‘That’s as good a reason as any, I suppose,’ James said.

‘And it’s probably worth mentioning that Mark Slade and myself both attended Michael Murphy’s funeral. Greg delivered the eulogy and got quite emotional. I remember how he cried in Libby’s arms after.’

‘Thanks for your help, Sean,’ James offered.

‘Of course. Can I ask, do you think Mark Slade killed Rachel?’ Sean asked.

Abbott gave him a playful punch on the arm. ‘You know better than to ask that, my sweet.’

He nodded. ‘Right. Sorry.’

She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his mouth.

‘I’ll be back as soon as I can to update you,’ she said. ‘Meanwhile, try to relax. And if you decide you’d rather go home then it’s not a problem. Take the car and I’ll get a lift back later.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Before heading to Mark Slade’s room, James sought out Dale Thomas, who was keeping a list of all the guests and staff members who’d so far been questioned. The best man wasn’t among them.

‘Then leave it to me and DC Abbott,’ he told Thomas. ‘We’re on our way to talk to him now. You can get a formal statement later.’

They had to ring the bell twice before Slade answered the door to his room.

‘I’m so sorry, Detective Inspector Walker,’ he said. ‘I fell asleep on the bed while waiting for someone to come and talk to me.’

‘Well, we’re here now, Mr Slade,’ James said. ‘May we come in? This is my colleague, Detective Constable Abbott.’

Slade waved them inside and invited them to be seated on two small armchairs. His room was a large double and had a balcony overlooking the rear garden. The TV was on and muted, tuned to the BBC News channel.

He perched himself on the edge of the bed and on the table next to him James noticed a half-empty bottle of vodka and a glass piled high with ice cubes.

‘I would offer you both a drink,’ Slade said, pressing out a grin as he looked at Abbott, ‘but I don’t suppose you’re allowed to partake while you’re on duty.’

James took an instant dislike to the guy and he had to remind himself that just because someone was a knob, it doesn’t mean they were capable of murder.

Slade had changed out of his wedding garb and into a crew-neck sweater and loose-fitting jeans. His eyes were small and unfriendly, and his voice rough and clipped. He’d obviously been drinking but seemed sober enough and wasn’t slurring his words.

‘I was there in the Garden Room when you put us all in the picture, Inspector,’ he said, returning his gaze to James. ‘It’s a terrible bloody business. I can’t believe Rachel is dead. She was a lovely girl and a great character.’

‘How well did you know her, Mr Slade?’ James asked.

‘Not very well at all. I was hoping to get to know her better here at the wedding. Before today, our paths only crossed a few times when we attended the same functions, but we’ve always hit it off. I’ve met her sister more often, though, because Greg and I are mates. That’s why he had me as his best man.’