Val McDermid - Dead Beat

'I never,' she shouted, like a small child who's been caught out lying about a broken piece of crockery. 'I never did.'

'What you didn't realise was that Jett had admitted to having been in the rehearsal room earlier. But that was before Moira arrived there. So there was no point in your lie.'

Gloria collapsed into the nearest chair and buried her face in her hands. 'Is there anything else you've lied to me about?' I asked gently.

She looked up, tears streaking her cheeks and shook her head mutely. I was inclined to believe her.

'Micky.' As I said his name, he moved a couple of steps nearer to me, his long arms dangling at his sides like a caricature of a Western gunslinger. 'I want to ask you about events in this room immediately after Moira died.'

'I've already told you all I know,' he said mutinously.

'All I want is some more detail,' I said persuasively.

'Tell her what she wants to know,' Jett growled.

Micky looked as if he wanted to argue, but he quickly remembered which side his bread was buttered. 'OK, fire away,' he complained.

'Can you tell me where you were sitting and who you were talking to?'

'I sat down on that chair over there,' he said, pointing to the one where Tamar was currently leaving salt stains on the silk upholstery. 'Kevin was stood next to me, by the bar. He poured me a drink, and we talked about Moira being killed. You know, what a shock it was, that kind of thing. He was worried about the effect it would have on Jett. Whether he'd be able to finish the album, whether the bad publicity would affect sales, the usual kind of Kevin shit.'

'Did he say anything at all about how she'd been killed?'

'Only that nobody seemed to be telling exactly what had happened. He said it must have been a burglar, or somebody she'd brought back with her from the village.'

I hoped to hell Jackson was keeping an eye on everyone. I was concentrating too hard on what I was doing to check the reactions around me. 'Did Kevin talk to anyone else apart from you?'

Micky's forehead concertinaed as he thought for a moment. 'Yeah,” he eventually sighed. 'Neil came over and asked what he wanted doing about the press. Kevin told him to deal with it, and to put out a story on it, just giving the bare bones of what had happened. He said he wanted it all handled in-house, and that Neil should make it clear that any other journalist who tried to get an interview would be wasting their time and his.'

I felt that warm feeling in my gut that tells me I've cracked it. 'And that's all he said?'

Micky nodded. 'Yeah. Neil fixed himself a drink and kind of drifted off to the corner. He was sitting scribbling in a notebook. I suppose he was getting a story together.'

'When did you and Kevin separate?' The crucial question.

Micky looked exasperated. T don't know what this has got to do with anything,' he stalled while he visibly cast his mind back. 'Let me see… We came out of here together and walked up the stairs after the cops said we should all go to bed. I said good night to him outside his bedroom door. He looked as sick as a parrot. No wonder, after what he'd been up to.'

I turned my head towards Neil. His eyes were calm and clear as they met mine, as if he were offering me some kind of challenge.

The temptation to go for the high melodrama was almost overwhelming till I looked at Jett. It didn't take much perception to see that the guy was near the end of his rope. So I didn't point dramatically and say, 'Inspector, there is your murderer.'

Instead, I took a swig of my drink and said casually, 'Neil, why did you lie to me about what Kevin said to you?'

He smiled disarmingly and spread his hands out in a gesture of innocence. 'But I didn't, Kate. You're surely not going to take Micky's word against mine? A cokehead who relies on Kevin for the pennies in his bank account? He's got every reason to lie to protect Kevin. But me? Why should I lie to you?'

'There's only one reason why, Neil. You killed Moira.' A strange stillness seemed to have descended on the room. I'd certainly captured their attention now.

If I'd expected Neil to cave in, I was swiftly disappointed. He grinned and said, 'I hope Mortensen and Brannigan have made a good profit this year. When I sue you for slander, I want it to be worth my while.'

I returned his grin. 'I know I only managed to complete two years of law school, but it's always been my understanding that truth is an absolute defence in slander actions.'

'But you have to prove truth,' Neil parried swiftly. 'And I fail to see how you're going to provide proof of something I didn't do.' His smile had a triumphant edge that almost made me doubt what I knew to be true.

'But there is proof, Neil. Right under this roof is all the proof I need.'

He shook his head at me incredulously. 'She's out to lunch and not coming back in a hurry,' he said to the room at large.

Just then, Jackson moved forward into the room. 'I'd be interested in seeing your idea of proof, even if no one else is,' he said. I had an idea how much it cost him to utter those words, and I had to grant him a reluctant respect.

'If you'll follow me, Inspector, we need to make a little visit to Mr Webster's office,' I said formally.

'Wait a minute,' Neil said, showing traces of apprehension for the first time. 'What the hell do you think you're going to find there?'

'My proof,' I said, stalking out of the room. I didn't need to look back to know that I could easily have passed for the Pied Piper.

Neil overtook me on the threshold and snapped loudly enough for Jackson and everyone else to hear, 'Just what the hell do you think you're playing at? All this because your precious boyfriend wasn't good enough to write Jett's biography?'

'This has got nothing to do with Richard,' I informed him and everyone else within earshot. The tension was beginning to eat into me, and I didn't know how long I could maintain my cool facade.

'Oh no?' he sneered.

Ignoring him, I went straight to his computer, sat down in front of it and switched it on. Jackson leaned over my shoulder, while the others crowded round behind him. Neil hung back slightly, but his eyes were glued to the screen. I briefly looked through the text files in the directory where he stored his stories, then I moved over to his communications program and keyed into it. 'For those of you who aren't familiar with computers,' I said as I hit the keys, 'this is a program that sends material over the telephone lines to another computer. Journalists use it to file copy electronically to newsdesks.'

I chose the 'text edit' option and called up the first story he'd sent out about Moira's killing. I slowly scrolled through the story till only the last line remained off screen. 'As you'll see, Neil had all the details of how Moira was killed. No problem with that if the story was filed after the police gave you all the details of how Moira was killed. Details which none of you who were shut up in the blue drawing room knew except Jett.'

'Which it was,' Neil blustered. 'And you can't prove otherwise.'

In silence, I brought the last line up on the screen. It gave the date-stamp on the story. 2.35 a.m.

'It's a set-up,' Neil shouted wildly. 'She's set this up, can't you see? She's the only one who knows enough about computers. She's framed me.' His face was glossy with sweat and his eyes flicked nervously round the room.

'You can confirm that evidence with the company who transmit the electronic mail, I should imagine, Inspector,' I said coldly.

'Neil Webster,' Jackson intoned, pushing through the press of bodies. 'I must warn you…'

The rest of his official caution was drowned by the sound of breaking glass as Neil threw himself through the window in a sparkling shower of splinters.