Free Dead on Demand (A DCI Morton Crime Novel) by Sean Campbell, Daniel Campbell Page B

experienced bereavement before. Not real grief. There had been a great-aunt that had died, and Eleanor had made a big fuss over explaining that she was in a better place, but Chelsea had barely known her, so it wasn't much of a loss really.
    ***
    'Right, thanks. The plane landed on time at four o'clock. OK, thanks. You've been very helpful.' Morton hung up the phone, then swore loudly. Edwin Murphy's alibi checked out.
    But Morton couldn't shake the niggling doubt that screamed that Murphy was shifty. You can't fake being mid-Atlantic though. The stewardess even remembered the slimy git hitting on her.
    Murphy's finances didn't turn up much either. The accounts were frozen pending probate as joint accounts, and there were no withdrawals out of the ordinary. It was the usual hodgepodge of car payments, mortgage interest and shopping. If he had hired a professional then either he had got one hell of a deal and paid with pocket change, or he had thousands stashed away from some unknown source that had never touched the family finances.
    Morton didn't think either was likely, and he reluctantly scrubbed Edwin Murphy as a suspect.
    If he didn't kill her, or pay someone else to, then he couldn't be prosecuted.
    ***
     
    Edwin was feeling smug. He was in jail, but that was the best place for him that night. He had pondered on the best alibi money could buy, and thought about buying a whole bar a drink or something else that would get him remembered, but it was out of character and would look desperate.
    He'd settled on letting the police provide him with the alibi. He went to a pub in Red Lion Street in Camden. He started off gentle, and then ramped up the booze after dinner. Edwin was obnoxious, but all the time he was buying doubles every five minutes, the landlady didn't mind.
    Edwin challenged every man in sight to a drinking contest. Eventually one took him up on his offer. A row of Jameson's Irish whiskey shots was laid out along the bar, a road map to liver failure. The row was two thick, and each man started at opposing ends of the bar. The pretty landlady was roped in to judge, and on her word the men charged. Edwin pandered to the crowd, roaring his delight as the fiery alcohol slid down his throat.
    The other man was much more businesslike, staying low to the bar and quickly knocking back each of his shots in quick succession. He finished first, but Edwin was having none of it.
    'Ah don't fink so, pal. You were way slowa than I were,' Edwin slurred. He had become progressively more Irish with every tot.
    'A bet's a bet, pal; £50 please, now.' The bigger man flexed his muscles, a tattoo stretching taut over his left bicep.
    'Nar, dun tink so, buddy. Get lost.'
    Seconds later fists were flying and the landlady was on the phone to the cops. Holborn Police Station was only a few hundred feet away and so within minutes both men found themselves in the drunk tank, its first occupants that evening.

CHAPTER 13: TOO FAR
    Vanhi was more subtle with her alibi. She visited an old friend in the Scottish Highlands; far enough away that even flying wouldn't get her back in time to commit the crime. She made sure she took public transport. It would be impossible for a lone woman on foot to get back to London in time to commit a murder and not be seen. Fort Augustus was so far removed from the city not only geographically but in time too. Everything seemed to be done at a slower pace, and it was small enough that any stranger was the subject of much interest.
    Vanhi took her friend out for dinner at a lovely restaurant on the pier. It was one of only three restaurants in Fort Augustus, and was by far the nicest. There were a few other parties there, but Vanhi's was the only one to stay for the entire evening enjoying themselves. By the time Vanhi collapsed into bed in the guest room at her friend's cottage she had all but forgotten that the trip was only a cover for an alibi.

CHAPTER 14: UNKNOWN TERRITORY
     
    Barry had never killed