‘I have, sir.’

‘Good work.’

Ending the call, Roy Grace thought for a short while. Ordinarily, he would have delegated a routine suspicious misper enquiry to one of his team, but something about this one intrigued him. And besides, he’d been deskbound for several weeks. One thing he’d always promised himself, each time he had been promoted further up the ranks, was that he would never end up as a desk jockey, as so many of his colleagues had, and that he would always try to remain hands-on whenever he could.

But there was something else here that resonated powerfully. The memory of that day, on his thirtieth birthday, when he’d come home, looking forward to a romantic celebratory dinner with Sandy, only to discover she had vanished off the face of the earth. And the years of hell that had followed, during which, while continuing to function as a homicide detective, he’d spent every spare second of his life searching for her and wondering what might have happened to her. If Eden Paternoster had done a ‘Sandy’ on her husband, Niall, then he really felt for the poor bastard.

He called Glenn Branson.

‘Boss?’ the DI answered.

‘I’m just calling to see if you need any groceries?’

‘What? You’ve taken up moonlighting for Ocado to supplement your income?’

‘Haha.’

Grace brought him up to speed on the Paternoster situation and the DI immediately became serious. ‘Doesn’t sound good, boss, but one thing doesn’t make sense.’

‘Tell me?’

‘Well, if I’d disappeared my wife why would I call the police and get them crawling all over me – rather than give it a few days?’

‘Who’s to say he hasn’t already given it a few days?’

‘I’m not with you.’

‘What if he’s planned it all carefully?’ Grace posited. ‘He’s murdered and disposed of his wife already and now he’s faking her vanishing, by way of an explanation?’

‘I guess that’s a possibility,’ Branson replied.

‘Speed is of the essence, I think we’re going to need to get on this one straight away, it really doesn’t feel right. Meet me in the car park. We’re going to Tesco Holmbush.’

‘Great! I’ll bring my shopping list with me.’

18

Monday 2 September

As Roy Grace and Glenn Branson walked across the busy Tesco car park, the DI cast an eye up and down his boss – something he did frequently, to Grace’s irritation – before nodding approvingly. ‘Nice whistle,’ he said. ‘New?’

‘Cleo took me shopping – it’s nothing special. I picked up a couple of lightweight work suits in the sales.’

Branson reached out a hand and felt his jacket lapel. ‘Quality threads? Bespoke tailor?’

‘On my salary?’

Then Branson frowned disapprovingly at his tie. ‘Too conservative. You should go bolder.’

Grace gave him a sideways look. ‘Are we done on the sartorial inspection?’

The DI shook his head. ‘Nah, you need me to take you shopping again.’

‘I remember the last time you did. It took three months for my credit card to stop smouldering.’