed. Never phoned. Her boss said this isn’t in character. Her name’s Janie Stretton.’
    ‘I’ve got a list of four other names, Glenn. What makes this one special?’
    ‘Just a hunch.’
    ‘Janie Stretton?’
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘I’ll add her to the list.’
    ‘Put her at the top.’
    The rain was permeating his suit, and dripping down his face. Grace stepped back into the shelter of the tented awning. ‘We still don’t have a head,’ he