The tall, powerfully built DI looked on the verge of tears. The last time Grace had seen him look like this was three years back when he had split up, badly, with his wife, Ari.
‘I don’t want to lump you with this shit right now.’ He sighed and shook his head balefully. ‘Siobhan and me had a big row last night – I don’t know – I’ve a feeling we might be busting up. She thinks we should delay the wedding until—’
‘Until when?’
He shrugged.
‘What? Tell me? What’s happened? You seem so good together.’
Branson stood in silence for some moments. ‘Yeah, well, you know when we first started going out, I said she was keen to have kids, right?’
Grace nodded, vaguely remembering.
‘Well out of the blue she’s now told me that there’s no way she wants any for years because she’s too focused on her career. I’m gutted, mate, and it all kicked off yesterday.’
‘Are you in such a rush? You’ve already got two lovely kids.’
‘Yeah, and I don’t want there to be a huge age gap between Sam and Remi and any kids I have with Siobhan.’
‘Kids aren’t everything, mate. I think she’s a great person.’
‘For a journalist?’ Branson’s expression briefly thawed.
Grace smiled. ‘A great person, full stop.’
Again Branson nodded. ‘I think that too, but I saw another side of her, she’s so driven and ambitious, I’ve no hope of changing her mind at the moment. And I’d love more kids together while mine are still young. She’s so good with my two, I thought we were on the same page and we’d have kids straight away. You know I love that movie Brighton Rock, right? The original with Dickie Attenborough, not the remake.’
Grace nodded again.
‘I didn’t realize it was actually a book first.’
‘There’s a surprise! Quite a lot of the best films are.’
‘Yeah, well I was watching it again the other night – a kind of extended version – and they were talking about the author.’
‘Graham Greene,’ Grace added.
‘So they were quoting Greene talking about his books and he said that every writer has to have a chip of ice in their heart.’
Grace glanced at his watch, unsure where this was going and mindful of getting back into the briefing. He had a meeting on diversity in the police force to attend in an hour’s time. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘so are you saying Siobhan has that chip? Of ice?’
‘Right, so Siobhan told me she’s been asked to write a big piece for the Argus on all the officers who’ve lost their jobs through misconduct in recent years. She asked me what names I could think of, and I just lost it, after the blow about kids. I asked her why the hell couldn’t she write a piece about all the good work the police do, all the dangers they face, all the service they give to the community, rather than trashing them, trying to turn the Argus into some scandal rag like the old News of the World?’
‘I agree with that!’
Branson looked forlornly back at him. ‘Yeah, thanks. But it didn’t play well. She said she wasn’t going to compromise her journalistic integrity simply because she was engaged to a copper. And if that was going to be a problem for the future, as well as not having kids just yet, then maybe we didn’t have a future.’ The DI leaned against the wall, tears welling in his eyes. ‘Shit, man, I love that woman. She’s my future. I... I just – you know, ever since Ari – I’ve struggled.’
Grace said calmly, ‘Glenn, this isn’t a discussion we’re going to be able to resolve in a couple of minutes now. Want a drink later, after work?’
‘I’d like that, please.’
‘You are going to have to look at it from Siobhan’s perspective, too. She’s ambitious, it’s understandable she might not want kids yet and she will want to write stories that give her headlines, then you need to accept that it’s the negative ones that get those headlines. How much happy news do you ever read in a paper? You and I both hate corrupt police officers as well as those that let down the force.’
‘Guess you’re right. I know you’re right. But I care passionately about the police, Roy. I hate seeing us attacked in the press and media.’
‘Then try using your influence, on a very influential journalist, to change all that?’
Looking only slightly convinced, Glenn Branson nodded.
8
Thursday, 19 September
As Grace and Branson sat back down in the room, Jack Alexander raised his hand again. ‘It seems to me, sir, that the painting is key. If we could establish that Charlie Porteous had it with him when he was murdered, and it was taken, that would possibly rule out a street robbery, wouldn’t it?’
‘Possibly, but not necessarily, Jack,’ Grace said. ‘These people tend to grab anything they think they can flog – often drug users desperate to earn enough for their next fix. But I agree that if we could conclusively establish he had the picture with him it would give us another major line of enquiry. Nick Sloan did have his team contact all art galleries and auction houses in Sussex and the bordering counties, as well as wider afield and online, to see if anyone had been offered a painting by this artist – and drew a blank. But as you rightly suggest, it remained a major line of enquiry at the time he had to wind down Operation Canvas.’
Once more, Grace looked at his notes. ‘The people remaining on the list of significant witnesses include his god-daughter, Carrie Hepworth, along with his other gallery staff, all of whom need to be interviewed again. As should his London driver, Meehat El Hadidy. But we need to bear in mind that the financial investigator, John Camping, had at that time been unable to provide evidence that any of them had benefited financially from Porteous’s murder. The team had also eliminated the collector, George Astone, for whom Charlie Porteous had supposedly brought the painting down to Sussex for him to view, but he also needs to be interviewed again.’
Stanstead, next to Potting, raised a hand.
‘Yes, Luke?’ Grace said.
‘Sir, over the last few days, as requested, I’ve been looking through the list of Charlie Porteous’s neighbours who were interviewed by Nick Sloan’s outside enquiry team. There’s one missing.’
Grace frowned. ‘There is?’
‘I’ve done a search on Google Earth, against all the residences listed in the enquiry. There’s one that’s been omitted – a house some distance up the road, on the opposite side to the Porteouses’ home, called Tongdean Ridge. It’s a few hundred yards away. The report says that the owners were abroad at the time, at their second home in Marbella.’
‘Which would explain it,’ Grace replied.
Stanstead shook his head. ‘No, they have two dogs – Rhodesian Ridgebacks – as well as a cat and seven hens. I’ve contacted the owners, Mr and Mrs Malby. They told me they have house-sitters whenever they are away, a couple called Joe and Liz Lee, who were in residence at the time of Porteous’s murder. I’ve since spoken to Mr Lee. He says he was never contacted by the police, probably because they had left the country on a six-month house-sit abroad.’
Frowning, Grace looked at him. ‘Did he see anything that might be helpful?’
‘Actually, yes, he did. Mr Lee is a former army officer and told me he suffers from insomnia. He would often go for a walk in the early hours, and he remembers on that particular Friday morning seeing a car accelerating hard along Tongdean Avenue. He thought it was a little strange, as it’s normally quiet – as you know, it’s a very exclusive residential street – but he said that lately there had been more car drivers using these roads as a rat run.’