'I think you'd be happier if you had a girlfriend.'
They reached the roundabout. Grace took the second exit, onto the Brighton bypass. 'Well,' he said, 'who knows?'
'Why don't you have a girlfriend?' she asked.
'Because ...' He hesitated. 'Well - you know - finding the right person is not always that easy.'
'I have a boyfriend,' Jaye announced.
'You do? Tell me about him.'
'His name is Justin. He's in my class. He told me he wants to marry me.'
Grace shot her a sideways glance. 'And do you want to marry him?'
She shook her head vigorously. 'He's yuck!'
'He's your boyfriend, but he's yuck'? What kind of a boyfriend is that?'
'I'm thinking of ending it,' she said, deadly serious.
This was another reason why Grace loved his days out with Jaye, because he felt she kept him in touch with the young world. Now, for a moment, he felt totally lost. Did he ever have a girlfriend at eight? No way...
His mobile, lying in his door pocket, rang. He picked it up and held it to his ear rather than use the hands-free in case it was bad news which might upset Jaye. 'Roy Grace,' he said.
A young female voice said, 'Hello? Detective Superintendent Grace?'
'Speaking.'
'It's DC Boutwood.'
'Emma-Jane? Hi, welcome to the team.'
She sounded nervous. 'Thank you. I'm at Sussex House - DC Nicholl asked me to call you - there's been a development.'
'Tell me?'
Even more nervous now, she said, 'Well, sir, it's not very good news. Some ramblers have found a body in Ashdown Forest, about two miles east of Crowborough.'
Right in the heart of the suspect area, Grace thought instantly.
'A young man,' she continued. 'Late twenties or early thirties. Sounds like he fits Michael Harrison's profile.'
Glancing at Jaye, he said, 'What condition is he in?' 'I don't have that information. Dr Churchman is on his way there now. DC Nicholl wants to know if you will be able to attend?'
Grace glanced at Jaye again. There was no option. 'I'll be there in an hour.'
'Thank you, sir.'
As he hung up, Jaye informed him, 'Mummy said that people mustn't use their mobile phones when they are driving. It is very dangerous.' 'Your mummy is quite right. Jaye, I'm sorry, I'm going to have to take you back home.'
'We haven't seen the giraffe yet.'
He switched on his indicator, to pull off the road at the next exit and turn back. 'I'm sorry. There is a young man who has gone missing and I have to help find him.'
'Can I help too?'
'Not this time, Jaye, I'm sorry.' He picked up his phone and dialled Jaye's home number. Fortunately her parents were in. Grace gave an edited version of the events to her mother and reversed the car. He promised to take her out again next Sunday, instead. They would go and see a giraffe, for sure.
Ten minutes later, holding his hand, she trotted back alongside him up to the front door of her house, her disappointment palpable.
He felt like a heel.
58
A mud-spattered police patrol car was waiting at the side of the main road, marking the start of the track into the forest for him. Grace pulled up alongside, then the constable at the wheel led the way for a good mile.
The waterlogged, potholed track was barely driveable in his car, the sump bottoming, the front wheels slithering and spinning as they lost traction. Mud exploded over the bonnet, spattering the windscreen with large brown flecks. Grace, who had just taken the Alfa to a pricey car wash before picking up Jaye, cursed. Then a clump of gorse scraped the side, sounding as hard as nails. He cursed again, more loudly, his nerves wound up, upset that he'd disappointed Jaye, but far more upset about the news of the body.
It wasn't necessarily Michael Harrison, he thought. But he had to admit it was hard to escape the coincidence. Michael Harrison was last seen in exactly this area. Now a body matching his age, height and build turns up.
Did not sound good.
As they rounded a bend he saw a cluster of vehicles ahead, and a strip of yellow crime-scene tape sealing off the area. There were two police cars, a white SOCO van, a plain green van - probably belonging to an undertaker - and a convertible Lotus Elise sports car which he knew belonged to Nigel Churchman, the local consultant pathologist who had a penchant for boy's toys. How had he got that up here?
He pulled up and opened his door, expecting the sickly stench of death to fill his nostrils. But all he smelled were pine, flowers, earth, the scents of the forest. Whoever it was had not been dead long, he thought, climbing
