Dead Like You

Just as he returned to his office from the morning briefing, his mobile phone rang.

‘Roy Grace,’ he answered.

It was a technician he knew at the forensic laboratories and she was sounding very pleased with herself. ‘Roy, I’ve got DNA results for you!’

‘On what we sent you last night?’ he replied, astonished.

‘It’s a new bit of kit – it’s still undergoing trials and it’s not reliable enough for court work. But we had such good DNA from both of those samples, we took some to experiment with, knowing the urgency.’

‘So, tell me?’

‘We have two hits – one for each sample. One is complete, a 100 per cent match, the other is partial, a familial match. The complete match is on DNA from a hair follicle from the corpse. Her name is Rachael Ryan. She disappeared in 1997. Any help?’

‘You’re certain?’

‘The machine is certain. We’re still ru

He allowed himself only a couple of seconds for this to sink in. It was what he was expecting, but even so it was a shock. A confirmation of his failure to save this young woman’s life. He made a mental note to contact her parents, hoping they were both still alive and still together. At least now they would have closure, if nothing else.

‘And the familial match?’ he asked.

Familial, Grace knew, meant a near match, but not an exact match. It was normally a match between siblings or a parent and child.

‘That’s from the semen inside the condom that was found inside the corpse – Rachael Ryan as we now know. It’s a woman called Mrs Elizabeth Wyman-Bentham.’

Grace wrote the name down, checking the spelling with her, so excited his hand was shaking. Then the technician gave him her address.

‘Do we know why she’s on the database?’

‘Drink-driving.’

He thanked her, and as soon as he had terminated the call, he dialled Directory Enquiries, gave the name of Elizabeth Wyman-Bentham and her address.

Moments later, he had the number and dialled it.

It went straight to voicemail. He left a message with his name and rank, asking her to call him back urgently on his mobile number. Then he sat down and Googled her name to see if he could find out anything about her, in particular where she worked. It was 9.15 a.m. If she worked she was likely to be there already, or on her way there.

Moments later on his screen appeared the words, About Lizzie Wyman-Bentham, CEO of WB Public Relations.

He clicked on them and almost immediately a photograph of a smiling woman, with a mass of frizzed hair, came up, together with a row of details to click on for information about the firm. Just as he clicked on Contact, his phone rang.

He answered and heard a rather breathless, effusive female voice. ‘I’m so sorry, I missed your call – heard it ringing just as I stepped out of the house! How can I help you?’

‘This may sound a strange question,’ Roy Grace asked. ‘Do you have a brother or a son?’

‘A brother.’ Then her voice changed to panic. ‘Is he all right? Has something happened? Has he been in an accident?’

‘No, he’s fine, so far as we know. I need to speak to him in co

‘Gosh, I was worried for a moment!’

‘Can you tell me where I can reach him?’

‘An inquiry, did you say? Ah yes, of course, probably something to do with work. Silly of me! I think he does a bit of work with you guys. He’s Garry Starling and his company – well, he has two – Sussex Security Systems and Sussex Remote Monitoring Services – they’re both in the same building in Lewes.’

Grace wrote the information down, and took Starling’s office phone number.

‘I’m not quite sure why – why exactly have you contacted me?’

‘It’s a little bit complicated,’ Grace replied.

Her voice darkened. ‘Garry’s not in trouble, is he? I mean, he’s a very respectable businessman – he’s very well known in this city.’

Not wanting to give anything further away, he assured her that no, her brother was not in trouble. He ended the call, then immediately dialled Starling’s office. The phone was answered by a pleasant woman. He did not reveal his identity, but merely asked to speak to Garry Starling.

‘He’s not in yet,’ she said, ‘but I’m sure he will be shortly. He’s normally in by this time. I’m his secretary. Can I take a message?’

‘I’ll call back,’ Grace said. He had to struggle to keep his voice sounding calm.

The instant he hung up, he hurried along to MIR-1, formulating his plan as he strode down the corridor.

116

Monday 19 January

There was less light than Jessie had imagined there’d be, which in some ways she thought was good. If she was very, very careful, keeping totally silent, she was able to tiptoe a short distance along the gridded walkway and look down at the camper van.

It sat there, cream and grimy, with its side door open. It was the kind of camper van that used to be one of the symbols of the hippy era – flower power, ban-the-bomb, all that stuff she recalled from what she had read about the 1960s and 1970s.

This creep didn’t seem much like a hippy.

He was inside the van at the moment. Had he slept? She doubted it. Once or twice during the darkness she’d nearly dozed off, and on one occasion had almost cried out when an animal of some kind brushed her arm. Then a while later, as dawn brought with it a weak, grey haze of light, a rat came and took a look at her.

She hated rats and after that incident her tiredness was banished.

What was his plan now? What was going on in the outside world? She’d not heard the helicopter again, so maybe it hadn’t been looking for her after all. How long would this go on for?

Perhaps he had supplies in the van. She knew he had water and maybe he had food. He could sit this out indefinitely, if he didn’t have a job or a life that was missing him. Whereas, she knew, she could not go on much longer without water and something to eat. She was feeling weak. On edge, but definitely weaker than yesterday. And dog tired. Ru

And determination.

She was going to marry Benedict. This creep was not going to stop her. Nothing was.

I am going to get out of here.

The wind was strong today and seemed to be getting stronger. The cacophony of sounds all around was worsening. Good, because that would help cover any noise she might make moving around.

Suddenly she heard a howl of rage. ‘ALL RIGHT, YOU BITCH, I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR DAMNED GAMES. I’M COMING AFTER YOU. HEAR ME? I’VE WORKED OUT WHERE YOU ARE AND I’M COMING AFTER YOU!’

She tiptoed back to her vantage point and looked down. To her shock she could see him, still with his hood off, with what looked like a big red weal around his right eye. He was ru

He was ru

Then she heard him shouting again, his voice an echoing boom, as if he was shouting through a fu

Moments later she heard the clanging of the rungs.