Free Want You Dead by Peter James Page B

office? I mean, was he in yesterday?’
    Raquel’s voice sounded strange. ‘Sorry about last night, we were out at a dinner. No – no, he wasn’t.’
    ‘Maybe I’m going out of my mind . . . but I think something has happened to him. The police came and saw me last night about a body that’s been found.’
    ‘You’re not going out of your mind. I think you could be right.’
    ‘Why – why – what – why are you saying that?’
    ‘I had to come in early – at the request of the police. Karl’s a patient – they’ve asked for his dental records.’
    On the television, the scene suddenly cut to a conference room. Against a curved blue backdrop of a display board bearing the web address www.sussex.police.co.uk and an artistic display of five police badges on a blue background – with Crimestoppers’ number prominently displayed beneath – a slim, suited man, with short gelled fair hair and blue eyes, looking very serious, was speaking. Along the bottom of the screen ran the caption, Detective Superintendent Roy Grace of Surrey and Sussex Major Crime Team.
    ‘We are hoping to have a formal identification of this man later today,’ he said. ‘However, at this time the post-mortem results are inconclusive. I would appeal to anyone who was either on Haywards Heath golf course or in the vicinity between the hours of midday Wednesday and 9 a.m. Thursday, who saw anything suspicious, or who noticed any motor vehicle parked out of place, to come forward and phone the police, or Sussex Crimestoppers, on the following numbers . . .’

21
    Friday, 25 October
    Bryce Laurent also had his television monitors on. All six of them. On one screen was breakfast television news. But it was a different one that interested him more. Red Westwood on the phone, talking to her best friend, Raquel.
    He’d been out for meals with Red, Raquel and her husband, Paul, a local GP, as well as to the cinema and the theatre; they’d even spent a weekend away together, the four of them, in Bath. Raquel and Paul were all right. He hadn’t exactly warmed to them, but they’d not been negative about him. Not the way Red’s parents had been. Especially her bitch mother.
    Dental records.
    It wouldn’t be long now.
    And then, soon after, she would find out this was only just the beginning.

22
    Friday, 25 October
    Roy Grace had barely slept all night. He had ended the poker game two hundred and fifty pounds down, one of his biggest ever losses in the game. He often found it hard to sleep after his poker evening, but last night had been worse than usual. It wasn’t the loss that bothered him – over the years it all evened out, and it was the camaraderie of the poker evenings that he enjoyed even more than the game itself. It was the suicide note that did not feel right, that had kept him awake.
    Now he sat at his desk, at 8.30 a.m. on Friday morning, sipping his second ultra-strong coffee of the day, staring at the overnight serials – the log of all reported incidents in the city – of which the major one was the Cuba Libre restaurant blaze. He felt a twinge of sadness about the restaurant. It was one of Cleo’s favourite places, and they’d had some great evenings there.
    But his thoughts continued to be dominated by the suicide note, which he had photographed on his iPhone.
    I am so sorry. My will is with my executor, solicitor Maud Opfer of Opfer Dexter Associates. Life since Ingrid’s death is meaningless. I want to be united with her again. Please tell Dane and Ben I love them and will love them for ever and that their Daddy’s gone to take care of Mummy. Love you both so much. One day, when you are older, I hope you will find it in your hearts to forgive me. XX
    There was something very clinical about it. It was carefully thought out. Was that consistent with someone who pours petrol over themselves? Who in hell would choose that kind of a death unless it was someone trying to make a statement, like a political or religious