Peter James - Dead Simple

'I saw you at the reception, but we didn't get a chance to speak,' he said, standing up to shake her reluctant hand, then sitting down again.

'Nice to meet you, Early,' the WPC said.

Early sat on the sofa right next to her mother and put a protective arm around her shoulder.

'Where were you in Australia?' Grace asked, trying to be polite.

'Darwin.'

'I haven't been there. I've been to Sydney.'

'I have a daughter who lives there,' said Linda Buckley breezily, trying to break the ice.

Early shrugged, indifferently.

'I wanted to cancel the wedding and reception completely/ Gill Harrison said. 'It was Ashley who insisted. She felt--'

'She's a stupid bitch,' Early said.

'EarlyI' her mother exclaimed.

'Excuse me,' Early said. 'Everyone thinks she's' - and she made a cutesy, Barbie doll flutter with her hands - 'so sweet. But I think she's a calculating little bitch.'

'EarlyI'

Early gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. 'I'm sorry, Mum, but she is.' Turning to Grace she said, 'Would you have insisted on the reception going ahead?'

Grace, watching them both, thought carefully before responding.

'I don't know, Early. I guess she was caught between a rock and a hard place.'

'My brother is the sweetest guy in the world,' she said. 'Yeah.'

'You don't seem to like Ashley,' he said, seizing the chance.

'No, I don't like her.'

'Why not?'

'I think she's a lovely girl,' Gill Harrison butted in.

'Oh crap, Mum! You're just desperate to have grandchildren. You're just pleased that Michael isn't gay.'

'Early - that's not a nice thing to say'

'Yeah, well, it's the truth. Ashley's a manipulative ice queen.'

Grace, suddenly feeling excited, tried to remain impassive. 'What gave you that impression, Early.'

'Don't listen to her/ Gill Harrison said. 'She's tired and emotional with jet-lag.'

'Bullshit,' Early said. 'She's a gold-digger.'

'How well do either of you know her?' Grace asked.

'Met her once - that was once too often,' Early said.

'I think she's a delightful girl,' Gill answered. 'She's intelligent, domesticated - you can talk to her, have a proper conversation with her. She's been very good to me.'

'Have you met her family?' Grace asked.

'Poor thing hasn't got any family apart from her very lovely Canadian uncle/ Gill said. 'Her parents were killed in a car crash on holiday in Scotland when she was three. She was brought up by foster parents who were complete bullies. In London at first, then they moved to Australia. Her foster father tried to rape her repeatedly during her teens. She left them when she was sixteen and went to Canada - Toronto - where her uncle and aunt took her in - her aunt died quite recently, I gather, and she's very upset about that. I think Bradley and his wife were the only people who ever showed her kindness. She's had to make her own way in the world. I really admire her.'

'Phoeey!' said Early.

'Why do you say that?' Grace asked.

"Cause I didn't think she was real when I met her. And after seeing her today, I think she's even less real. I can't explain it - but

she doesn't love my brother. I know that. She might have been desperate to get married to him, but that's not the same as loving him. If she genuinely loved him, she'd never have gone through this charade today, she'd have been too upset.'

Grace looked at her with growing interest.

'You see?' Early said. 'That's a woman talking. Maybe a jet-lagged woman, like my mum says. But a woman. A caring woman who loves her bro. Unlike his bitch-queen-from-hell fiancee.'

'EarlyI'

'Oh fuck off, Mum.'

52

After Ashley left the flat, still furious at him, Mark switched on the television, hoping to catch the local news. He tried the radio too, but it was just gone seven and he had missed it.

Changed into jeans, trainers, a sweatshirt and a light anorak, with a baseball cap tugged low over his forehead, he was shaking from nerves and from an overdose of caffeine. He'd already downed two mugs of strong coffee in his attempt to sober up and was now finishing off a third. He drained the last dregs, then walked to the front door of his apartment. Just as he reached it the phone rang.

Hurrying back into the living area, he looked at the caller display. Private number. After a moment's hesitation he picked up the receiver.

'This is Kevin Spinella from the Argus. I'd like to speak to Mr Mark Warren.'

Mark cursed. If he'd been thinking more clearly he might have told the man that Mark Warren was out, but instead he found himself saying, 'Yes, speaking.'

'Mr Warren, good evening, sorry to trouble you on a Saturday evening. I'm calling about your business partner, Michael Harrison. I went along to the wedding that should have taken place this afternoon at All Saints' church, Patcham. You were the best man -1 didn't feel it appropriate to intrude at the church - but I wonder if I could have a few words with you now?'

'Urn - yes - yes, of course.'

'I understand Michael Harrison disappeared on his stag night, when there was that terrible accident. I'm curious to know why you, as best man, weren't there?'

'On the stag night?'

'Exactly.'

'I should have been, of course,' Mark said, calmly, trying to sound friendly, to make it all sound perfectly natural. 'I was out of town

up north on a business meeting - had it all scheduled to be back in good time, but my flight was delayed by fog,' Mark said.

'Where was that?'

'Leeds.'

'Ah right. These things happen - that's the problem with this country.'

'Absolutely!' Mark said, feeling they were starting to bond.

'I understand from the police that you have no knowledge of what was planned for the stag night. Is that right?'

Mark was silent for a moment. Thinking. Careful. 'No,' he said. 'That's not strictly true. I mean - that's not true at all. We had planned to go on a pub crawl.'

'A pub crawl! Right, OK. But isn't it usual for the best man to arrange the stag night?'

'Yes, so I believe.'

'But you didn't organize this stag night?'

Mark tried to focus his thoughts. Alarm bells were ringing. 'Yes, I did - Michael didn't want anything too elaborate -just to go to a few pubs with his mates. I had fully intended to be there.'

'What exactly did you plan?'

'We - ah - were going to do the usual stuff, you know - a bunch of pubs, get Michael wrecked, then deliver him home. We were going to hire a minibus and have a designated driver, but one of our crowd said he had access to a van and that he didn't mind not drinking, so we went along with that.'

'Where did the coffin fit into this plan?'

Shit. Mark felt himself getting deeper into mire. 'Coffin, did you say?'

'I understand you arranged for a coffin.'

'I don't know anything at all about a coffin!' Mark exclaimed. 'That's a new one on me.' Trying to sound really surprised he said again, for emphasis, 'Coffin?'

'Do you think your friends organized this in your absence?' the journalist asked.

'Absolutely. Must have done. One of them, Robert Houlihan, works - worked - for his uncle, an undertaker - but we never discussed a coffin. Are you sure about this?'

'I'm informed by the police they believe there was a coffin in the van - before the accident. Can you think what might have happened to Michael Harrison?'

'No, I have no idea. I'm desperately worried.'

'I spoke yesterday to the widow of one of your friends. Mrs Zoe Walker. She said you were all planning to get revenge on Michael Harrison because he regularly played pranks on the rest of you. Might the coffin have something to do with that?'

'As I said, I don't know anything about the coffin. It sounds like some last-minute idea.'

'Do you think your mates might have put Michael Harrison into the coffin and that he's stuck somewhere?'