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Chapters (130)
  1. Cover
  2. FIND THEM DEAD
  3. Dedication page
  4. Maps
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. FOUR MONTHS LATER
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. 80
  86. 81
  87. 82
  88. 83
  89. 84
  90. 85
  91. 86
  92. 87
  93. 88
  94. 89
  95. 90
  96. 91
  97. 92
  98. 93
  99. 94
  100. 95
  101. 96
  102. 97
  103. 98
  104. 99
  105. 100
  106. 101
  107. 102
  108. 103
  109. 104
  110. 105
  111. 106
  112. 107
  113. 108
  114. 109
  115. 110
  116. 111
  117. GLOSSARY
  118. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  119. NOW A MAJOR ITV SERIES
  120. I FOLLOW YOU
  121. 1
  122. 2
  123. 3
  124. 4
  125. 5
  126. 6
  127. DISCOVER THE ROY GRACE BOOKS
  128. FIND THEM DEAD
  129. The Detective Superintendent Roy Grace books in order
  130. Also by Peter James

He knew that the current street value of this drug in the UK was around £37,000 per kilogram. Which meant, if he was right in his calculation, judging from the weight of the Ferrari, there could be close to six million pounds’ worth of drugs inside that beautiful vehicle, maybe even more.

And the car wouldn’t be looking quite so beautiful by the time every panel had been removed and its bare entrails exposed.

Twenty minutes later, cuffed to an officer, Mickey was frog-marched back into the shed and up to the Ferrari where the Border Force officer who had first questioned him was now, once again, standing. He had a piece of sticking plaster on his bent glasses, one lens of which was cracked, and was not looking as friendly as before. ‘Decided to come back, did you? Very obliging of you.’

‘Haha,’ Mickey said, sourly.

‘I won’t keep you too long, Mr Starr,’ Johnson said. ‘But as a formality I do need you to witness our continued examination of this vehicle.’

Much too late, Mickey knew, he tried reasoning with the man. ‘Look, see – I just got hired to transport the car – I didn’t know there was nuffin’ in it.’

‘Is that so?’ Johnson said. ‘Did you not have the slightest inkling?’

‘Honest to God, no. I’m just a driver, right, hired to transport the car. I don’t know about any drugs. I’m totally innocent.’

‘Which is why you assaulted me and ran away, is it?’

‘I – just got scared, like.’

‘I suppose I do look a bit scary, don’t I?’ There was a hint of humour in the Border Force officer’s voice. But not much.

Clive Johnson stared hard at Mickey. ‘Mr Starr, I believe these packages contain controlled drugs. I am also arresting you on suspicion of being knowingly concerned with the illegal importation of a Class-A drug.’ He cautioned him. ‘Is that clear?’

‘Clear as mud. I need a fag. Can we go outside so I can have one?’

‘I’m afraid not, and I’m not one to preach,’ Clive Johnson said, ‘but you really ought to think about quitting. Smoking’s not good for your health.’

‘Nor is being arrested. You should try prison food.’

‘Well, if it’s not to your taste, have you ever thought about making better career choices?’

8

Tuesday 27 November

It had been many years since Roy Grace had gone out on patrol – being a proper copper, as he called it – and he was loving it. It was all part of the learning curve on his six-month secondment to London’s Met Police. And he was finding front-line policing in one of the most violent areas of London to be a real baptism of fire – and a million miles from the very different vibe of his usual patch, the county of Sussex.