Dead Simple

original dimensions.’
    ‘Tea, gentlemen?’
    ‘Thank you,’ Grace said.
    Looking at Grace for his cue, Branson said, ‘That would be very nice.’
    Harry Frame hurried busily out of the room. Branson stared at a lit, solitary white candle in a glass holder on the table, then at Grace, giving him a What is this shit? expression.
    Grace smiled back at him. Bear with it.
    After a few minutes a cheery, dumpy, grey-haired lady, wearing a heavy-knit roll-neck, brown polyester trousers and brand new white trainers, carried out a tray containing three mugs of tea and a plate of Bourbon biscuits, which she set down on the table.
    ‘Hello, Roy,’ she said familiarly to Grace, and then to Branson, with a twinkle in her eye she said, I’m Maxine. She Who Must Be Obeyed!
    ‘Nice to meet you. Detective Sergeant Branson.’
    She was followed by her husband, who was carrying a map.
    Grace took his mug, and noticed the tea was a watery-green colour. He saw Branson eyeing his dubiously.
    ‘So, gentlemen,’ Harry said, seating himself opposite them, ‘you have a missing person?’
    ‘Michael Harrison,’ Grace said.
    ‘The young man in the Argus ? Terrible thing, that accident. All so young to be called over.’
    ‘Called over?’ Branson quizzed.
    ‘Obviously the spirits wanted them.’
    Branson shot Grace a glance which the Detective Superintendent resolutely ignored.
    Moving the biscuits and the candle over to one side, Frame spread out an Ordnance Survey map of East Sussex on the table.
    Branson ate a biscuit. Grace fished in his pocket and gave the medium the copper bracelet. ‘You asked me to bring something belonging to the missing person.’
    Frame took it, held it tight and closed his eyes. Both police officers stared at him. His eyes remained closed for a good minute, then, finally, he started to nod. ‘Umm,’ he said, his eyes still closed. ‘Umm, yes, umm.’ Then he opened his eyes with a start, looking at Grace and Branson as if surprised to find them still in the room. He moved closer to the map, then pulled a length of string, with a small lead weight attached, from his trouser pocket.
    ‘Let’s see what we can find,’ he said. ‘Yes, indeed, let’s see. Is your tea all right?’
    Grace sipped his. It was hot and faintly sour-tasting. ‘Perfect,’ he said.
    Branson sipped his too, dutifully. ‘Good,’ he said.
    Harry Frame beamed, genuinely pleased. ‘Now, now…’ Resting his elbows on the table, he buried his face in the palm of his hands as if in prayer, and began to mutter. Grace avoided Branson’s eye.
    ‘Yarummm,’ Frame said to himself. ‘Yarummmm. Brnnnn. Yarummm.’
    Then he sat bolt upright, held the string over the map between his forefinger and thumb, and let the lead weight swing backwards and forwards, like a pendulum. Then, pursing his lips in concentration, he swung it vigorously in a tight circle, steadily covering the map inch by inch.
    ‘Uckfield?’ he said. ‘Crowborough? Ashdown Forest?’ He looked quizzically at each man. Both nodded.
    But Harry Frame shook his head. ‘No, I’m not being shown anything in this area, sorry. I’ll try another map, smaller scale.’
    ‘We’re pretty sure he is in this area, Harry,’ Roy Grace said.
    Frame shook his head determinedly. ‘No, the pendulum is not telling me that. We need to look wider.’
    Grace could feel Branson’s scepticism burning like a furnace. Staring at the new map, which showed the whole of East and West Sussex, he saw the pendulum swinging in a narrow arc over Brighton.
    ‘This is where he is,’ Frame murmured.
    ‘Brighton? I don’t think so,’ Grace responded.
    Frame produced a large-scale street map of Brighton and set the pendulum swinging over it. Within moments it began to make a tight circle over Kemp Town. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, this is where he is.’
    Grace stared at Branson now, as if sharing his thoughts. ‘You are wrong, Harry,’ he said.
    ‘No, I don’t think so, Roy. This is where your man is.’
    Grace shook his head. ‘We’ve just come from Kemp Town – we’ve been to talk to his business partner – are you sure you aren’t picking up on that?’
    Harry Frame picked up the copper bracelet. ‘This is his bracelet? Michael Harrison?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Then this is where he is. My pendulum is never wrong.’
    ‘Can you give us an address?’ Branson asked.
    ‘No, not an address – the housing is too dense. But that’s where you must look, that is where you