Branson smiled. ‘That witness, Sarah Stratten, might remember more in time?’

  ‘Maybe, but I’m not sure she has more to give that will take us anywhere. The telephone analysis shows the call was made from a burner that could have been bought in a million shops or online.’ He shook his head and looked down at his lap, as if he was expecting to find some answers printed in the creases in his charcoal suit trousers. ‘We have, as I’ve said before, a dinosaur running the enquiry into the footman’s death. A dinosaur angry he didn’t get to be SIO on Sir Peregrine’s investigation, who’s made it clear he’s not interested in cooperating with us. Which is just plain nuts.’

  ‘The two deaths might not be connected,’ Branson said, trying to be placatory.

  ‘They are connected,’ Grace retorted emphatically. ‘One hundred per cent. We just have to figure out how.’

  ‘Where do we start?’

  Grace frowned. ‘Everything comes back to Sir Peregrine’s cryptic – and coded – message, Someone high up in Royal Service, and the entries that we believe now relate to five potential leads. What do we always do when investigating a financial crime?’

  Branson gave him a long, thoughtful look. ‘Follow the money?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Grace replied. ‘We start by looking more closely at Sir Jason Finch, Keeper of the Privy Purse – the financial comptroller – and if and where he might fit into all of this. I get the impression Sir Tommy may be protecting someone – to avoid a scandal. I can’t forget that look. It would be good to eliminate Finch.’

  67

  Monday 27 November 2023

  Glenn Branson drove perilously close to the back of a double-decker bus, which had pulled out in front of them. As they screeched to a halt, inches from an advertisement on its rear for the lowest interest mortgages in the UK, he turned to Grace and said, ‘Sir Tommy?’

  ‘I’m not happy with his body language,’ Grace said. ‘A question I put to him about Sir Peregrine – I asked him if he’d noticed anything different about him – his demeanour – whatever – in the days before his death. Whether the deceased Private Secretary had seemed worried about anything. Sir Tommy said he hadn’t but would ask around. And you saw his reaction when we asked about Finch?’

  ‘You think he might be covering Sir Jason Finch’s backside?’ Branson suggested.

  ‘Well, he seemed a little uncomfortable when I asked him if he could think of any reason someone might have wanted the Private Secretary dead. Was he trying to cover for his friend to avoid the – seemingly inevitable – discovery by Lady Greaves of her late husband’s “proclivities”?’

  ‘Old boys’ network, maybe?’ Branson suggested.

  ‘Perhaps. And perhaps the same reason he’s not really mentioned Sir Jason Finch in all our conversations with him or that Finch had been involved with Cadoret and Smoke back in Afghanistan.’

  As Branson drove on, Grace was thinking hard about the deciphered code, which he had on his phone.

  An item on the target list is a priceless diamond of great historical significance from a collection known as ‘Granny’s Personal Chips’. My source told me they are planning to replace it with a fake that would be undetectable to the naked eye.

  It was around the time he had mentioned Granny’s Personal Chips and the interviews he wanted to do that he’d thought he had seen a slight reservation from Sir Tommy.

  What was that about, if it was anything at all? Had Sir Tommy discovered something his friend, Sir Peregrine, was up to, and was trying to cover up for him?

  But if so, why tell them about the strange torchlight flashes his wife, Fiona, had seen?

  His phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. It was ACC Downing. He sounded anxious. ‘Where are you at the moment, Roy?’

  ‘On our way back down from Buckingham Palace, sir.’ It wouldn’t be often in his career that he would say that, he thought. ‘I’ll be back at HQ in about an hour.’

  ‘Can you come and see me the moment you’re back. Meantime, any updates? Comms are under siege, everyone wants to know about the connection between the two murders.’

  ‘I have no evidence at this stage to link the deaths of the two men, sir.’ He hesitated. ‘But I might need a bit of diplomacy with you and the Met, to get more information on this.’

  ‘What do you mean exactly, Roy?’

  ‘I’ll explain when I see you, sir. But basically I need a baseball bat – to hit a big swinging dick.’

  68

  Monday 27 November 2023

  ‘Come in!’ the regal voice called out in response to the bold knock on his office door.

  The Master entered, closing the door behind him, gave his usual single stiff head-bow and said a solemn, ‘Your Majesty.’

  King Charles stood up from behind his desk and slipped one hand in his jacket pocket.

  ‘Tommy, yes, I – I wanted to have a word about this Detective Grace.’

  ‘Sir?’ the Master responded.

  ‘I spoke to Detective Superintendent Mosse, down in the garden, who told me he has doubts about him. He has had quite a lot of troubles of his own apparently, including a missing wife. And Mosse says he feels he’s probably out of his depth – most of the stuff he deals with are small-time provincial crimes and he can’t understand why someone of his minimal experience was put in charge of the investigation into Peregrine’s murder and the attempted murder of my wife.’

  The King strode over to the window and looked down at the crime scene below for some moments, before turning back to the Master. ‘Tommy, let me ask you a very delicate question: do you really think Grace is up to the job? Because having met him, I think he is.’

  ‘I’m not aware of the details of Detective Superintendent Grace’s personal life, Sir, but over this past week I’ve done some checking on him, and so has the Lord Chamberlain. He appears to be extremely highly thought of within both Surrey and Sussex Police. His track record in investigating major crime is exemplary, and he is a very highly experienced homicide investigator. Perhaps you don’t recall, because you see so many people, but you awarded him a Bravery medal when you were the Prince of Wales.’

  ‘Good God. I’m sure you’re right. He must think me very rude that I didn’t mention it.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Sir, not at all. But if I may say so, I agree with you. Detective Superintendent Mosse is being somewhat disingenuous. I wouldn’t say that arresting and securing a conviction on a serial killer fits the description “small-time provincial crime”. He’s also broken and put behind bars several members of a major Albanian crime ring, an international online scamming group that murdered two people, along with countless other very major and nasty criminals. If I may add also, Sir, to his credentials, after a six-month stint with the Major Crime Task Force here in the Met, he was offered a Commander’s role in London, two years ago, but turned it down because he wanted to remain hands-on in fighting major crime in Surrey and Sussex.’

  ‘I see.’ The King looked reassured.

  ‘If I could say something else that might put your mind at ease, Sir?’

  The King gestured for him to go ahead.

  ‘If I was unfortunate enough to have a member of my family murdered, and I had to choose between Detective Superintendent Grace and Detective Superintendent Mosse to head the investigation, from what I have seen of the two men, and with all my past military experience, I can assure you there would be no contest. It would be Detective Superintendent Grace, without a moment’s hesitation. And if I was going into battle, I would feel very confident knowing he had my back.’

  The King smiled. ‘Thank you, Tommy. You know how much I trust your judgement. I’m relieved to hear you say this, and I completely agree.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  ‘Just one more thing.’ He frowned. ‘I can’t remember what time The Queen will be back this afternoon. I believe she’s opening a hospital in the Midlands, somewhere.’

  ‘She is, Sir. She’ll be back here by 5 p.m. – she has her Silver Swans this afternoon.’

  ‘Ah, right, yes. Of course, it’s Monday. Indeed.’ He smiled. ‘Ballet – she loves it and what a marvellous way to keep fit and supple. She has a lot more fun with that than I have with my ruddy one-man morning boot camp, doing my Canadian Air Force exercises.’

  ‘I can’t really see you doing ballet, Sir,’ Magellan-Lacey said.

  ‘Nor you, Tommy. Although your job involves you doing an awful lot of tap-dancing. I think you’re very good at that.’ The King gave him a wry smile, then turned towards his desk, a cue that the meeting was over.

  ‘Sir,’ the Master said, gave another respectful single head-bow and retreated out of the door.

  69

  Monday 27 November 2023

  As soon as they arrived back at the Sussex Police Headquarters, shortly after 4 p.m., Branson dropped Roy Grace off outside the Queen Anne building that had for decades housed the top brass of both Sussex Police and, more recently, the East Sussex Fire and Rescue Service. Then he drove on up the hill, through the campus to the Major Crime parking area.

  Nigel Downing occupied the same office, with its huge desk and fine view south across the hills of the South Downs, as his three ACC predecessors, Alison Vosper, Peter Rigg and Cassian Pewe, who had all intimidated Grace in some way. But ever since Downing had become ACC responsible for Major Crime – and therefore his direct boss – the atmosphere in this beautiful office felt different. Downing felt like a colleague who wanted to work with him, rather than a superior looking to catch him out.

  Although the solid-framed, crew-cut ACC, in his white short-sleeved shirt with his rank badge of crossed tipstaves on a laurel wreath on his epaulettes, was looking considerably more testy than usual as Grace was ushered into his office by his PA.

  As Downing indicated for him to take a chair in front of his desk, his PA asked if he wanted tea or coffee. Grace asked for tea and some water. As she left the room, the ACC shook his head, looking almost bewildered. ‘What is going on, Roy?’

  He had prepared detailed notes for Downing on his phone, on the journey down here, but before he could say anything, the ACC pointed at his computer monitor. Grace could only see the back of it. ‘There is only one news item today, Roy – pretty much around the world. The Queen’s would-be assassin strikes again.’

  Grace rolled his eyes. ‘I’m afraid that’s only to be expected, sir. On top of that we have an SIO on the case who is certain he’s the bee’s knees – you had the pleasure of meeting him last week at Clayton Tunnel.’

  Downing nodded. ‘Yes, Detective Superintendent Greg Mosse.’ He paused. ‘So, two members of the Royal Household murdered within a week of each other. Do you think there’s a connection?’

  ‘I do, sir, yes. But Mosse is not someone I can work with. I’m going to need you to help go over his head. Perhaps to approach Deputy Assistant Commissioner of the Met Police, Laurence Taylor. I worked with him when he was a Superintendent in Sussex and he’s one of the smartest coppers I’ve ever met – present company excepted, sir!’

  ‘No need for flattery, Roy. I’ll message him.’ Finally, Downing smiled. ‘So can you give me an update on the murder enquiry that is in your control, Op Asset?’

  Grace filled him in on all that the team had come up with to date, plus the release of Shannon Kendall from prison, which was to take place tomorrow, and that she would start working immediately.

  Downing nodded. ‘And you remain convinced that the shooting of Sir Peregrine was not an assassination attempt on Queen Camilla that went wrong?’

  ‘One hundred per cent, sir. I would stake my career on it.’

  Downing gave him a strange look. ‘You do know, don’t you, Roy, that there have been several attempts on the lives of British monarchs over the centuries?’

  Grace had forgotten that Downing had told him, soon after they had first met, that his passion was for history. He shook his head. ‘I wasn’t aware of that, sir, no – well, I was aware of the Gunpowder Plot assassination attempt on King James I. I didn’t know of any others.’

  Downing’s eyes widened. ‘The first was an attempt to kill Henry IV and restore Richard II to the throne. The plot was foiled and the conspirators were executed – hanged, drawn and quartered – not a pleasant death.’

  ‘I imagine not.’

  ‘They’d be hanged until they were just semi-conscious, then disembowelled and dragged around the streets behind a horse-drawn carriage, with their innards hanging out and some other delicate bits cut off.’ Downing smiled, as if he was enjoying this description.

  ‘The history of man’s inhumanity to man doesn’t make pleasant reading, does it?’ Grace said.

  ‘Nope! Then we had Elizabeth I. There were several assassination attempts against her. The most famous was the Babington Plot in 1586, aiming to replace her with Mary, Queen of Scots. That did not end well for Mary. Then we had George III. Several attempts against him. One was by a fellow called James Hadfield who fired a pistol at The King in the Drury Lane Theatre in 1800. He was acquitted on the grounds of insanity.’

  ‘I didn’t realize you were quite such a walking encyclopaedia, sir!’

  Downing smiled at the compliment. ‘Queen Victoria had multiple attempts on her life. The first was in 1840 by a man called Edward Oxford, who fired several shots at her carriage and fortunately missed. During the Second World War, the IRA devised a plan to assassinate King George VI, but that was foiled. In 1970, a log was placed in front of the royal train in the Blue Mountains. In June 1981, a teenager fired blanks at The Queen at the Trooping of the Colour in London. Another teenager tried again four months later with a rifle in Dunedin, New Zealand, but he missed. And there have been other subsequent threats, thankfully none successful.’ He was silent for a moment then he said, ‘Including now.’

  70

  Monday 27 November 2023

  At a few minutes to 7 p.m., Roy Grace sat at the kitchen table, across from Cleo. They were surrounded by the detritus of Noah and Molly’s playthings that were strewn around the floor, along with several ragged, chewed dog treats and toys, including a hedgehog from which Humphrey had pulled out most of the fluffy innards. Grace didn’t mind, he found the sight comforting, a reassurance of normality in a world that seemed to be losing its grip.

  Or was it he who was losing his grip?

  The weather certainly had lost its grip, with rain pelting down outside, interspersed with hail.

  ‘You OK, my love?’ Cleo asked, and dug her fork into her steaming, microwaved Keralan cod curry that came with black rice and broccoli. Neither of them were into convenience food but they’d found an online company that made products that actually seemed healthy, and on evenings when both of them had had busy days, quick meals like this were a good and inexpensive option.

  ‘Sorry, I’m not being very chatty, am I?’

  ‘You’ve spoken to the dogs more than me since you got home, but that’s fine. I’m not jealous, I know where I sit in the pecking order!’ She smiled.

  Humphrey and Kyla were both slumped in their adjoining baskets. Noah had abandoned what looked like the Lego interpretation of a city that had just suffered an earthquake of some magnitude on the Richter scale. Molly’s upturned red plastic food bowl was lying under her high chair.

  ‘Love does not consist of gazing at each other, but of looking outward together in the same direction. Do you know who said that?’

  ‘Someone very wise,’ he replied. ‘It’s true.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Do you think we do it?’ she asked with a teasing look.

  ‘Stare into each other’s eyes or in the same direction?’

  ‘I suppose that depends on whether we’re sitting opposite each other eating a meal – or driving somewhere in a car.’

  He gave her an uncertain smile, picked up his fork and speared the rice, turning some of it over and releasing steam. ‘I’m sorry – I had a rather mixed day.’

  ‘At Buckingham Palace?’

  ‘Some of the time, yes. I had another meeting with The King.’

  She smiled again. This time it was the kind of warm, interested, gorgeous smile he’d fallen in love with soon after he’d first met this amazing, beautiful woman.

  Then she quizzed, ‘How many couples in the world, at this moment, are having their evening meal and one of them tells the other, so casually, Oh, I had another meeting with The King today?’

  He gave a bemused look. ‘It is extraordinary, surreal. It’s an immense privilege, I know but – hell . . .’ He shook his head. ‘The responsibility of this whole thing.’

  She looked at him sympathetically. ‘I know.’

  ‘It might be easier if I felt the top brass had my back. But I had a meeting with Downing this afternoon and he went and read out a litany of past assassination attempts on British monarchs – giving me the clear impression he feels I may not be right in my hypothesis that The Queen was not the intended target.’

  ‘But you are certain she wasn’t, right?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m as certain as it’s possible to be.’

  ‘And Glenn? He has good instincts.’

  He nodded. ‘Glenn’s with me. But until we arrest the shooter we can’t be one hundred per cent sure.’

  ‘Are you getting closer to that?’