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It was a wet day, with a chill in the air, in contrast to the Indian-summer warmth of New York yesterday. The wipers clopped away the water in front of him, although he would almost have preferred it if they didn’t, so he couldn’t see anything. Gle
‘Do you have any concept of the laws of physics?’ Grace asked.
‘Physics?’
‘Maybe you should study momentum, get your head around that a little. You could try working out that a car going seventy miles an hour in a straight line has to slow down before turning sharp left, and especially in the wet.’
‘That was a controlled power slide. Like Jeremy Clarkson does,’ Gle
‘Ah.’
‘I don’t know why you’re worried – I’ve never had a crash.’
‘Maybe you’re saving it up for the big one.’ Switching subjects, Grace asked, ‘Anything back from the lab on our dog, Humphrey?’ Then he winced as Branson pulled straight across into the fast lane, only inches behind the car in front.
‘No, it will take a couple of days. We found a vial of tablets in Smallbone’s bathroom that we’ve also sent for analysis. We’ve been keeping a careful eye on Cleo; an FLO’s been with her around the clock and the Neighbourhood Policing Team’s been briefed to be extra vigilant. But from the history, don’t you think it likely Smallbone was acting alone?’
‘Let’s hope so.’
‘Okay, we have a significant development regarding the shoe-print found at the letting agent’s, Rand and Co. I told you Haydn Kelly had established a match with shoeprints found in Smallbone’s house.’
‘Yes.’
‘We’ve got a third match – from Eamo
Frowning, Grace said, ‘The match is to the ones in the letting agent’s and in Smallbone’s house?’
‘Yes. It’s only a shoe match, but if we could find the shoe—’
Suddenly all Roy Grace’s tiredness had gone. ‘I know who those second shoeprints might have been made by.’ He leaned over the seatback and hefted his briefcase onto his lap. From it he removed a small evidence bag containing a USB flash drive, and held it up triumphantly. ‘Yesterday, Gavin Daly’s son, Lucas, was recorded on videotape in an office in New York admitting involvement in Aileen McWhirter’s robbery.’
‘Daly’s son – her nephew?’ he said, incredulously. ‘He was involved?’
‘Probably the mastermind behind it. Yes, he’s a regular charmer.’
‘Has he been arrested?’
‘No, he’s agreed to DS Batchelor and DC Alexander escorting him back to England. But he’s asked if they can wait a day or so until he knows what’s happening with his father.’
‘Result!’ Gle
‘We’ll need to get a search warrant and raid his house. And, I think you are going to like this. If we can put Lucas Daly on that boat, then I think we’ll know who the other set belong to.’
‘How?’
‘Lucas Daly flew to Marbella with his henchman. I suspect they’re involved in the deaths of Macario and Barnes. If the shoe-prints on the boat match his henchman’s, then we have him too. Don’t forget there’s an historical association between Amis Smallbone and Eamo
‘Yes, I’m aware. But there’s one thing still bothering me. All the sets of shoeprints are from trainers: Haydn Kelly’s identified the one in the letting agent’s and Smallbone’s house – and now on the boat – as a Nike shoe, of which there are tens of thousands. The other one on the boat are Asics, again tens of thousands sold.’
‘There are a number of ways to put those people at those scenes,’ Grace replied. ‘In addition to the same make, model and size of the trainers there’s also the comparison of wear patterns – Haydn Kelly explained this to me a few days ago and, if we can obtain the trainers, a comparison can be performed of the insoles in the trainers to the insoles in the suspect’s footwear as these give an imprint of the person’s foot. If there is a match there, then that is pretty much game, set and match! We may also get lucky with DNA deposits inside the trainers.’
‘Good stuff! Brilliant! Plenty of options for us.’
‘If we stay alive long enough,’ Grace said, eyeing the road ahead nervously.
123
In his office at 3 p.m., Grace had just finished a call with Haydn Kelly, discussing in further detail the shoeprints they had. He sipped a strong cup of tea and then yawned. In half an hour a Detective Superintendent from Surrey, whom he had never met, would be arriving to conduct a review of Operation Flounder. It was standard practice, at certain intervals during a major crime investigation, for an experienced outsider to look through the policy book, and all lines of enquiry that the SIO had ru
It was likely to be a slow and tedious process, Grace knew, and he could seriously have done without this today – particularly with the way things were moving, he was fast getting this whole case wrapped up. With luck the review would be finished by the evening briefing at 6.30 p.m. which he would attend, and then he would head home. He was about to type an email to ACC Rigg to give him a summary, before meeting to brief him fully tomorrow morning, when his phone rang.
It was Pat Lanigan. ‘Hey, how you doing, Roy? Home safe?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘Is all okay? Cleo? The baby?’
‘Yes, thanks, all is fine. They’re safe and well.’
‘Hopefully that punk was acting on his own.’
‘I hope so, too.’
Then Lanigan’s tone changed, becoming more serious. ‘Ithought you’d want to know this right away. The old guy, Gavin Daly, didn’t wake up this morning.’
Grace felt a sudden, deep twinge of sadness. ‘He’s dead?’
‘Seems like he passed away peacefully during the night. He had some heart problems, so maybe the stress of being arrested – it’s a pretty big thing for anyone, but especially a guy of that age – maybe that’s what did it. I guess we’ll know more after the autopsy.’
‘I’ll never forget the sight of him on that dive boat, looking inside the tarp. Ever,’ Grace said.
‘Yeah, that was something. You know what? I think he knew he was going to go last night. The prison officer taking care of him said he was very fu
‘I don’t think he was suicidal, Pat. I think he’d done the one thing he had left in his life that he wanted to do. He told me some of his story, about his father and mother, over a cigar in his sister’s garden a couple of weeks back. I was moved.’
‘Uh huh? Maybe. But you know, he spent the evening, before the lights went down, writing instructions. He wanted his father’s remains to be buried in Brooklyn Cemetery as close as possible to his mother’s. He wanted restitution paid to the antiques guy, Rosenblaum, for the gunshot damage in his office. And – you’ll like this – he asked if someone could contact you and apologize for the trouble you’ve been put to.’