Again, Potting looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, we should have met last Friday – she was coming over to see me – but she was in a car crash on her way to the airport – some senile idiot pulled out in front of her. It’s made a pretty good mess of her car, apparently.’

‘Really?’ Grace was doing his best not to sound sceptical, but it was hard. ‘So, the car belongs to her elderly mother and it’s her only means of transport? And Kerstin discovered she’s not on the insurance policy, right?’

‘It’s not like that, chief.’

‘WAKEY WAKEY, NORMAN!’ His voice was so loud it startled the DS. ‘Operation Lisbon? Does that ring any bells?’

Potting looked at him. ‘Last October, the internet romance fraudsters we busted, you mean?’

‘Yep.’

‘This is different, honestly. Kerstin’s the real deal. I’m not Johnny Fordwater.’

Potting was referring to a former army major who he had been sent to see at Gatwick Airport. The man, a widower in his late fifties, was in the Arrivals lounge, waiting for the love of his life, a German woman, to come through after landing from Munich. Potting had had to break the news to the man that this woman did not actually exist. Tragically, Fordwater had sent her over £400,000, every penny he had in the world.

‘Really?’

‘Really, chief. Even if she asked, which she hasn’t, I wouldn’t lend her one penny until we’ve met. She’s flying over this weekend.’

Grace looked at him in despair. ‘Fine, good luck. But just stick to your guns and don’t send her a penny until you’ve met her and made sure. OK?’

Potting agreed, but with the dreamy eyes of a man besotted.

‘So, you said you have news about our one-eyed monster?’

‘Yes. The officers at Lewes Prison thought it was a fellow inmate who’d stabbed him in the eye, but the inmate’s denying that vigorously, and now they’ve got CCTV to back that up. Crisp attacked the man himself, for no good reason, and at some point during the fight, Crisp pulled out a ballpoint pen and stabbed himself in the eye with it.’

Grace frowned. ‘Has he gone mental or something?’

Potting shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. There’s been talk of moving him to a maximum-security prison. If he’d got wind of that, knowing his past history as an escape artist, I’m guessing this is all part of a plan. I understand they want to keep him in hospital in London until the end of this week, at least. My suggestion is that we should increase the guard on him.’

Grace nodded. ‘Good thinking, Norman.’ He grinned, mischievously. ‘Tell you what, you go and put that request to ACC Pewe.’

‘Would you suggest I do that, chief?’

‘Definitely.’