'I may have done,' he replied.
'You may have done? Isn't driving in a forest at midnight a little bit of an unusual thing to do? Wouldn't you remember a bit more clearly?'
'It's not unusual for me,' Mark responded, seizing his drink, his entire body language changing suddenly. It was Grace's turn to feel uneasy now, wondering what was going on. Mark leaned back, swirled the whisky around in his glass, the ice cubes chinking. 'You see, that's where we are doing our new big property development. We got outline planning permission a couple of months back for twenty new houses on a five-acre site in the heart of the forest, and now we're working on the details - because we're getting a lot of hostility from the environmental groups. I go back and forward to the forest all the time, day and night - I have to check out the environmental factors, and a big part of that is the impact on the wildlife at night time. I'm working up a whole report to support our application.'
Grace's heart sank; he felt as if a rug had just been pulled away, quickly and very smartly, from beneath him. He'd just wasted the best part of a thousand pounds of his budget on the soil analysis, and he felt an idiot. Why hadn't he known this? Why hadn't Glenn or anyone on the team known it?
His brain was spinning and he tried to slow it down and get some traction on this thoughts. Mark Warren still looked a wreck and he just did not get the impression it was from worrying about his business partner. The aggression he had shown at the wedding indicated something else altogether, but he didn't know what.
Then, for about the third time in the past ten minutes, he saw Mark Warren's eyes flick across to a point on the far side of the room, as if someone was standing there. Grace deliberately dropped the cover of his Blackberry on the floor and, in leaning down to get it, glanced back in the direction Mark kept looking at. But he couldn't see anything of significance. Just the smart hi-fi set, some interesting modern art and a few cupboards.
'I read about that young man - in the mortuary. Saw the piece in the paper today. Very sad,' Mark said.
'Might even have been on your land,' Grace said, testing.
'I don't know exactly where it happened.'
Fixing on his eyes again, and remembering the words on the sheet of notepaper in Davey's bedroom, Grace said, 'If you take the A26 outside Crowborough just past a white cottage, then over a double cattle grid. Is that where you are?'
Mark didn't need to respond. Grace could see all he needed to know from the rapid swivelling of his eyes, the furrowing of his forehead, the hunching of his entire frame and the change in tone of his face colour.
'It could be - possibly - yes.'
Now it was all starting to come clear to Grace. 'If a bunch of you were going to bury your mate alive in a coffin, it would make sense to do it on land you own, wouldn't it? Somewhere familiar to you?'
'I -1 suppose
'You're still insisting you had no idea of any plan to bury Michael Harrison in a coffin?'
His eyes were all over the place for a few seconds. 'Absolutely. Nothing at all.'
'Good, thank you.' Grace studied his Blackberry for a moment. 'I also have a number I wonder if you could help me with, Mark?'
'I'll try.'
Grace read out the number that had been written on the same diagram.
'0771 52136,' Mark repeated. His eyes shot instantly to the left. Memory mode. 'That sounds like Ashley's mobile with a couple of digits missing. Why do you ask?'
Grace drained his water and stood up. 'It was found in Davey Wheeler's home - the murdered boy. Along with the directions I just gave you.'
'What?'
Walking over to the window, Grace slid open the patio door and stepped out on to the teak decking that covered the balcony.
Steadying himself on the metal guard rail, he looked down four floors fit the bustling street below. It wasn't far, but it was enough for him; i had always suffered from vertigo, never had any head for heights.
'How did this boy get Ashley's phone number and the directions to our land?' Mark asked.
'I'd also like to know that very much.'
Once again Mark's eyes shot across the room. Grace wondered, was it the cupboard? Something in there? What? Grace had such bad feelings about this man, and about Ashley Harper, that he wanted to get search warrants and take their homes - and office - apart. But to do that was not easy. Magistrates required convincing to sign warrants, and to convince them you needed evidence. The bracelet she had given him wouldn't be enough. Right now, on both Mark Warren and Ashley Harper all he really had were gut feelings. No evidence.
'Mark, is this land of yours easy to find? The directions - the white cottage, the cattle grid?'
'You have to know the turn-off- it's not marked, other than by a couple of stakes - we didn't want to draw attention to it.'
'Sounds to me that that's the place to look for your partner, pretty damned quick, wouldn't you say?'
'Absolutely.'
'I'll liaise with the Crowborough police, who are already doing a full search of the area, but it sounds like it would be vital for you to be there - at least point them to the right area. If I arrange to get you picked up in the next half-hour?' 'Fine. Thank you. Ah - how long do you think I'll be needed?'
Grace frowned. 'Well - all I need is for you to show us the entrance - the turn-off - and to take us to where your land begins. Maybe an hour altogether. Unless you want to join in the search yourself?'
'Sure -1 mean - I'll do what I can.'
71
Mark closed the door on Grace, ran into the bathroom, knelt down and threw up into the toilet bowl. Then he threw up some more.
He stood up, pressed the flush lever, then rinsed his mouth with cold water; his clothes were wringing wet with perspiration, his hair plastered to his head. With the tap running, he nearly didn't hear the landline phone ringing.
Grabbing the receiver off the hook, he just caught it on the last ring before it would have diverted to voicemail. 'Hello?'
A male voice with an Australian accent said, 'Is that Mark Warren?'
Something about the voice made Mark instantly wary. 'This is an ex-directory number. Who am I speaking to?'
'My name's Vic - I'm with your friend, Michael - he gave me your number. Actually he'd like to have a quick word with you; shall I put him on?'
'Yes.' Mark gripped the receiver hard against his ear, trembling. Then he heard Michael's voice, very definitely Michael, but making a sound unlike Mark had ever heard before. It was a bellow of pain that seemed to start deep within Michael's soul then burst, like a train from a tunnel, into a crescendo of utter, unbearable agony.
Mark had to pull the phone away from his ear. The roar died away then he heard Michael whimpering then screaming again. 'No, please, no, no. NO NO NO NO!'
Then he heard Vic's voice again. 'Bet you're wondering what I'm doing to your mate, don't you, eh Mark? Don't worry, you'll find out when it arrives in tomorrow's post.'
'What do you want?' Mark asked, straining his ears, but he could hear no sound from Michael now.
'I need you to transfer some money in your Cayman Islands bank to an account number I'm going to give you shortly'
'It isn't possible - even if I was willing to do it. Two signatures are
Bded for any transaction, Michael's and mine.'
'In your safe in your company office you have documents signed ' both of you, giving power of attorney to a lawyer in the Cayman Islands; you put it there last year when you both went off sailing for week, and you were hoping to close on a property deal in the [Grenadines that then didn't happen. You've forgotten to destroy those documents. Just as well, I'd say.'
How the hell did the man know this, Mark wondered.
'I want to speak to Michael -1 don't want to hear him in pain, I'd Just like to talk to him, please.'