‘Absolutely not. I–I mean — sex has been the last thing on my mind these past weeks, Roy — boss — honestly. Why are you asking?’
‘Because it’s not what I’ve been told.’
‘Been told? Been told what? By who?’
Grace pushed the printout that Superintendent Darke had given him across the table. ‘These are the records of all calls on your job phone over the past week. Have a look — take your time, have a very careful look through.’
Exton looked over the page. Several phone numbers were ringed in blue ink. Then he looked back up at the Detective Superintendent and shook his head from side to side. ‘I don’t recognize any of these numbers.’
‘Jon,’ Grace said calmly. ‘These are the phone company records. All these numbers were dialled from your phone. Could anyone else have had access to it?’
‘No way.’
‘It couldn’t have been Dawn?’
Exton ran his eyes back over the page. ‘No, these were all made after Dawn and I split up — we haven’t seen each other since then.’ His voice was cracking and he took some moments to compose himself. ‘I haven’t called any sex workers, Roy. I nearly called the Samaritans, but I tell you — I just told you — sex is just not — not — on my mind. I just want to be back with Dawn.’
Grace continued staring hard at him. ‘I need you to be absolutely truthful with me, Jon. Did you ever meet Lorna Belling?’
‘The deceased?’
‘Yes, the deceased.’
‘Meet?’
‘Yes.’
‘Never.’
‘You didn’t contact her on a sex worker phone line?’
Exton looked genuinely bewildered. ‘Boss, I’ve never called a sex worker in my life. I–I really haven’t.’ He hesitated. ‘Well, actually, hang on, there was one night when I was a bit drunk — I did make a few calls, but not on my job phone. Not long after Dawn threw me out.’
‘OK. Can you explain why you’ve been in the vicinity of the deceased’s flat in Vallance Mansions every night for the past six weeks, Jon? And in particular and most crucially, on the night she was murdered?’
Exton blanched, looking cornered. ‘I–I —’
‘Yes?’
Exton sat still, with a look of defeat on his face.
‘ANPR cameras recorded your BMW in the vicinity of Vallance Mansions on thirty-seven consecutive nights, Jon. The last occasion was the night she died — can you explain that?’
Suddenly, from chalky white, Jon Exton’s complexion went to beetroot red. ‘I can explain, boss, yes.’ He fell silent.
‘I’m all ears.’
After some moments the DS, deeply embarrassed and avoiding eye contact, said, ‘Dawn threw me out — she said I wasn’t committed enough — that I was more in love with my job than with her. I–I tried to explain that’s what being a Major Crime detective means, but—’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Shit, you know. You know better than anyone, boss.’
Grace nodded. He did know. Painfully.
‘So for the past few weeks I’ve been sleeping rough in my car. There’s a decent-sized free car park behind the King Alfred. I’d been going in there in the morning when they open, and using the facilities.’ He shrugged again. ‘It’s just across the road from Vallance Mansions. But I had to move to a different location a week ago, because of all the police activity.’
Grace nodded. From Exton’s eye movements he believed the detective was telling the truth. But equally, Exton knew his eye test and might have been faking it.
‘Jon,’ he said. ‘It’s one hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?’
‘I–I suppose — yes — it looks that way. But I promise you...’ His voice tailed off.
‘Promise me what?’
‘That I’m telling you the truth. I’m a detective, Roy, I’m not a murderer, for God’s sake!’
Grace was feeling sympathy for the man, who was clearly on the verge of a breakdown. But he couldn’t let that influence his treatment of him. ‘Have you looked in a mirror today, Jon?’
‘Yes — well — yes — I suppose — I must have done.’
‘You must have done? Your hair’s a mess, you haven’t shaved — unless you’re growing designer stubble — and without being too personal, you need a bath and some deodorant — and some fresh clothes. There’s no way you could go out to interview anyone looking how you do.’
‘I’m sorry, boss,’ he said, looking genuinely contrite. ‘I don’t want to let you down — and I am, aren’t I? That’s just what I am doing.’
‘Jon, I’m going to have to take your police phone off you and have it forensically tested. I’d also appreciate it if you handed over your personal phone and electronic communications devices voluntarily — will you do that?’
Looking completely startled, Exton handed him his police phone. ‘Yes, of course. Please, boss, believe me.’
‘Jon, I believe you but the phone records show a different story — and I’m not the ultimate arbiter here. I should have you suspended for what has been found on your job phone; I don’t want to do that, but I’m very concerned about your behaviour. You seem under a lot of stress — relationship problems can cause that. If you get too low you reach a point where your judgement goes and you become unable to make good decisions. I want to help you — you’re a good detective and I like you, but I can’t risk members of my team making mistakes, and you’ve made a really stupid one. Is there anything else you’d like to say to me? I don’t like surprises. The team will support you, but you have to tell me the truth.’
Exton gave him a helpless shrug.
Grace thought hard for some moments. ‘Look, would you be willing to see the force doctor, Dr Bell? He’s nearby in Ringmer. He might sign you off for a few days. Perhaps send you to the Sussex Police Charitable Trust cottage down in Dorset for some R&R — how would you feel about that?’
‘Well — OK — I mean, sure. I’ll go and see him, I’ve nothing to hide.’
‘I think it would be inappropriate for you to continue on this investigation, Jon, so I will move you to the trial preparation for Operation Spider, for the time being.’
‘I understand, boss, thank you. I appreciate it. I’ll go and get my phone and computer.’
As the DS left his office, Ray Packham entered, looking animated. ‘Roy,’ he said. ‘Forgive me barging in — but I may have something for you!’
83
Thursday 28 April
Ray Packham sat down opposite Grace and placed a tiny blue and black memory card, sealed inside a clear evidence bag, in front of him. Tapping the bag, he said, ‘That’s from a GoPro camera. I think it might well have images of Lorna Belling’s killer.’
With almost every homicide case Grace had ever worked on, there would be hours, days, weeks, months even, of solid plodding graft. Then sometimes out of thin air, and when you were least expecting it, a eureka moment happened, which could lead to everything being unlocked. It might be a phone call out of the blue, an unexpected fingerprint or DNA match, a dog walker stumbling across a body. These were the moments that lifted him out of his seat, punching the air with his fist, that sent adrenaline surging through his veins, that made all the slog that had gone before it suddenly seem worthwhile.
‘You do, Ray? Images of her killer?’
‘I think so.’
Grace raised a hand, signalling Packham to wait, then picked up his phone and called Batchelor. ‘Guy,’ he said, ‘can you come into my office right away?’
With Batchelor’s office only two doors along the corridor, the DI was with them in moments, looking expectant.
‘Have a seat, Guy, Ray’s got something for us.’
Batchelor glanced down at the evidence bag, then looked at the civilian from Digital Forensics.