she’d sworn to keep their affair secret.’
‘She was hardly the type to blackmail someone,’ Grace said. ‘And I wouldn’t have thought she had a lot of money.’
‘No, she didn’t. She used to travel to work on an old Vespa.’
‘So what could have been his motive for killing her – assuming he did?’
‘Or maybe they were both killed?’ she replied. ‘And only her body has turned up?’
‘That’s possible. Someone after him and she just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Wouldn’t be the first time. Have you heard anything from the investigating team?’
‘Not much progress so far. There’s just one small thing that’s interesting.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I saw Ray Packham earlier – from the High Tech Crime Unit?’
‘Yes, I know him. He’s smart.’
‘He’s been running forensic software on the computer Janet used here, and he’s recovered the electronic diary that she deleted when she left.’
Someone knocked on the door and entered. Grace looked up and saw a young man he recognized from this department standing there. Lorna looked up at him. ‘Sorry, Dermot, is it anything urgent?’
‘No – no problem – see you tomorrow.’
He went out and closed the door.
Her face blanked. ‘Where was I?’
‘Janet’s diary,’ he prompted.
‘Yes, right. There was one name on it, about nine months back, that none of us here know. It was an entry for an evening in December last year. She had written down,
‘Brian?’
‘Yes.’
Grace felt a sudden frisson.
Now his brain was really engaging, all his tiredness gone. Was that why he had woken in the middle of the night, thinking about Janet McWhirter? His brain telling him that there was a connection?
‘It looks like this means something to you, Roy.’
‘Possibly,’ he said ‘Who’s running the inquiry on Janet?’
‘DI Winter, in MIR Two.’
Grace thanked Lorna and headed straight to the incident room that had been set up in MIR Two. There he explained the possible connection to his own double-inquiry that he had just learned.
Then he returned to MIR One, almost colliding with a triumphant-looking Glenn Branson, who came round the corner at a speed close to a run. ‘Got him!’ Branson said, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolding it. ‘I’ve got a name and an address!’
Grace followed him into the room.
‘His name is Norman Jecks.’
Grace looked down at the crumpled sheet of lined paper, with a jagged edge where it had been torn from a ring-pad. On it was written
He looked up at Branson. ‘That’s not Bishop’s address.’
‘No, it’s not. But that’s the one the man wrote down on the A&E registration form on Sunday morning. The disguised Brian Bishop. Maybe he has two lives?’
Grace stared at it, with a bad feeling. As if a dark cloud was swirling around his insides. Did Brian Bishop have a second home? A secret home? A secret life? ‘Is it a real address?’
‘Bella’s checked the electoral register. There’s a Norman Jecks at that address.’
He looked at his watch, adrenaline pumping into his veins. It was ten past six. ‘Forget the briefing meeting,’ he said. ‘Find out who the duty magistrate is and get a search warrant. Then get on to the Local Support Team. We’re going to pay Norman Jecks a visit. Just as fast as we possibly can.’
He sprinted back along the labyrinth of corridors to the PNC suite.
Lorna Baxter was halfway out of the door when he arrived.
‘Lorna,’ he said breathlessly, ‘have you got a moment?’
