Grace shook his head. ‘I’ve thought about it, but I want to make it very low key. The Surveillance Team will be behind them, and you and I, Glenn, will be out with them, tucked away but ready to move fast if anything develops.’

Grace looked at his phone again, tapping it for some moments. ‘The forecast is mainly clear.’ With a twinge of guilt, he asked, ‘Anyone got plans for Thursday night they can’t move? Defrosting the fridge or something?’

There were a few grins. Potting raised an arm. ‘I’ve got a date, chief.’

‘The future Mrs Potting?’

He shook his head. ‘Nah, just meeting some old pals. I can – you know – reschedule.’

‘Your altruism touches all our hearts, Norman,’ Glenn Branson said.

100

Monday 9 September

‘God, I love you!’ Rebecca said, bursting through the front door of Eden’s cottage and throwing herself into her lover’s arms.

Eden kissed her on the forehead, riffling her fingers through her hair, and kissed her on her lips. Then, staring into her eyes, she said, ‘I’m crazy for you.’

‘I’m crazy for you, too!’

They kissed again. Then, kicking the front door shut, Eden asked excitedly, almost breathlessly, ‘So? How did it go?’

‘He fell for it. Hook, line and sinker.’

‘For sure?’

‘For sure.’ Rebecca smiled. They kissed hard. As they reluctantly parted, she said, ‘Trust me, he fell for it. He’ll be there. You’ll surprise him. One hard push. Ooops! Plop! Bye-bye, Niall!’

‘And what if he pushes me, instead? Ooops, plop, bye-bye, Eden? No more Eden for real, this time?’

‘It won’t happen. You’ll be taking him by surprise. He’ll be gone in the darkness before he knows what’s happening. And no one will see him fall, not at that hour. It could be several days before they find his body. I’ve heard that because you can’t see the bottom of Beachy Head from up top, it can be some while before a body is found. Probably someone from the pub will report his car has been in the car park for several days – whatever. By then we’ll be long gone, sipping margaritas on our sun-loungers. Sound good?’

‘Sounds – I guess . . .’ Eden said, still a little hesitant. ‘Sounds a plan.’

Rebecca smiled. ‘An elegant solution for the police. Niall Paternoster murders his wife, after a history of domestic violence against her. Then, wracked with remorse and scared the cops are closing in on him, he drives to Beachy Head in the middle of the night and ends it all. Constrained by their tight budgets and their need to show results, the detectives are only too happy to get this off their desks. Result. Boxes ticked. Case closed. And you and I swan off into the sunset. Guilt-free because you know what a monstrous shit he was, right?’

‘Right,’ Eden said, but her heart didn’t sound in it. ‘I’m – I’m just not sure I can do it, Bex. Murdering him was never part of our plan.’