FIVE – Wheels Within Wheels

Detective Inspector Kevin Grant's office is small and chaotic but it's also surprisingly light thanks to a very tall window that frames an extraordinary panoramic view of myriad local rooftops and far-distant tall buildings. As Grace edges carefully through the disorganised clutter, Grant closes the door and waits for her to seat herself before walking quietly past her and taking position behind his desk. She thinks he looks incredibly tired, the pressure of the last few days showing clearly on his face. He says, "I'm sorry for the rather cryptic message I left this morning, Doctor Foley, but I wanted the chance to talk to you alone before we go down to the interview room and get on with the formalities."

Grace is very adept at reading people. It's a natural talent and also something of an essential prerequisite for her job. She watches him carefully as she asks, "Alone in an 'off-the-record' sort of way?"

He nods. "Exactly. Look, let's not beat around the bush – whatever you think, I'm not the enemy and I'm certainly not pursuing any personal agenda here."

"Reassuring to hear."

"I've never worked with Peter Boyd," he tells her seriously, "and I try not to listen to rumour, but I've been a detective for long enough to know when things that initially seem simple aren't quite adding up."

It's encouraging news but Grace does not risk relaxing her guard. Not yet, not until she's certain she's not walking into an ambush. "So what are you actually saying, Mr Grant?"

Grant drums his fingers nervously on his desk and eventually sighs. "I'm saying… that despite what all the evidence is telling me, I'm not entirely convinced I've got the right man."

Her pulse quickens, but she keeps her voice quiet and level. "That's a big admission to make."

He grunts and looks down at the untidy slew of paperwork on his desk. When he looks up again he asks, "Do you know who my DI was when I first joined CID?"

Wondering what the connection is, Grace shakes her head. "Enlighten me."

"Jess Worrall."

She blinks at the unexpected revelation. Wheels within wheels. Like most police forces, the Met, though large, is in general a tight-knit organisation and it's rare to find any officer with more than a few years' service who doesn't know something of another particular officer through a third or fourth party. Over time, transfers to new units are requested or promotions are accepted, and when officers move to new teams they take their accumulated knowledge of their peers with them, furthering a never-ending extended web of contacts and information. Grace nods. "Ah. I see."

The agitated finger-drumming doesn't cease. "I went to St. Albans to see her last night."

Grace has no intention of making things easy for him so she merely asks, "And…?"

"She's not entirely convinced I've got the right man, either." Grant grimaces and then wryly admits, "Actually, that's a considerable understatement."

"I can imagine," Grace says dryly, the little she knows about the woman in question giving her some idea of just how loud and explosive that conversation must have been.

"Find me a good reason to look seriously at Fuller again." He pushes the sealed brown package that has been lying inconspicuously on the edge of his desk towards her. "Copies of the CCTV from Dagenham. You didn't get them from this office."

Grace puts the package straight into her bag without examining it. She understands the significance of what Grant is doing, knows that he is risking a severe reprimand – or much worse – on little more than a good detective's instinct for when something is not quite right. A touch more than ordinary curiosity makes her ask, "Were you close? You and Jess?"

Grant doesn't look at her as he replies, "Not as close as I probably would have liked back then. But I was a very junior member of her team and she… had someone else."

Of course she did. It's no great secret to anyone. "Boyd."

"Boyd," Grant confirms gruffly. He looks up from his cluttered desk. "By all accounts they used to fight like cat and dog, but who the hell knows what really goes on between two people behind closed doors?" He gazes at her steadily, intently. "Trust me, Doctor Foley, if he did rape and murder Erin Jackson, I'll make sure he's tried and convicted for it, but if he didn't…"

"I understand." She prepares to get up.

"One more thing," he says quietly, "you don't have much time. I'm under considerable pressure from above to stop looking too closely at the minor details and get on with charging him. When the press eventually find out that there's a copper involved they're going to have an absolute bloody field day. My Super wants the whole thing sewn-up and handed over to the CPS as quickly as possible. To prevent that from happening I need something concrete, and I need it quickly."

She nods in acknowledgement and then says carefully, "It would be useful to have a copy of Fuller's statement."

"Don't want much do you?" Grant mutters. He sighs. "All right, I'll see what I can do, Doctor, but don't hold your breath."

-oOo-

"This is Heathway at the junction of Broad Street at just past seven," Eve announces, holding out a printed black and white still that quite clearly shows the camera location, date and time as well as the grainy but unmistakable image of Mark Fuller. Grace takes it, studies it for a moment and then silently passes it to Spencer. Eve produces a second sheet of paper. "And this is just outside the tube at Dagenham East at three minutes to eight."

The second image is even clearer than the first. There is no doubt that it shows Fuller outside the station – his face is more than three-quarters visible. No need for any attempt at image-enhancement to confirm his identity. Grace shakes her head. Assuming the CCTV footage is genuine, which after meticulously examining it, Eve resolutely asserts that it is, his presence in both captured stills is completely inexplicable – unless he really is innocent. And if Fuller is innocent…

"What do we notice?" Eve prompts impatiently, as if she can't bear to wait any longer for them to see whatever it is she's already observed.

Spencer takes the second image from Grace. "He's changed his clothes."

"Give that man a cigar."

Once pointed out, the difference between Fuller's attire in the two images is painfully apparent. In the first he is wearing a thick wool sweater and what appear to be scruffy cargo trousers, in the second, a casual padded jacket and dark jeans. It's difficult to miss, but perhaps understandable, given how focused they've naturally been on his face. What his change of clothes means for the investigation is rather less obvious.

"How long from Camden to Dagenham by tube?" Spencer suddenly asks with a frown.

"At least an hour – Northern Line then District."

"None of the timings make sense," Grace says, her clawing frustration ever-increasing. "There he is on Heathway at seven, but even if we couldn't place him there and assumed he was in Camden instead, there's still no way he could have made it back to Dagenham in time to be at the station by eight."

"Not by tube, at least," Spencer agrees morosely.

"What if he took a bus or a cab part of the way for some reason?" Eve suggests.

"Possible. Certainly be much quicker, that time in the morning."

Grace takes both images and places them side by side on the pristine white work surface. "What are we missing? What aren't we seeing?"

"You sound like Boyd."

The words are delivered humorously, presumably without thinking, but they make Grace wince. "Don't."

Eve pulls an apologetic face. "Sorry."

"Plus," Spencer adds, "Fuller would've needed, what, an extra five or ten minutes to get changed somewhere?"

"Changing clothes doesn't make any sense, either," Grace mutters, more to herself than to her colleagues.

Spencer shrugs. "It does if he did kill Erin. The general public are getting more and more forensically aware. Ditch the clothes you were wearing when you committed the offence and hope for the best. We've seen it often enough before."

Eve taps the first image with a black-painted fingernail. "But there he is, large as life, on Heathway at seven, exactly when the neighbours claim they heard shouting from Erin's flat."

"'Claim'?"

"Bad choice of word."

"Besides," Spencer says grimly, "some of the other tenants heard raised voices at exactly the same time."

"How incredibly convenient."

Eve sighs wearily. "Face it, Grace – whichever way you look at it, we're screwed."

Gloomily skulking in the CCU's lab, well-away from Marshall's disapproving gaze, the three of them stare blankly at the captured CCTV images, not knowing what else to say or do.

-oOo-

It's very late for someone to be knocking on the door, Grace thinks with a frown, but whoever her unexpected evening visitor is, they are both impatient and determined. Hurrying to answer the loud summons before the beady-eyed curiosity of her neighbours is aroused, she's fairly sure she knows who she'll find out on the doorstep. Boyd so often works late that it never seems to occur to him that there's very definitely a time beyond which it's considered extremely anti-social to simply turn up at a colleague's home unannounced. More than once she's castigated him for his cavalier attitude towards the kind of social mores that everyone else adheres to without a second thought. Not tonight. Tonight she will welcome him unreservedly, however late the hour is. Still, she is preparing to deliver the traditional stinging rebuke – which he will casually brush aside – as she opens the door.

It's not Boyd looking back at her. In fact, despite a vague nagging sense of familiarity, Grace initially has no idea who her visitor is. Not unnaturally cautious, she eyes the stranger dubiously as she inquires, "Can I help you?"

"I doubt it," the woman on the step replies, "but hopefully I can help you, and by extension a mutual friend."

It's the languid, slightly haughty voice Grace finally identifies. Not from a previous personal encounter, but from archive news footage viewed a long, long time ago. The Katherine Reed case, one of the first extremely high-profile re-investigations undertaken by the CCU once the unit's worth had been thoroughly proved. Things start to make a crazy sort of sense. Wheels within wheels. "DI Worrall."

"Ex-DI Worrall. They tried hard for a while, but they didn't manage to tempt me back. I have something for you."

Grace steps back, allowing free access to the house. "You'd better come in."

-oOo-