Dead Simple

education, and was scared she wasn’t going to be able to answer their kids’ questions when they grew older.
    Although most of the computer screens were off, none of the desks were tidy. Every empty open-plan cubicle looked, as usual, as if its occupant had abandoned it in haste and would be returning shortly.
    There were just two colleagues still at work in here, DC Nick Nicholl, late twenties, tall as a beanpole, a zealous detective and a fast football forward, and DS Bella Moy, thirty-five, cheery-faced beneath a tangle of brown hair.
    Neither acknowledged him. He walked past Nick Nicholl, who was deep in concentration filling out a form, his lips pursed like a kid in an exam as he wrote in block capitals with a ballpoint. Bella was fixated by something on her screen, her left hand, like an automaton, plucking Maltesers from a box on her desk and delivering them to her mouth. She was a slim woman, yet she ate more than any human being Glenn Branson had ever seen.
    As he sat down at his desk, the message light was blinking away, as usual. Ari, his wife, Sammy, his eight-year-old son and Remi, his three-year-old daughter, smiled out at him from a framed photo on his desk.
    He glanced at his watch, needing to keep an eye on the time. Ari got mad if he was late and caused her to miss the beginning of her class. And besides, it was no hardship – there were few things he treasured more than spending time with his kids. Then his phone beeped.
    It was the front desk. A woman had waited an hour to see him and wasn’t leaving. Would he mind having a word with her? Everyone else was busy.
    ‘Right, like I’m not busy?’ Glenn said to the receptionist, letting irritation show in his voice. ‘What does she want?’
    ‘It’s to do with the accident on Tuesday – the missing groom.’
    Instantly he mellowed. ‘Right. OK, I’ll come down.’
    Despite her bleached-out complexion, Ashley Harper looked every bit as beautiful in the flesh as she did in the photograph he had just seen of her in Michael Harrison’s apartment. She was dressed in designer denims, with a bling belt, and carried a classy handbag. He led her into an interview room, got them each a coffee, closed the door and sat down opposite her. Like all the interview rooms it was small and windowless, painted a drab pea green, with a brown carpet and grey metal chairs and table, and reeked of stale cigarette smoke.
    She placed her handbag on the floor. Beautiful grey eyes framed by smudged mascara stared out from a wan face, leaden with grief. Fronds of her brown hair fell across her forehead, the rest swooped in a single wave either side of her face and onto her shoulders. Her nails were perfect, as if she had come straight from a manicure. She looked immaculate, and that surprised him a little. People in her state were usually careless about their appearance, but she seemed dressed to kill.
    Equally he knew how hard it was to figure women out. Once, when their relationship was going through a rocky time, Ari had given him the book Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus. It had helped him go some way towards understanding the mental gulf between men and women (but not all the way).
    ‘You’re a hard man to get hold of,’ she said, and tossed her head, flicking her long brown hair away from her eyes. ‘I left four messages.’
    ‘Yeah, I’m sorry.’ He raised his hands. ‘I’ve two of my team off sick and two away on holiday. I understand how you must feel.’
    ‘Do you? Do you have any idea how I feel? I’m meant to be getting married on Saturday and my fiancé’s been missing since Tuesday night. We have the church booked, I’ve got my dressmaker turning up for a fitting, two hundred guests invited, wedding presents pouring in. Do you have any idea how I feel?’ Tears rolled down her cheeks. She sniffed, fumbled in her handbag and pulled out a tissue.
    ‘Look, I’m sorry. I have been working on your – Michael – your fianceé’s disappearance since we spoke this morning.’
    ‘And?’ She dabbed her eyes.
    He cradled his beaker of coffee, which was too hot to drink. Had to let it cool. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have anything to report, yet.’ Not strictly true, but he wanted to hear what she had to say.
    ‘What exactly are you guys doing?’
    ‘Like I said this morning on the phone, ordinarily when someone goes missing—’
    She cut him short. ‘This isn’t ordinarily, for God’s sake. Michael’s been missing since Tuesday