What, he wondered over and over, was he actually expecting to see tonight, if not that? But all his instincts were sensing this was going to turn into something more than a simple bit of canoodling lovers. Rebecca Watkins was up to something.

But what?

Where would she choose? Which remote location, ideal for lovers wanting to be away from prying eyes, and yet close enough to Eastbourne to be just a short drive away?

Both had their phones in front of them, on the road-mapping app Mark Taylor had instructed them to upload. It currently showed Niall Paternoster’s rental car stationary at his home address.

In order to keep as silent as possible, and avoid any sounds from their radios, both of them wore earpieces plugged into their phones. Each of them also had night-vision binoculars.

Glenn Branson spoke suddenly, quietly, in a caring tone. ‘How are you feeling, mate, you know, about the funeral?’

‘Not great. I’ve spent the last couple of evenings going through the order of service with Cleo, listening to Bruno’s playlists, trying to figure what music he would have approved of – and what would sound appropriate in church. Something I guess to do with all he had to overcome – you know – all the difficulties with his mother, then her death, then moving to a new and strange country, family, school.’

Branson was silent for a while, thinking. ‘One suggestion, although it’s not for me to say and it might not be entirely appropriate . . . how about Mike Doughty’s “I Keep on Rising Up”. It’s about overcoming adversity, and he has a beautiful voice, soulful – that’s one that could work.’

‘I don’t know it, but I’ll have a listen tomorrow, thanks.’

‘I’ll try and think of some more.’

‘So,’ Grace asked, ‘wedding still OK for next month?’

After a long and acrimonious divorce from his wife, Ari, and a custody fight for their two children, which Ari had mostly won before her untimely death, Glenn Branson had finally moved on and fallen in love again. Siobhan Sheldrake was a very charismatic and fun person, but as the senior crime reporter for the Argus, Grace could foresee some awkward pillow talk between them in the years ahead. On the other hand she had been really good with his kids and loved being a stepmother to them.

‘Yeah,’ Branson said. ‘All set.’ Then as he looked down at his phone, he murmured excitedly, watching the red dot of Niall Paternoster’s car, ‘Subject one is on the move!’

As Grace looked too, both suddenly heard communications in their earpieces.

‘Alpha Five here, subject two, Range Rover Evoque, index Golf November Seven Zero Charlie Papa November has just left hotel.’

Grace felt a beat of excitement. That was Rebecca Watkins’s car. He heard Taylor’s voice.

‘Alpha Five, roger that, keep eyes on it.’

‘Copy that, sir, am following at distance.’

A few minutes later, Grace heard a voice. ‘Subject two’s turning into Beachy Head pub car park. I’m carrying on past.’