As he gave the reading from the Bible, Bailey examined the Molloys. Nancy sat there staring straight ahead, her face dour and inscrutable. There were no tears, not even the smallest leak of emotion. Sitting beside her, Rick too bore a similarly impenetrable expression, his face cold and tough as granite. They hardly seemed riven with grief, but then they were hard people.

Once again Bailey wondered just who was actually responsible for killing Adrian. As far as she was aware, the police had made little progress in solving the murder. Seeing as it wasn’t her priority, Bailey hadn’t thought about it in too much depth up to now. However, being here in the heart of this villainous clan, she began to sense that the death of Adrian would, in some way, bear an inextricable influence upon the course of this operation.

22

The private room of the posh hotel was packed with mourners chattering loudly above the singing of some sixties-style crooner emanating from the sound system.

Bailey couldn’t immediately spot any of the key Molloy family members among the crowds of people milling around and, never having been a big one for social occasions, she felt a little awkward, standing there by herself, not knowing anyone.

Spotting a table laid out with canapés, she sidled over to have a temporary excuse to find something to occupy herself with. She was examining the smoked salmon vol-au-vents when a female voice with a distinct Essex inflection spoke up in her ear.

‘Don’t wakes remind you of weddings? I suppose the only difference is that there’s one less drunk standing at the bar.’

Bailey looked up to see a woman with long blonde hair and bright yellow fingernails wearing a large pair of Gucci sunglasses, and a Chanel handbag hooked over her right forearm. Bailey had noticed her earlier on in the church standing next to Rick. Now, looking at the woman’s hand and seeing the engagement ring with its massive rock accompanied by a diamond-studded wedding ring, Bailey deduced that this woman was his wife. Although strikingly attractive from a distance, up close it was clear that she was quite heavily botoxed, that she’d had substantial work done on her nose, and that her large lips had been injected with so much filler they were in danger of making her resemble a duck.

The woman looked Bailey up and down with blatant curiosity.

Bailey reciprocated in kind. ‘I like your nails,’ she said. The lie came effortlessly.

The woman smiled, stretched out her long slender fingers and looked at them admiringly. ‘Why, thank you. I had them done especially for the occasion.’ She looked up at Bailey with a brittle smile. ‘So who are you then?’

‘My name’s Bailey. Bailey Sharpe. I’m a business associate of Rick’s. And you are?’

‘Wendy. I’m Rick’s wife,’ she said, holding out her hand.

They shook.

Wendy pushed her sunglasses down onto the end of her nose and looked around with distaste. ‘I find these things so tedious. And this music…’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Matt Monro. Nancy’s obsessed with him.’