And yet.
He couldn’t shake the image of the woman from his mind.
* * *
In room 7, the comatose woman’s eyes suddenly opened. Her attending nurse had stepped away for a comfort break and she was, briefly, alone.
“Roy was here,” she said.
Then her eyes closed again.
110
Sunday 4 January
The moment the plane had taxied to a halt at Heathrow Airport, Roy Grace switched his phone from flight mode. It took some moments before it found a signal. As soon as it did, he texted Cleo to say he was back safe.
Then his phone buzzed, indicating he had voicemail.
He checked it. There were two messages from Cassian Pewe, the second sounding more impatient than the first. “Roy, call me urgently, will you, please.”
A loud bing-bong sounded, and people all around him began standing up and removing their belongings from the overhead lockers. Grace joined them, shuffling along and out of the plane. Pewe could wait a few minutes, he decided, and anyway, he was officially on leave.
A little while later, he entered the short-term car park. Then, just as he reached Cleo’s Audi, his phone rang again. He looked at the display but the number was withheld.
“Roy Grace,” he answered.
“Where the hell have you been?” said the whiny voice of Cassian Pewe.
“In Germany, sir.”
“Germany?”
“I’ve just flown back to London.”
“I’ve been trying desperately to get hold of you. What have you been doing in Germany?”
“Family business, sir,” he said, barely masking his irritation at Pewe’s tone.
“Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”
“I’m still on sick leave, sir.”
“I need you back on Operation Haywain right away. We have a very big problem.”
His heart sinking, Grace said, “What’s happened, sir?”
“I’ll tell you what’s happened. Dr. Edward Crisp has happened. The excavation of the collapsed tunnel where you last saw Crisp has been completed. He isn’t there.”
“That’s not possible, sir. He was buried.”
“Did you see him being buried?”
Grace was silent for a moment. “No, not actually buried.”
“Down in his lair, where he had a cozy little set-up, there was a hatch that dropped down into the main sewer for the area. He must have gone down it. I’ve spoken to Southern Water, who are responsible for the entire Brighton and Hove sewerage network, and they say it’s very unlikely he could have survived. Apparently after all the rain of the past two months, the sewers have been in flood. He could have been carried several miles along the tunnel but then he would have hit a series of filters designed to stop and break down large objects, before they are carried on to the plant at Peacehaven, and ultimately out to sea.”
Puzzled and dismayed, Grace asked, “So are you saying Crisp escaped into the sewer system, but would then have drowned, or been ripped to shreds?”
“What I’m saying, Roy,” Pewe’s voice sounded on the cusp of a snarl, “is that we need a damned body, or at least some body parts. Our Specialist Search Unit know how to search sewers. They need to find something urgently. Do you understand?”
“I do, sir, and a Happy New Year to you.”
“Huh.”
111
Instead of heading home from the airport, as he had been intending, Roy Grace carried on down the A23, past the turn-off to Henfield, and then joined the A27, which took him up toward Hollingbury.
A few minutes later he turned off, drove down a steep hill, with the Asda superstore to his right, and entered the front car park of Sussex House, the CID HQ. It was 4:15 p.m.
The Christmas decorations were still up, but there was a subdued atmosphere. A cloud had hung over the future of this entire building ever since the merger of Sussex and Surrey CID departments.
In his casual clothes, he strode along the corridors toward MIR-1, then entered, greeting several members of his team who had remained, until now at any rate, to tidy up all the outstanding elements of Operation Haywain.
Norman Potting stood up from behind his workstation. “Chief!” he said. “How are you? You’re limping.”
“I’m on the mend, thanks, Norman. Or, at least, I was. Happy New Year! How are you?”
“Happy New Year to you, too. Chief, I think you ought to take a look at this—it just came in.” Potting was pointing at his computer screen.
Grace walked over, behind the row of people seated beside Potting, then leaned over his shoulder and stared at the screen.
On it was an e-mail, sent from a Hotmail account. The sender’s name was just a meaningless row of letters and numbers.
“Read the e-mail,” Potting said.
Grace read it.
Dear Detective Sergeant Potting, it was very remiss of me not to get back to you on your prostate problems that you mentioned when you last came to see me, but I’ve been busy on an exciting new project. There is an excellent organization that has all the latest information on this vile disease. You can contact them on www.prostatehelp.me.uk.
Good luck, it was nice meeting you.
Bye for now!
Dr. Edward Crisp
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As ever with my Roy Grace novels I owe an incalculable debt to so many people in different fields, who have generously given their sanction, advice or time to my research.
Starting with officers, former officers and support staff of Sussex Police, Surrey Police, and other law-enforcement agencies both in the UK and overseas: Chief Constable Giles York, QPM; Police and Crime Commissioner Katy Bourne; Chief Superintendent Nev Kemp; former Chief Superintendent Graham Bartlett; Superintendent Paula Light; Detective Superintendent Paul Furnell; Detective Superintendent Nick May; Chief Inspector Jason Tingley; Detective Inspector Bill Warner; Former Detective Chief Inspector Trevor Bowles; Inspector Andy Kille; Sergeant Phil Taylor; Sergeant Lorna Dennison-Wilkins, PC Martin Light; PC Paul Quinn, PC Scott Kendal and all the team of the Specialist Search Unit; Suzanne Heard; Katie Perkin; Jill Pederson; Ray Packham formerly of the High Tech Crime Unit; Crime Scene Investigators James Gartrell and Chris Gee; Tony Case, Senior Support Officer; Juliet Smith JP, High Sherriff of East Sussex. And last, but also first, my close friend and Roy Grace alter-ego, former Detective Chief Superintendent David Gaylor, the career role model for Roy Grace.
Thank you to those who gave me invaluable medical, scientific or technical help: Dr. Wilfrid Assin; Dr. Neil Haughton; Iain Maclean; Dr. Haydn Kelly; Dr. David Veale; Michael Beard; Andrew Davey; Janet Blainey; Martin Pile; Nigel Ostime; Brian Price; Derek Middlehurst; Dr. Mark Howard; Dr. Nigel Kirkham; Father Martin; Hans Jürgen Stockerl; Wolfgang Barth at the Drogennotdienst, Frankfurt; Anette Lippert; and a particularly special mention to Sigrid Daus and Klinikum Munich, Krankenhaus Schwabing, for their enormous help with this book.
Although writing is a solitary task, there are numerous people in the background working on the editing, sales and marketing, without whom there would, quite simply, be no book. Starting with my computer guru, Chris Webb of MacService; my agent, Carole Blake, and her team. My editor, Wayne Brookes; Geoff Duffield, Anna Bond. Sara Lloyd and all at Pan Macmillan. My US team—Andy Martin; Marc Resnick; Hector DeJean; Paul Hochman; Elena Stokes; Tanya Farrell and all the rest at Team James USA. My copy-editor Susan Opie; my publicists, Sophie Ransom, Becky Short and Tony Mulliken.
I’m fortunate to have a brilliant support team who help me to hone the manuscript long before it reaches my agent and publishers, and to help with the management of Team James UK; my incredibly hard-working and brilliant PA, Linda Buckley, who is an absolute treasure—as well as a stickler for detail(!)—and my book-keeper Sarah Middle; Helen Shenston; Anna Hancock; Martin and Jane Diplock; Susan Ansell.
A hugely special mention to my beloved Lara, who has put such hu
ge hard work and energy into so many aspects of the research, writing and editing of this book.
And of course no acknowledgments would be complete without a mention of our dogs—who are the first to let me know if they think I’ve spent too long with my nose in front of my screen, and that I need a walk!—Oscar, and our recent puppy arrival, delightful Labradoodle Spook.
Finally some sad farewells this year. RIP: Elsie Sweetman, the former Chief Mortician at Brighton and Hove Mortuary and the role model for Cleo Morey. A fantastic and wonderful character. Dr. Dennis Friedmann, eminent psychiatrist who gave me so much help on shaping characters—particularly villains—over many books. Phoebe, our beloved German Shepherd who died at 13—a great age, but she will always be missed with deep affection.
Above all, thank you, my readers! Your e-mails, Tweets, Facebook and blog posts give me such constant encouragement. Keep them coming. I love to hear from you!
Bye for now!
Peter James
Sussex, England
scary@pavilion.co.uk
www.peterjames.com
www.facebook.com/peterjames.roygrace
www.twitter.com/peterjamesuk
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Peter James is the #1 international bestselling author of the Roy Grace series, with more than sixteen million copies sold all over the world. His novels have been translated into thirty-six languages; three of his early titles have been filmed, and the Roy Grace series is currently in development. All of his novels reflect his deep interest in the world of the police, with whom he does in-depth research. He lives in England. You can sign up for email updates here.
Also by Peter James
The Roy Grace Series
Dead Simple
Looking Good Dead
Not Dead Enough
Dead Man’s Footsteps
Dead Tomorrow
Dead Like You
Dead Man’s Grip
Not Dead Yet
Dead Man’s Time
Want You Dead
Other Novels
Dead Letter Drop
Atom Bomb Angel
Billionaire
Possession
Dreamer
Sweet Heart
Twilight
Prophecy
Alchemist
Host
The Truth
Denial
Faith
Perfect People
Children’s Novel
Getting Wired!
Novella
The Perfect Murder
Short Stories Collection
A Twist of the Knife
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Begin Reading
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Peter James
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
YOU ARE DEAD. Copyright © 2015 by Really Scary Books/Peter James. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by Ervin Serrano
Cover photograph by Tim Robinson/Arcangel Images
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-06571-1 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-07458-4 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781250074584
Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.
Originally published in the United Kingdom by Macmillan, an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
First U.S. Edition: October 2015