Not Dead Enough

parents, but she’s an only child and the bulk of it she left to me.’
    An alarm bell rang suddenly inside Robert Vernon’s head. He frowned, just very slightly. Too slightly for Bishop to notice.

82
    ‘The time is six thirty p.m., Monday 7 August,’ Roy Grace read out briskly from his notes, feeling in a distinctly upbeat mood, for a change. ‘This is our second joint briefing of Operation Chameleon and Operation Mistral.’
    Mistral was the name the police computer had chosen, at random, for the Sophie Harrington inquiry. The conference room at Sussex House was filled to capacity, with police officers and support staff packed around the table in tight rows of chairs. There was an almost electric sense of expectation in the room. And for once the air conditioning was working properly.
    Grace sped through the summaries, then concluded by saying, ‘There have been a number of significant developments during the course of today, I am pleased to report.’ He looked at the beanpole of a young father, DC Nick Nicholl. ‘Would you like to start?’
    Nicholl, with his jacket off, his top button undone and his tie slack, read formally from the notes on his pad. ‘I interviewed Ms Holly Richardson at her place of work, the Regent Public Relations Agency, 71 Trafalgar Road, Brighton, at eleven o’clock this morning. She stated that she and Miss Harrington had been at secretarial college together and had remained best friends since then. Ms Richardson informed me that Sophie had confided in her that she had been carrying on a secret relationship with Brian Bishop for approximately six months. Sophie had related to her that on occasions recently Bishop behaved in a violent manner towards her, which frightened her. And he made a number of increasingly sadistic and perverted sexual demands on her.’
    He mopped his brow and continued, turning the page of his notepad. ‘A technician in the Telecoms Unit here, John Smith, who has been examining both Miss Harrington’s mobile phone records and Brian Bishop’s, has informed me that each party made a large number of phone calls daily to the other during this six-month period. The most recent was a call from Miss Harrington to Mr Bishop at four fifty-one on Friday afternoon, a few hours before her estimated time of death.’
    Grace thanked him, then turned to the burly figure of Guy Batchelor.
    The Detective Sergeant told the assembled teams about the cash call Brian Bishop had made on the investors in his company, International Rostering Solutions PLC. He concluded by saying, ‘Although his business seems to be expanding and is well regarded, Bishop is hocked up to his eyeballs in debt.’
    The significance was not lost on anyone in the room. Then he delivered his nuke. He told the two teams about Bishop’s criminal record.
    Grace watched all their faces. There was a sense of progress in this room that was palpable.
    Next, he had arranged for an abbreviated cut of Norman Potting and Alfonso Zafferone’s interview with Barty Chancellor to be played on the video screen. When it finished, Potting informed the team that he had made inquiries about the particular make and model of gas mask that had been found on both victims. The manufacturer had been identified, and they were awaiting information on the number that had been produced and a full list of UK stockists.
    Next was DCI Duigan, who related what the neighbour who lived opposite the house where Sophie Harrington had her flat claimed to have seen. She had positively identified Bishop from the photograph that had been in the Argus and would be very happy to attend a formal identity procedure.
    Theatrically saving the best to last, Roy Grace turned to Bella Moy.
    The DS produced a photograph of the number plate of Brian Bishop’s Bentley, relating that it had been taken by an ANPR camera, on the southbound carriageway of the M23, near to Gatwick airport at eleven forty-seven on Thursday night. She pointed out that despite Bishop’s alibi that he was in London, his car was seen heading in the direction of Brighton, no more than thirty minutes away, well within the frame of the estimated time of his wife’s murder.
    But Grace privately had concerns about this, as the photograph had been taken at night. The number plate was clearly visible, but it was impossible to determine the make of the car. It was helpful secondary evidence, but no slam-dunk. A half-competent barrister would kick it into touch in seconds. But it