Grace nodded. ‘So he concedes it’s not out of the question this is a genuine Fragonard work and was in Charlie Porteous’s possession at the time of his murder?’
‘He does, sir, with the caveats I’ve just given.’
‘Good work, Luke.’ Turning to Potting, Grace said, ‘OK, Norman, you have something to report – you seem to be going gangbusters!’
Holding his clumsy frame bolt upright and puffing out his chest, the DS looked rather pleased with himself. ‘Well, chief,’ he nodded at Stanstead, ‘thanks to Luke’s intel work, I met with the Mr and Mrs Lee who were house-sitting for a Mr and Mrs Malby, owners of a house a short distance from the Porteouses’ at the time of his murder. Mr Lee is a professional dogwalker, and he and his wife, Elizabeth, also house-sit for a number of clients. And as Luke had correctly told us last week, Mr Lee is a bit of an insomniac. He told me he went out for a walk along Tongdean Avenue at 12.52 a.m. on the morning of Friday, 16 October 2015. He was able to be precise about the time due to his Garmin fitness watch which tracked all his movements.’
Potting coughed, clearing a frog in his throat, took a sip of water then went on. ‘He saw a car accelerating fiercely away from the direction of the Porteous house – although he did not know exactly where it had come from. But he was surprised to see a vehicle at that hour being driven at speed. It’s an expensive and exclusive neighbourhood, although Mr Lee told me it is favoured in the daytime by driving instructors as a good place for their customers to practise U-turns. He’s a former soldier who worked for a time as a car salesman after his discharge from the army, so is very aware of car makes and models. He identified this vehicle as a recent model – at the time – an Audi A6, dark-coloured, and rather diligently made a note of as much of its registration plate as he could catch, just in case, he said. We’ve subsequently identified the vehicle through a process of elimination and run a PNC check and the plate turns out to be false – but cleverly false.’
‘In what way cleverly false, Norman?’ Grace asked.
Potting puffed his chest out even more proudly. ‘A dark green A6 came up, registered to a Mr Brian Harris, with an address in Saltdean. I went to the address, a bungalow, and spoke to Mr Harris. He is an affable disabled widower of eighty-five. On the evening of Thursday, 15 October 2015, he was hosting a bridge evening at his home. He assured me he was not out burning rubber in Tongdean Avenue in the small hours of the Friday morning.’ The DS gave a wry smile. ‘I would have to say he doesn’t seem the type, which makes me think whoever was driving that Audi was on cloned plates.’
‘Norman,’ Glenn Branson asked, ‘did this Joe Lee see anything at the entrance to the Porteouses’ house? Did he see Porteous’s Bentley?’
Potting shook his head. ‘He says he didn’t – but you need to bear in mind that the home of the couple where he was house-sitting was a good quarter of a mile along the road, and Lee was walking in the opposite direction.’
‘Did he hear anything, Norman?’ Polly Sweeney asked.
‘No, he said he was plugged in listening to a podcast. He just saw the car going past, in a hurry.’
‘That timing fits with the CCTV from Brighton station,’ Grace said. ‘At that hour of night it would have taken Porteous about ten minutes to reach his home from the station. If it was just an opportunist street robbery, the assailant might have simply been prowling the neighbourhood and got lucky.’ He paused. ‘But if that car was the one the offender – or offenders – used then it smacks to me more of someone lying in wait for him. If I was wanting to park up and look inconspicuous in that smart street, I’d choose a car that blended in – smart enough to fit with the other cars that might be seen around that neighbourhood, but not too flash that it stood out. An Audi A6 is a perfect fit. How big a task would it be to identify all Audi A6s of that period in the Brighton and Hove area?’
Luke Stanstead raised his hand. ‘Boss, I’ve checked and there are 339 registered to Brighton and Hove residents, and a further 1,700 across Sussex. In addition, it’s a popular executive-level vehicle with car rental companies throughout the UK.’
Grace did some quick mental arithmetic. Over two thousand. It would take massive resources to check on that number of cars. On a live murder investigation he could justify it to his superiors, but not on a speculative cold case. ‘Did you check any reports of stolen ones around that time, Luke?’
‘I did, yes. And here’s where it gets very interesting, boss.’
Grace’s phone rang. Answering, he heard the voice of Lesley Manning, the Chief Constable. ‘Ma’am,’ he said and stood up. ‘If you can just give me one moment, ma’am.’
He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. ‘Sorry, I was in a meeting, ma’am.’
‘I didn’t mean to interrupt you, Roy.’
‘It’s fine, not a problem.’
‘I just wanted to ask you a rather delicate question. As you know, I always regard all my officers as family. How would you and Cleo feel if I said I would like to attend your son’s funeral?’
He was momentarily lost for words, and, suddenly choked up, had to take a couple of deep breaths before he could reply. ‘My wife and I would be honoured, ma’am.’
‘I’d like to be there, both in a personal capacity, but also on behalf of all officers and police staff of Sussex Police to pay our respects and to support you both – I’m sure it will be a difficult day for you, Roy.’
He felt tears welling and closed his eyelids against them. It took all his effort to get the words out. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’
19
Wednesday, 25 September
A subdued Roy Grace re-entered the room and took his place at the head of the oval table. He addressed Stanstead. ‘Apologies, Luke, you were saying about the Audi?’
‘Yes, boss, there was an A6 matching this vehicle reported stolen from near Haywards Heath, about twenty miles away, two days before the murder – and recovered the day after – and might be connected.’
Grace frowned. ‘Did it have the false plates on?’
‘No, it had the correct ones.’
‘Was it damaged?’
‘Quite severely, sir. They say it appeared to have failed to negotiate a sharp bend, mounted the pavement and hit the stone wall of a local recreation ground with the front near-side wing, deploying the airbags. Whoever was driving it seems to have reversed it back onto the road but been unable to drive it further.’
Grace made a note, then looked up. ‘If these were professionals, which I’m inclined to think at this moment they were, they might have abandoned the car and removed the false plates. Do you have the name and address of the owner?’
‘I do, sir. Her name is Monica Thaesler. I’ve made contact with her. She had the Audi repaired, then sold it two years ago – chopped in for a newer model with the dealer Caffyns. The current owner is a lady called Jo Dillan, in Haywards Heath.’
‘Nice work, Norman and Luke,’ Grace complimented them. He was thinking of the age-old CSI boast that if anyone had ever been in a room or a vehicle, no matter how long ago, if you gave them enough time they would be able to find out who. All it would take would be just one single clothing fibre or hair follicle or blood spot or fingerprint, or maybe even a shoe print. From his own past experience, he’d seen an offender jailed from DNA obtained from a vehicle found twenty years after a rape and murder. And he knew from a recent discussion on another case with officer Andy Slark at the Sussex Police Collision Investigation Unit that a great amount of information could be obtained from interrogating the onboard computers of modern cars.