Not Dead Yet

Manager for the investigation.
    ‘Why would the perpetrator have retained the limbs, chief?’ DC Jon Exton asked.
    ‘I have no idea. That’s our job to find out.’ He looked down at his notes again. ‘Right, missing persons. Norman, anything to report?’
    ‘I have the outside enquiry team working through all mispers in Sussex, Surrey and Kent who correspond to the estimated date “Unknown Berwick Male” was killed, and to his build and estimated height. But I have nothing to report so far, boss.’
    Grace thanked him then moved on. ‘ Acting Detective Inspector Branson,’ he said with emphasis, ‘what can you tell us about the suit recovered at the lakeside?’
    ‘I had to make a decision, boss, between leaving it with the tailor, Ryan Farrier at Gresham Blake, to see what we can learn about its owner from its size and construction, or sending it to the lab for immediate DNA analysis. But I thought in the interests of preserving any possible DNA it should go to the lab first.’
    ‘That’s the right decision,’ Grace said. ‘Maybe you could take this tailor up to the lab and he could examine it there.’
    ‘I’ve arranged that already, for tomorrow morning!’ Glenn said, with a grin.
    Grace smiled back. He was so proud of his protégé. In his methodical manner, eye for detail and the way he thought for himself, Glenn was demonstrating more and more that he had all the makings of a very fine detective. He glanced back down at his notes. ‘A substantial number of quality footprints were found at the site, some in the vicinity of the piece of cloth found on the gorse bush.’ He paused to point to the blow-up and the sample strip pinned to the whiteboard at the end of the table. ‘In particular several matching footprints were found around the perimeter of the lake, and beside the deposition site of the suit.’ He turned to DC Exton. ‘Jon, there were casts and photographs taken; I’m tasking you to find the manufacturer of this footwear. I suggest you start with the National Policing Improvement Agency – their National Footwear Reference Collection.’
    ‘Right away, chief.’
    ‘I’ve asked a forensic podiatrist, Dr Haydn Kelly, who is one of the country’s leading forensic gait analysts, to attend tomorrow evening’s briefing – giving him time to analyse the footprints.’ He looked up. ‘Right, Crimewatch . Do we have any further leads from that?’
    ‘Nothing significant, chief,’ DC Nicholl said. ‘We’ve had seventy-five calls so far, and three names. And a load of crank calls. The usual drunks calling in. One said his dad did it – and then went on to say his dad died five years ago. Another said that Kirsty Young did it. We graded the calls, as usual, A, B and C. The only Grade A was the angler, William Pitcher, this morning.’
    Grace thanked him then asked, ‘Does anyone have anything else to add?’
    Several heads shook.
    ‘See you all tomorrow at 8.30 a.m.’
    As he left the briefing room and headed back along the corridor towards his office, he encountered the figure of Ray Packham, from the High Tech Crime Unit, walking urgently towards him.
    ‘Roy! I’ve just had a chance to take a look at your BlackBerry.’
    ‘Oh?’
    They stopped beneath a large red noticeboard on which was a flow chart headed, MURDER INVESTIGATION MODEL .
    ‘You were right to be concerned. You’ve been hacked.’
    Grace stared back at the analyst, suddenly feeling profoundly uncomfortable. ‘I have?’
    Packham nodded.
    ‘By whom?’
    ‘I’m not sure you’re going to like this. Perhaps we should go to your office?’
    Grace led the way.

55
    It was a warm evening and the breeze had dropped. Colin Bourner, the doorman of The Grand Hotel, stood proudly outside the front entrance. Across the clogged traffic of King’s Road, and the people strolling or biking along the promenade on the far side, he stared at his favourite view of the sea, flat as a millpond, bathed in the early evening sun. The tide was far out; a handful of fishermen were digging for lugworm bait, and one man combed the wet sand with a metal detector.
    On the pavement, closer to the hotel, a dozen paparazzi hung around, and a few fans strung out alongside them, all hoping for a glimpse of Gaia.
    A turquoise Streamline taxi turned into the driveway and pulled up. One of the many things Bourner loved about this job was that you never knew who might be arriving. All kinds of celebrities – actors, broadcasters, sports