Daily Quotes 7

TWO SIMON GRANT MYSTERIES

Hiding the Elephant – Chapter 7

‘She must have been very happy that night,’ she started, then checked herself. What could she say that would be even remotely appropriate? She was the medical examiner who’d attended the crime scene. That had somehow put her on the wrong side of mourning. Simon’s side. Maybe Philip was right. Maybe she really shouldn’t have come.

‘You are thinking of this morning, aren’t you. Couldn’t have been easy for you.’ John quietly removed the picture from her hand and stared at it for a moment before placing it back on the table.

‘May I keep this?’ Without waiting for permission Simon deftly released the picture out of its frame. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know where it was taken? ‘

‘No, Inspector, I don’t. Probably some Riverside do. Is it important? I could ask someone.’

‘Was she into amateur dramatics?Riverside is an amateur dramatic society, isn’t it?’

Lock Up Your Daughters – Chapter 7

She nodded and checked her mobile. ‘Ring me if you need anything.’

‘Promise.’ Simon followed her out though the French window. ‘And I promise not to play with matches, let any strangers in or stick my fingers into electric sockets.’

* * *

But he didn’t promise not to make any phonecalls, so after some consideration, he called Matthew.

‘Have you got their e-mail address?’ Matthew asked even before Grant had finished talking. ‘I could contact them straight off by e-mail.Brazil’s just about getting ready for lunch break now.’

Grant looked at the piece of paper Pippa had given him. ‘What does an e-mail address look like?’ Young Matthew was probably grinning from ear to ear at the other end, but he didn’t care.

‘If you see a string of numbers or letters, or both, written in the way you’ve never seen before and with an “@” sign in between, that’ll be it.’ The boy sounded deadly serious.

Everything Grant could see looked perfectly normal. He didn’t recognise the name of the Brazilian town and there were letters with accents on top of them and below them, as one would expect to find in Portuguese, but otherwise there was nothing out of the ordinary. He turned the note to the other side. At the bottom of the page, along the rugged edge where Pippa must have torn the rest of the sheet off, there were two lines of writing that seemed completely meaningless. But they both contained the “@” sign.

‘I think I’ve got it. Two, it seems. Two e-mail addresses. One must be Brazilian, the other American. No idea which is which.’

‘Leave it with me, Sir. I’ll have something for you in the morning.’

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