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Hove – on the computer.
    As expected, there had been a few incidents in the bars, pubs and clubs, mostly fights and a few handbag thefts. He noted a couple of minor road traffic collisions, a domestic – a couple fighting – a complaint about noise from a party, a lost dog, a stolen moped and a naked man reported running down Western Road. But now a serious entry had appeared. It was a reported rape, at Brighton’s smart Metropole Hotel, which had popped on to the screen a few minutes ago, at 12.55 p.m.
    There were four principal categories of rape: stranger, acquaintance, date and partner . At this moment there was no mention on the serial of which this might be. New Year’s Eve was the kind of time when some men got blind drunk and forced themselves on their dates or partners, and in all likelihood this incident would be in one of those categories. Serious enough, but not something likely to involve Major Crime.
    Twenty minutes later he was about to head across the road to the ASDA supermarket, which doubled as the CID HQ canteen, to buy himself a sandwich for lunch, when his internal phone rang.
    It was David Alcorn, a detective inspector he knew and liked a lot. Alcorn was based at the city’s busy main police station in John Street, where Grace himself had spent much of his early career as a detective, before moving to the CID HQ at Sussex House.
    ‘Happy New Year, Roy,’ Alcorn said in his usual blunt, sardonic voice. From the tone of his voice, happy had just fallen off a cliff.
    ‘You too, David. Did you have a good night?’
    ‘Yeah. Well, it was all right. Had to keep off the booze a bit to be here for seven this morning. You?’
    ‘Quiet, but nice – thanks.’
    ‘Thought I’d better give you a heads-up, Roy. Looks like we might have a stranger rape at the Metropole.’
    He filled him in on the sketchy details. A Uniform Response Team had attended the hotel and called in CID. A Sexual Offences Liaison Officer or SOLO was now on her way over to accompany the victim to the recently opened specialist rape unit, the Sexual Assault Referral Centre or SARC, in Crawley, a post-war town located in the geographical centre of Sussex.
    Grace jotted down the details, such as Alcorn could give him, on a notepad. ‘Thanks, David,’ he said. ‘Keep me updated on this. Let me know if you need any help from my team.’
    There was a slight pause and he sensed the hesitation in the DI’s voice. ‘Roy, there’s something that could make this a bit politically sensitive.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘The victim had been at a do last night at the Metropole. I’m informed that a number of police brass were at a table at this same function.’
    ‘Any names?’
    ‘The Chief Constable and his wife, for starters.’
    Shit, Grace thought, but did not say.
    ‘Who else?’
    ‘The Deputy CC. And one assistant chief constable. You get my drift?’
    Grace got his drift.
    ‘Maybe I should send someone from Major Crime up to accompany the SOLO. What do you think? As a formality.’
    ‘I think that would be a good plan.’
    Grace quickly ran through his options. In particular he was concerned about his new boss. If ACC Peter Rigg was truly a stickler for detail, then he damned well had to start off on the right footing – and to cover himself as best he could.
    ‘OK. Thanks, David. I’ll send someone up there right away. In the meantime, can you get me a list of all attendees of that event?’
    ‘That’s already in hand.’
    ‘And all the guests staying there, plus all the staff – I would imagine there might have been extra staff drafted in for last night.’
    ‘I’m on to all of that.’ Alcorn sounded just slightly miffed, as if Grace was doubting his abilities.
    ‘Of course. Sorry.’
    Immediately after he ended the call, he rang DC Emma-Jane Boutwood, one of the few members of his team who was in today. She was also one of the detectives he had tasked with working through the mountains of bureaucracy required by the