The Hawk Is Dead, page 6
He turned to the Inspector and asked, ‘Is this British Rail property here?’
College shook his head and looked relieved. ‘No, sir. British Rail property ends the top of the steps up from the tunnel – this is private farmland – belongs to Pangdean Farm – so this is your jurisdiction. We’ll take care of the derailment. But obviously we need to work together, and any help British Transport Police can give you, we will. There’s a sergeant and a PC from Haywards Heath down at the tunnel entrance keeping everyone safely just inside the tunnel until the area is declared safe. And a Crime Scene Manager and team of CSIs are on their way.’
As Grace thanked him, his phone rang. It was Nigel Downing.
‘Are you at the scene, Roy?’ the ACC asked.
‘I am, sir.’
‘I understand the victim who has died is a senior member of the Royal Household? Is this correct?’
‘Unfortunately yes, sir. The Private Secretary. But Her Majesty is safe and should now be at HQ.’
‘She is, her helicopter has just landed. She’s asking about her dresser.’
‘Her dresser?’ Grace queried.
‘She wants her dresser, she needs to change her clothes, they’ve blood and – other matter – on them. Her dresser is apparently being rushed over to HQ now. Is anyone else injured?’
‘No other casualties reported, so far.’
‘No sign of the gunman – shooter?’
‘Not so far, sir. We believe he has fled the area.’
‘I’m heading over – where shall I meet you?’
‘The outer cordon would be best.’
‘I’ll radio you when I’m there.’
Roy Grace wasn’t entirely sure what the direct-entry, fast-track Superintendent, now ACC, with his past experience in Highways Planning, could bring to the investigation, but if it was even just moral support at this stage, that would be fine by him.
There would likely be officers from the Counter Terrorism Command, and even the Protection hierarchy, under which the Royalty and Specialist Protection team operated, all keen to be involved. Not because they could do the job any better than he and his team, but because being part of this high-profile investigation, and helping to bring it to a successful conclusion, could bring career glory and all kinds of promotion prospects. While this was a murder on his territory, and he was the on-call SIO, he had the feeling competition for ownership of this case might turn ugly, and that senior detectives would be fighting like rats in a sack to get involved in this one.
He was right.
18
Monday 20 November 2023
Five minutes after the police helicopter landed in the playing fields close by, Queen Camilla, along with her Protection Officer, was driven into the safe confines of Police Headquarters, in the middle vehicle of a three-car armed convoy.
The Chief Constable, Lesley Manning, and the Deputy Chief, Gordon Crawford, stood at the entrance to Malling House with a young Inspector to escort Her Majesty to the room that had hastily been prepared for her. It was adjacent to the room to which, on 12 October 1984, Margaret Thatcher had been taken, after the IRA had failed to assassinate her by bombing the Grand Hotel in Brighton, where she had been staying during the Conservative Party Conference.
Two officers from the Armed Response Unit, wielding their semi-automatic rifles, stood a discreet distance away. The Chief Constable, who was forty-nine, her hair clipped into a bun beneath her round hat, stood deathly serious, unsure quite what to expect, her mind considering every option. The Deputy Chief Constable stood beside her. The tall, powerfully built Scot, a no-nonsense down-to-business man, had in the past thirty minutes taken care of all the arrangements under Manning’s direction.
Although deeply upset about the death of the Private Secretary – and that the whole incident had occurred on her watch – Manning was relieved beyond words that The Queen was seemingly unharmed. Two Royal Protection vehicles and four motorcycle police outriders were on their way, and would escort her back to London as soon as she was ready.
The Police HQ was locked down, with no one allowed in without her express consent. Two more officers from the Armed Response Team were on guard at the front entrance barrier. Lesley Manning and her team had put in place everything they could think of to protect The Principal. In the aftermath of the assassination attempt, Sussex Police were taking no chances.
Additionally, a Royal Air Force Chinook helicopter carrying armed officers had arrived over the area of the Downs where the shooter was suspected to have been, and was conducting a low-level sweep.
Moments after the police vehicle pulled up, the front passenger door opened. First out was Jon Gilhall. Then The Queen appeared, taking his guiding arm and looking shocked but composed. She gave the two senior police officers a hesitant smile.
‘Your Majesty,’ Manning said, doing a slightly clumsy version of a curtsy. ‘Your Majesty,’ DCC Crawford echoed, bowing stiffly.
‘Welcome to Sussex – I’m so terribly sorry about the circumstances. Are you all right?’ the Chief Constable asked. ‘Are you hurt?’
The Queen shook her head, ‘No, I’m fine, fortunately, thank you. Although it’s not been the morning I’d had in mind – so far. It’s been pretty dreadful.’
Neither Lesley Manning nor Gordon Crawford knew quite how to take this, both wondering whether it was a stab at humour.
Then The Queen shot an anxious glance at her small, elegant Cartier Tank wristwatch and looked back at them both with an uncertain smile. ‘I need to find somewhere to make some calls – I have to phone The King, he could hardly hear me in the helicopter. Also, my dear secretary, Jayne Bennett. I’ll need her to be involved in everything. I would like her to call Martlets Hospice and explain we are running behind schedule and will be a bit late. She already mentioned to me that Perry’s late father died at Martlets, so it’s even more important that I get there as planned.’
She didn’t notice several raised eyebrows.
‘Understood, Ma’am,’ the Protection Officer said. ‘And I’ve just spoken by phone to your dresser – Brenda – she will be here shortly with a change of clothes. She’s requested somewhere for you to retire, change and make your calls.’
All eyes stared at the dark blotches on her dress.
‘We have a room all prepared for you, Ma’am,’ Lesley Manning responded. ‘Your royal doctor will attend to check you over. And a car is on its way to transport you back to London.’
The Queen gave her a look so disapproving it startled Manning. ‘Back to London?’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
‘I’m sorry, I’ve come to Sussex to visit terminally ill patients in two hospices – Martlets in Brighton and young children in Chestnut Tree House in Arundel. They’re expecting me and I don’t intend to let them down.’ Her expression softened and she gave Manning a smile.
‘But, Ma’am – your safety is paramount,’ Gordon Crawford interjected.
She shook her head. ‘What is paramount is that I visit those two places – and the ones tomorrow further down the coast where they are all expecting me. Someone may have tried to kill me today, but they didn’t succeed. I’m very deeply sorry that Sir Peregrine has died – but if whoever shot at me and hit him instead thinks I’m going to scurry back up to the safety of London, they can think again. Jayne, my secretary, agrees. I’ve come to Sussex to do a job, and that’s what we are going to do.’
Manning and Crawford shot each other a glance.
The Queen looked at her watch again. ‘I believe I was due at Martlets Hospice about now and Brenda should be here soon. A quick change and we’ll be off. It’ll be twenty minutes by road from here?’
Manning nodded confirmation. The Queen turned to her Protection Officer. ‘Jon, can you check whether Jayne has rung Martlets to let them know we are running late? Please ask her to give them my apologies.’
During the short helicopter ride Gilhall had already tried to persuade his boss to abandon the tour, for her safety. But she’d given him very short shrift and the subject was now closed. He gave a single respectful head-bow. ‘Ma’am.’ Then he stepped away and pulled out his phone.
‘Ma’am,’ Manning said. ‘I remember your visit to St Wilfrid’s Hospice in Eastbourne a few years back, which I oversaw. It’s my responsibility to oversee things again here, but now under these more challenging and sad circumstances. I think that after what’s happened we should let your doctor, who will be here any moment, check you over before you do anything.’
The Queen peered down at the dark blotches on her dress. ‘What will my doctor be looking for – bullet holes?’ she asked wryly. ‘Or will I be getting trauma counselling?’
Again, neither police officer knew whether or not to smile.
19
Monday 20 November 2023
Roy Grace knew one certainty about every murder victim: the moment of death was like a starting pistol being fired, signalling the race was on between blowflies and the media to get to the victim first.
Today, from the cluster of camera lenses and strobing flashlights at the blue and white tape of the outer cordon, it looked like the media had won, hands – or perhaps proboscises – down. Sometimes, in his darker, angrier moments he struggled to differentiate the media scavengers from the blowflies.
As he strode along the track towards the ACC, who was well inside the cordon and several yards back from the scene guard, he could see familiar faces from the Argus, Sussex Express, Radio Sussex and ITV Meridian – among the fast-swelling press corps, several of whom were shouting questions at the ACC.
‘Sir, is it true The Queen has been shot?’
‘ACC Downing, has someone tried to kill The Queen?’
‘Nigel, NIGEL!’
‘Assistant Chief Constable, is it true there’s been an assassination attempt on Camilla?’
Nigel Downing, standing a few yards behind the scene guard, in his full dress uniform, replied loudly, ‘I’m sorry, I cannot comment at this stage. There will be a press conference later, probably at Haywards Heath police station.’
‘What time will that be, sir?’ someone shouted.
Downing looked extremely relieved to see Grace heading towards him and, distancing himself further from the tape, greeted him with a firm handshake, asking at the same time, ‘How’s it going?’
‘Detective Superintendent Grace!’ the reporter from the Argus shouted out. ‘Is The Queen still alive?’
‘ROY!’ another shouted. ‘Is the rumour true?’
‘Her Majesty has not been hurt,’ he called back. ‘She has been removed to a place of safety. We will be holding a press conference at Haywards Heath police station at 2 p.m. today.’
Then he ushered Downing away, and along the track towards the inner cordon a quarter of a mile away. As they walked, the ACC pointed to Grace’s oversuit. ‘Should I be putting one on here, Roy?’ he asked.
‘No, sir, you don’t need to go inside the inner cordon.’
‘I’d like to see the body.’
‘I can assure you, sir, you wouldn’t. And with respect, I want the least amount of people walking around the crime scene. It looks like the first bullet pretty much exploded when it struck Sir Peregrine’s head and there may be crucial fragments of that bullet, or the second one, that could lead us to the killer. They could easily get trodden into the ground, which is very soft from the recent rain, as you can tell.’
‘Understood, of course,’ Downing said. ‘So can you give me an update?’
‘Yes, sir, but firstly, how is The Queen?’
‘Being a right royal pain,’ he replied with the trace of a grin. ‘Can you believe she is insisting on carrying on with her plans for the day?’
‘I can believe it, yes.’
‘I just spoke to the Chief. She is already on her way to Martlets Hospice.’
‘Christ,’ Grace said. ‘With a proper escort?’
‘All police leave in the county has been cancelled for the next twenty-four hours, and all available staff have been called in. She’s in a vehicle with bulletproof windows, armed response officers in front and behind and an RAF Chinook helicopter with armed personnel on board, overhead, covering her route. She’s determined to continue with her visits and no one is going to dissuade her.’
‘I think it’s exactly what the late Queen would have done,’ Grace said. ‘Just carry on.’
‘Exactly. But I think the Chief has persuaded her to just do the two hospices, Martlets then the children’s one, Chestnut Tree House, but to cancel Chichester Theatre and return to the safety of Clarence House for the night. Going to the theatre would not be a good look.’
‘I think that’s smart, sir. Not letting patients in a hospice down is one thing. Going to the theatre on the night her Private Secretary has been murdered would not, as you say, be a good look.’
They were approaching the inner cordon and behind the scene guard, they could see several people in oversuits, all busy.
‘Right, the update, sir. Currently at the crime scene itself we have Chris Gee, Crime Scene Manager, and CSI photographer James Gartrell, whose work is always top notch, and two more CSIs who have temporarily put a cover over the Private Secretary’s body. I’m awaiting the arrival of a ballistics expert to see if they can pinpoint where the shooter was located. We have a drone operator and the machine is currently doing a low-level sweep over the area where we think the shooter may have been.’
Grace pointed at the wide expanse of Downland hills in front of them, a mixture of grass, dense shrubland and trees. ‘Whoever it was chose their location well, there’s a good 180-degree sweep and the shooter could have been anywhere within that. We’ve possibly narrowed this down a little – we had some assistance from a local dog walker who told one of the uniformed officers we’ve got out on the hills searching, that a man on a motocross bike raced past her at speed, approximately five minutes after the shots were fired, carrying a canvas bag – the type that broken-down fishing rods are carried in.’
‘Did this person get the licence plate?’ Downing asked.
‘She got one digit, sir. She sounds a good witness – she’s agreed to come in for a cognitive witness interview. But it will very likely be a cloned plate – it looks like our shooter is smart and well-prepped.’
‘Well-prepped enough to have the train derailed for him?’ Downing suggested. ‘All part of an anti-monarchist conspiracy? The Not-My-King lot?’
Grace shook his head. ‘I don’t think it is necessarily them, sir, no.’
Downing looked at him, astonished. ‘What?’
They both heard the whirr of a drone and looked up at the tiny machine with its winking red dot of a light.
‘Is that ours?’ Downing asked.
Grace frowned. ‘I’ll ask James Gartrell. But I’m sure it is.’
The ACC looked pensive. ‘So you don’t think this whole terrible thing is part of an anti-monarchy conspiracy, Roy?’
Grace shook his head. ‘The Not-My-King people are part of an anti-monarchy movement, but their issues are around the cost of living crisis in contrast to what they see as the monarchy’s opulence. There’s nothing in their history to suggest anger at a level where assassination of a monarch could be plausible. Our team have got to know some of them quite well. We will of course check the group out as a line of enquiry to either eliminate or implicate them as suspects.’
Downing nodded. ‘I hope you are right. And you are pretty sure the shooter is no longer in the area, Roy?’
‘I am, sir. The helicopter did a thorough sweep and our drone hasn’t seen anything. The motorbike roaring off five minutes after the shots – and the fact that there were only two shots fired.’
‘And the rest of the royal entourage?’
‘I initially kept them down in the tunnel, for their own safety and equally importantly to prevent them from coming up and contaminating the crime scene. A second route out of the tunnel and up the embankment has been established, and others are all being transported by minibuses to Haywards Heath police station, where I will arrange officers to interview them. To be honest, it seems the key witnesses we’ll need are Her Majesty and her Protection Officer, Jon Gilhall, who were both present on the grass knoll above the tunnel when Greaves was shot. No one else would have been in a position to see anything.’
Downing shook his head. ‘This is a terrible day for Sussex, Roy. A terrible day.’
‘Why do you say that, sir?’
Downing rounded on him. ‘I can’t believe you’ve just said that.’
Grace shrugged.
‘Someone tried to assassinate The Queen on our watch, Roy. A terrorist organization or a lone wolf? You don’t think that’s a terrible day?’
‘Sir, even at this early stage I am not yet convinced anyone tried to assassinate her,’ he replied. ‘We need to consider all the evidence. It’s possible she was not the intended target.’
20
Monday 20 November 2023
As Downing gave him a very strange look, Grace heard footsteps approaching behind them, and turned. He saw a short, wiry and energetic-looking man with a bushy beard. He was lugging a large metal box.
‘Detective Superintendent Grace?’ he asked pleasantly, in a gruff Sussex burr.
‘Yes?’ He knew the faces and names of just about everyone that the Major Crime Unit engaged with but he could not place this man, especially in his protective clothing. Grace realized it was a mark of how few times in his career that firearms had been involved. The man had clearly been allowed inside the outer cordon for a reason.
‘Baz Dyson, Ballistics Scientist, from the Croydon lab, sir.’ He held out his identity card. ‘What do we have?’
