They all nodded.

He then dealt with the intelligence requirement, including database checks, family history and social networking activity, and asked DS Stratford to draw up the strategy, before turning to DS Alexander.

‘Jack, also get the team, when checking Parham House for both weekends, to look for any evidence they may have such as CCTV, ticket registration, visitor books, credit card receipts – see what that throws up.’

He finally addressed Stanstead again. ‘Luke, collate what the Intelligence Cell finds on both Niall Paternoster and Eden – any past criminal activity by either of them and as much background as you can get.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Grace made some notes, then looked up. ‘Any questions?’

Norman Potting raised a hand. ‘Chief, one thing we haven’t covered is the possibility of Eden Paternoster having an affair.’

‘Good point, Norman,’ Grace said. And nearly added, Especially coming from a man with your track record. ‘If that is the case, hopefully we’ll learn something from the interviews with her family and friends from our Outside Enquiry Teams.’ He looked around. ‘Any more questions?’

There were none.

‘OK, I will attend for the arrest. We’ll all meet back here at 8.30 a.m. tomorrow for reports on initial findings. Good luck, everyone.’

As the team filed out, several of them making space for Luke Stanstead to propel his wheelchair, Grace made further entries in his Policy Book. Then he checked his phone. There was a text from Cassian Pewe.

My office. 9 a.m. tomorrow.

He hesitated before replying. Just a small – tiny – victory that he knew would piss the ACC off even more.

No can do. Have to drop my son at school then have a briefing, after which I need to watch interview of murder suspect of Eden Paternoster. Might be able to make later.

To Grace’s slight disappointment, Cassian Pewe didn’t rise to the bait. Almost instantly, the ACC texted back a lame,

Understood. Let me know when you are free.

He didn’t bother to reply, turning his focus to the evening ahead. An arrest and a raid. He hated to admit Pewe was right in what he had said about homicide investigators liking nothing more than a Gucci murder case. This sure felt like one, and he was on fire.

26

Monday 2 September

Nevill Road had a suburban feel about it, Roy Grace always thought, slightly marred by it being a main thoroughfare in and out of the city. There were a few blocks of low-rise flats and a large school, but most of the houses were attractive, red-brick semis. The kind of affluent, middle-class neighbourhood where it was hard to believe anything bad could happen.

On this fine, late-summer evening, there was the smell of back-garden barbecues in the air. The tantalizing aroma came through the car’s open windows. They were parked several houses back from the Paternosters’ and Grace thought ruefully that he would have loved to be home right now, firing up their barbecue and enjoying an outdoors meal with Cleo and the family.