Dead Simple

it out, panicking. Christ it was rising quickly now. ‘Davey, if I give you a phone number, could you dial it for me? I need you to tell someone where I am. Could you get someone on the line while you are talking to me?’
    ‘Houston, we have a problem.’
    ‘Tell me the problem?’
    ‘The phone’s in my dad’s house, you see. He doesn’t know I have this walkie-talkie – I shouldn’t have it. It’s our secret.’
    ‘It’s OK, I can keep a secret.’
    ‘My dad would be pretty mad at me.’
    ‘Don’t you think he’d get even madder if he knew you could have saved my life and you let me die? I think you might be the only person in the world who knows where I am.’
    ‘It’s OK, I won’t tell anyone.’
    More water lapped into Michael’s mouth; filthy, muddy, brackish water. He spat it out, his arms, shoulders, neck muscles all aching from trying to keep his head clear of the rising level. ‘Davey, I’m going to die if you don’t help me. You could be a hero. Do you want to be a hero?’
    ‘I’m going to have to go,’ Davey said. ‘I can see my dad outside – he needs me.’
    Michael lost it, and screamed at him. ‘No! Davey, you are not fucking going anywhere. You have to help. YOU HAVE TO FUCKING HELP ME.’
    There was another silence, a very long one this time, and Michael worried he’d pushed too far. ‘Davey?’ he said, more gently. ‘Are you still there, Davey?’
    ‘I’m still here.’ Davey’s voice had changed. His voice suddenly was meek, chastised. He sounded like a small, apologetic boy.
    ‘Davey, I’m going to give you a phone number. Will you write this down and make the call for me? Will you tell them that they need to speak to me on your walkie-talkie – and that it is very, very urgent. Will you do that for me?’
    ‘OK. Tell them it’s very, very urgent.’
    Michael gave him the number. Davey told him he would go and make the call then radio him back.
    Five agonizingly long minutes later, Davey’s voice came back on the walkie-talkie. ‘I just got voicemail,’ he said.
    Michael clenched his hands in frustration. ‘Did you leave a message?’
    ‘No. You didn’t tell me to do that.’

32
    The landlady of the Friars, in Uckfield, was a tall, blowsy lady in her late forties, with spiky blonde hair, who looked like she’d been around the block a few times. She greeted Grace and Branson with a friendly smile and studied the photographs Grace laid on the counter carefully.
    ‘Uh huh,’ she said. ‘They were in here, all five of them. Let me think…About eight o’clock on Tuesday.’
    ‘You’re sure?’ Glenn Branson said.
    She pointed at the photograph of Michael. ‘He was looking a bit wrecked, but was very sweet.’ She pointed at Josh’s photograph. ‘He was the one buying the drinks. He ordered a round of beers, I think, and some chasers. This chap’ – again she pointed at Michael – ‘told me he was getting married on Saturday. He said I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and if he’d met me sooner, he’d have been marrying me.’
    She grinned at Branson, then gave Grace a distinctly flirtatious smile. She clearly knew how to play the police, he thought. No doubt she had the local law in her pocket. No problems over staying open beyond closing time here.
    ‘Did you by any chance hear them talking about their plans?’ Grace asked.
    ‘No, love. They were all in a sunny mood. We weren’t busy, they were all sitting in that corner.’ She pointed across the empty lounge to an alcove table and chairs, above which hung several horse brasses. ‘I didn’t pay much attention, had one of my regulars talking about his marital problems. You know how it is.’
    ‘Yep,’ said Grace.
    ‘So you don’t know where they were going next?’ Branson asked.
    She shook her head. ‘Seemed like they were on a bender. Downed their drinks and were off.’
    ‘Do you have closed-circuit television here?’
    She gave Grace another deeply flirtatious smile. ‘No, love. Sorry.’
    As they left the pub, and hurried across the forecourt to their car, ducking against the teeming late-afternoon rain, Grace heard the distant sound of a helicopter. He looked up but could see nothing, as Branson unlocked the car. He sat inside and slammed the door shut against the elements, then called up Bella and Nick.
    ‘How are you guys doing?’
    ‘Goose eggs,’ Nicholl said. ‘No joy. We’ve two pubs to go. You?’
    ‘Three more,’ Grace said.
    Branson