Looking Good Dead

different woman, sounding younger and rather smart: ‘Hi, Janie, this is Verity. Bit worried that you haven’t turned up today. Are you OK? I might pop round later on my way home. Call me or text me or something.’
    Then an hour later there was a different message from a woman with an overly jolly voice: ‘Oh, hi, Janie, this is Claire. I have something for you. Give me a call please.’
    The next message was from Derek Stretton.
    ‘Hello, Janie, darling. Got your birthday card – you are so sweet. Longing to see you on Friday. I’ve booked at your favourite; we can go out and have a real seafood binge! Give me a call before if you have a mo. Lots and lots of love. Daddy!’
    Then a rather coarse male voice: ‘Oh, hello, Miss Stretton. My name’s Darren. I’m calling from Beneficial to see if you’d like a quotation for household insurance from us. I will call you back.’
    Then the jolly voice of Claire again, this time a touch concerned. ‘Oh, hi, Janie, this is Claire again. I’m worried that you might not have picked up my last message. I will try your mobile again, it was for tonight.’
    Grace frowned. For tonight ? Wednesday night. When she had been dead for around twenty-four hours?
    There were several more messages from her office the following day, Thursday. And from the woman called Claire again, sounding very irritated. There was also another message from her father, an anxious one this time.
    ‘Janie, darling, your office have been in touch with me – they sayyou haven’t been in since Tuesday and they are extremely worried. Are you all right? Please give me a call back. Love you lots. Daddy.’
    Grace wound the tape back to the first message from the perky Claire.
    ‘Oh, hi, Janie, this is Claire. I have something for you. Give me a call please.’
    Something about this message bothered him, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. He checked the machine to see if it logged incoming phone numbers, but it did not appear to.
    ‘Glenn,’ he said. ‘You’re the closest I have to a resident techie. Can you get into her address file on the laptop?’
    The Detective Sergeant walked over to the computer and flipped up the lid. ‘Depends on whether she’s been a good girl or not. Whether we have any password to . . . Ah, no – brilliant! No password!’
    He pulled out the chair and sat down. ‘You want a name?’
    ‘Claire.’
    ‘Claire what?’
    ‘Just Claire.’ Grace could not be bothered to correct Glenn’s grammar.
    After only a few moments tapping at the keyboard, Branson lifted his head. ‘There’s just one. I tried different spellings.’
    ‘Does it give an address?’
    ‘Just a number.’
    ‘OK, dial it.’
    Branson dialled then handed Grace the receiver. It rang for a few moments then was answered by an abrupt male voice.
    ‘Yes, hello?’
    ‘May I speak to Claire?’
    ‘She’s on another line – who’s calling?’
    Grace did a quick calculation. They had dropped Janie’s photograph off at the Major Incident Suite on their way here at the same time as they had picked up Glenn’s holdall. It would be a good couple of hours before copies were out in the media so no one outside the police and Janie’s immediate family would yet know she was dead. ‘I’m calling on behalf of Janie Stretton,’ he said.
    ‘OK, hold a sec; she’ll be with you in a minute.’

    Grace heard a few moments of Vivaldi’s Spring , then the voice he recognized as Claire. ‘Hello?’ she said, a little wary.
    ‘Yes, hello. I’m returning a message you left for Janie Stretton on Wednesday afternoon.’
    ‘Who exactly are you, please?’ Very wary now. Too wary.
    ‘Detective Superintendent Grace of Sussex CID.’
    The phone went dead.
    Instantly, Grace hit the redial button. The phone rang several times until the voicemail finally kicked in. ‘I’m sorry, there is no one here to take your call at the moment—’
    ‘Bullshit!’ Grace said, hanging up. He pulled out his radio, dialled Bella, gave her the phone number and asked her to come up with an address. Then he phoned his assistant Eleanor and asked her to set up a press conference for later that afternoon. He was keen to get maximum exposure with the public before the world wound down for the weekend.
    While he was waiting he checked the emails on his Blackberry, in particular for any news from the Suresh Hossain trial – but that seemed bogged down in day after day of legal submissions at the moment.
    Five minutes later,