Dead Simple

in Canada four years ago.’
    She clearly had more to say, so Grace let her go on.
    ‘I checked on her Audi TT car. It was leased by her, in her own name, from a dealer in Hammersmith a year ago. All payments are up to date and kosher. Same with her house, leased, but the lease expires at the end of this month.’
    ‘To coincide with her wedding?’ Branson suggested.
    ‘Quite possible,’ Emma-Jane said. ‘Then on a hunch I had our new recruits do a trawl of all the car and van rental firms in the area, and gave them all of Ashley Harper’s previous names in addition to her own. Nothing showed up under the name Ashley Harper,’ she said. ‘But at ten past midnight – this morning – a woman called Alexandra Huron rented a Mercedes saloon from a local Avis at Gatwick Airport, using a Toronto Dominion Bank of Canada credit card. The assistant who dealt with the customer has now positively identified her from photographs as Ashley Harper.’
    ‘CCTV cameras,’ Grace said. ‘What I—’
    Glenn Branson raised a hand. ‘We’re already on the case. We’re already having every camera checked between Gatwick and Newhaven from the time she picked up the car.’
    ‘She left her house about an hour before you went there, Nick,’ Grace said to DC Nicholl.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Do we know how she got to the airport?’
    ‘No.’
    Grace fell silent. For a few moments no one had anything to say. He was busy thinking through all the timings last night – when he had been to see Mark Warren, when he and Glenn Branson had visited Ashley. Mark Warren being taken out to the forest to help locate the grave. The money being transferred. Mark Warren’s death. Ashley renting the car under a different name.
    Now he knew what her game was; that was clear enough. And he knew that they needed to find her. Absolutely nothing else mattered at this moment than to do that.
    And quickly.
    If it wasn’t already too late.

84
    ‘Strewth, woman, four fucking suitcases – what’s the matter with you, Alex?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I’m not helping you lug four fucking suitcases, that’s what I mean.’
    ‘So we’ll get a porter.’
    ‘And what about the excess baggage charge?’
    ‘We’re travelling Club, Vic; they have a big baggage allowance. Relax.’
    ‘Fucking relax? Why can’t you just leave all this shit behind, buy new stuff in Sydney – they have shops there, you know!’
    Ashley, in a Prada denim trouser suit and high heels, standing between her suitcases in the living room of the small detached house in Newhaven, placed her hands defiantly on her hips and stared out of the window. The view from the rented house’s remote hill-top position took in almost the whole of the town, and much of the port that was part of it.
    She watched the Seacat cross-Channel ferry slipping past the harbour mole, heading out to sea. It was a flat, grey day, and humid; she was perspiring, which added to her bad mood, and her period was about to start, which made it even worse.
    She turned on him, her voice rising in acidity. ‘Really? They have shops in Sydney? You mean shops you can walk into and buy things from?’
    ‘Oh, fuck off, you stupid cow – don’t speak to me like I’m some fucking servant.’
    ‘You fuck off! Why should I leave all this stuff behind? This is my life.’
    ‘What do you mean this is your life?’
    At five foot, seven inches, Vic stood barely half an inch taller than Ashley, but he had always seemed to her to be much taller. He had the wiry, muscular build and the persona of a fighting man, with tattooed arms, crew-cut hair and a rough-hewn, handsome face. His clothes added to his military persona; at this moment he was dressed in a combat jacket over a black T-shirt, baggy khaki chinos and what could have been black marching boots.
    ‘Do you mean Michael is your life? Mark? These two gits have been your life, is that what you mean? Have I got something wrong here – I thought I was your life, you stupid bitch.’
    ‘I thought you were too,’ she said tightly, holding back tears.
    ‘So what the fuck does that mean?’
    ‘Nothing,’ she said.
    He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her round to face him. ‘Alex, relax, OK. We’re nearly there, home free; let’s just calm right down.’
    ‘I’m perfectly calm,’ she said. ‘You’re the one who’s all wired.’
    He pulled her towards him. Stared into her green eyes. Then tenderly pushed some stray strands of her hair back up her