Dead Simple

and dropped them in the passenger footwell. Of course, this was Michael all over. It had all his hallmarks. Michael the joker. Had Michael set this whole damned thing up?
    Missing his wedding day?
    Wild thoughts began going through his mind now. Had Michael twigged about himself and Ashley? Was this part of his revenge? He and Michael had known each other for a long time. Since they were thirteen. Michael was a smart guy, but he had his own way of dealing with problems. Possible that he had twigged – although he and Ashley had been incredibly careful.
    He thought back as he drove. To the day Ashley had first come to the office in response to an ad they had put in the Argus for a PA. She had walked in, so smart, so beautiful, streets ahead of all the others they had interviewed before and after her. She was in a whole different league.
    Having just split up with a long-term girlfriend, and being free, he’d fancied her in a way he’d never fancied anyone before. They’d connected from that first moment, although Michael had seemed blind to it. By the end of her second week working for them, unknown to Michael, they started sleeping together.
    Two months into their secret relationship, she told Mark that Michael had the hots for her and had invited her out to dinner. What should she do?
    Mark had felt angry, but had not revealed that to Ashley. All his life, ever since he had met Michael, he had lived in his shadow. It was Michael who always pulled the best-looking girls at parties, and it was Michael who somehow charmed his bank manager into giving him a loan to buy the first run-down property that he had made a big return on, while Mark had struggled on a meagre salary in a small accountancy practice.
    When they had decided to go into business together, it was Michael who had the cash to fund it – and took two thirds of the shares for doing that. Now they had a business worth several million pounds. And Michael had the lion’s share.
    When Ashley had walked in that day, it was the first time that a woman had looked at him first.
    And then the shit had dared to ask her out.
    What happened next had been Ashley’s idea. All she had to do was marry Michael and then engineer a divorce. Just set him up with a hooker and have a hidden cameraman. She’d settle for half his shares – and with Mark’s thirty-three per cent, that would give them a majority holding. Control of the company. Goodbye, Michael.
    Dead simple, really.
    Murder had never been on the agenda.

56
    Ashley, in a white towelling dressing gown, her hair down and loose over her shoulders, opened the front door of her house and stared at the mud-spattered figure of Mark with a mixture of disbelief and anger.
    ‘Are you insane, coming here?’ she said as a greeting. ‘And at this hour. It’s twenty past twelve, Mark!’
    ‘I have to come in. I couldn’t risk phoning you. We have to talk.’
    Startled by the desperate tone of his voice, she relented, first stepping out and looking carefully down the quiet street in both directions. ‘You weren’t followed here?’
    ‘No.’
    She looked down at his feet. ‘Mark, what the hell are you doing? Look at your boots!’
    He stared down at his filthy gum boots, pulled them off, then carried them inside. Still holding them, he stood in the open-plan living area, watching the winking lights from the silent wall-mounted stereo.
    Closing the front door, she stared at him fearfully. ‘You look terrible.’
    ‘I need a drink.’
    ‘I think you had enough earlier today.’
    ‘I’m too bloody sober now.’
    Helping him off with his anorak she asked, ‘What would you like? A whisky?’
    ‘Balvenie if you have some. Otherwise anything.’
    ‘You need a bath.’ She headed towards the kitchen. ‘So, tell me, was it awful? Did you get the Palm?’
    ‘We have a problem.’
    Ashley spun round as if she’d been shot. ‘What kind of a problem?’
    Mark stared at her helplessly. ‘He wasn’t there.’
    ‘Not there?’
    ‘No – he – I don’t know – he—’
    ‘You mean he wasn’t there? The coffin wasn’t there?’
    Mark told her what had happened. Ashley’s first reaction was to go to each of the windows and draw the blinds tightly, then she poured him a whisky and made herself a black coffee. Then they sat down on opposite sofas.
    ‘Is it possible you went to the wrong place?’
    ‘You mean – like there’s two different coffins? No. I was the one who suggested that spot in the first