Chapters (130)
- Cover
- FIND THEM DEAD
- Dedication page
- Maps
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- FOUR MONTHS LATER
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- GLOSSARY
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- NOW A MAJOR ITV SERIES
- I FOLLOW YOU
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- DISCOVER THE ROY GRACE BOOKS
- FIND THEM DEAD
- The Detective Superintendent Roy Grace books in order
- Also by Peter James
‘Beautiful cat,’ he said. ‘So affectionate.’
His words hit her like an electric shock. Her eyes darted around the room, up at the ceiling, into all corners, desperately wondering where the cameras were. She felt utterly helpless. There didn’t seem anything she could do without jeopardizing the girls’ safety in Ecuador. Sadly, she had no other choice.
‘Don’t worry, Meg, don’t try to find where I’m looking at you, conserve your energies for tomorrow. You are going to need every ounce of strength.’
Then silence.
He was gone.
Immediately, she dialled Laura’s number. It went straight to voicemail.
In desperation, she dialled again. Then again. Then again. The same each time. Cassie’s number also went to voicemail.
She sank down in a chair and put her head in her hands, tears of desperation streaming down her face.
92
Friday 24 May
‘What do you think, matey?’ Roy Grace asked Glenn Branson.
The two detectives sat on adjoining chairs in the communal hallway of Lewes Crown Court, at 9.30 a.m. on Friday morning, sipping bitter vending-machine coffee. People streamed in past them. The unexpected cancellation of the Crisp trial had given Grace a welcome respite in his workload, which had rapidly been filled by the murder enquiry on Stuie Starr. But Glenn had asked him to attend court today, to hear what he hoped might be the final day of speeches and summing-up in the Terence Gready trial, and Grace was intrigued to hear the comments in one of the biggest drugs trials ever to be heard in Sussex.
‘I can’t call it,’ Branson said. ‘Gready’s guilty as shit, but as you’d expect from a weasel of a legal aid solicitor, he’s got himself a top brief and team. I’ve been watching the jury and they’re hard to read. The judge is on our side, I think. But it’s in the lap of the gods. How are you doing with the Stuie Starr murder?’
Grace shrugged. ‘Nothing much to go on, so far. We’re widening the search area of CCTV and ANPR cameras. There was no forced entry, which means Stuie may have let his killers in.’
‘Some bastards beat him to death?’ Branson asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And took nothing?’
‘We don’t know for sure. There’s electrical items and possibly a large amount of cash unaccounted for.’
‘Is Pewe on your back over it?’
‘Of course. My regular phone buddy.’ As he talked, Grace watched the people filing into Court 3. Suddenly, he saw the Argus’s crime reporter – and Glenn’s fiancée – Siobhan Sheldrake. She blew a kiss at Glenn as she passed and he responded with a kiss back, followed by a soppy grin.
‘Know her, do you?’ Grace ribbed.
‘Haha. Written your best man’s speech yet?’
‘No, still digging up the dirt on you.’ Grace was looking forward to his best man’s role.
‘Don’t waste your time, there isn’t any.’