Blue Genes - By Val McDermid Page 0,4

left Richard. Sorry you had a wasted journey of condolence. And I'm sorry if it upset you," I added.

"You're all right. I don't think I really believed he was dead, you know? I figured it must be some sick puppy's idea of a joke, on account of I couldn't work out how come you hadn't told me he'd kicked it. If you see what I mean. Anyway, it wasn't a wasted journey. I was coming around anyway. There's something I wanted to tell you."

For some reason, Alexis had suddenly stopped meeting my eye. She was looking vaguely around the room, as if Richard's walls were the source of all inspiration. Then she dragged her eyes away from the no longer brilliant white emulsion and started rooting around in a handbag so vast it makes mine look like an evening purse. "So tell me," I said impatiently after a silence long enough for Alexis to unearth a fresh packet of cigarettes, unwrap them, and light one.

"It's Chris," she exhaled ominously. More silence. Chris, Alexis's partner, is an architect in a community practice. It feels as if they've been together longer than Mickey and Minnie. The pair of them had just finished building their dream home beyond the borders of civi-lization as we know it, part of a self-build scheme. And now Alexis was using the tone of voice that BBC announcers adopt when a member of the royal family has died or sep-arated from a spouse.

"What about Chris?" I asked nervously.

Alexis ran a hand through her hair then looked up at me from under her eyebrows. "She's pregnant."

Before I could say anything, the doorbell blasted out the riff from "Layla" again.
Chapter 2
I looked at her and she looked at me. What I saw was genuine happiness accompanied by a faint flicker of apprehension. What Alexis saw, I suspect, was every piece of dental work I've ever had done. Before I could get my vocal cords unjammed, Alexis was on her feet and heading for the conservatory. "That'll be your scam merchant. I'd better leg it," she said. "I'll let myself out through your house. Give me a bell later," she added to her slipstream. Feeling stunned enough to resemble someone whose entire family has been wiped out by a freak accident, I walked to the front door in a bewildered daze. The guy on the other side of it looked like a high-class under¬taker's apprentice. Dark suit, white shirt that gleamed in the streetlights like an advert for soap powder, plain dark tie. Even his hair was a gleaming black that matched his shoeshine. The only incongruity was that instead of a graveyard pallor, his skin had the kind of light tan most of us can't afford in April. "Mrs. Barclay?" he asked, his voice deep and dignified.

"That's right," I said, trying for tremulous.

A hand snaked into his top pocket and came out with a business card. "Will Alien, Mrs. Barclay. I'm very sorry for your loss," he said, not yet offering the card.

"Are you a friend of Richard's? Someone he works- worked-with?"

"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Barclay. I didn't have the good fortune to know your late husband. No, I'm with Green-halgh and Edwards." He handed the card over with a small flourish. "I wonder if I might have a quiet word with you?"

I looked at the card. I recognized right away that it had come from those machines you find at the motorway ser¬vice areas. The ones on the M6 at Hilton Park are the best; they've got really smart textured cards. Drop three quid in the slot, choose a logo, type in the text, and you get sixty instant business cards. No questions asked. One of the great mysteries of the universe is how villains catch on to the potential of new technology way ahead of the straight community. While most punters were still eyeing the business card machines warily on their way to the toi¬lets, the bad guys were queuing up to arm themselves with bullshit IDs. This particular piece of fiction told me Will Alien was Senior Bereavement Consultant with Greenhalgh and Edwards, Monumental Masons, The Garth, Cheadle Hulme. "You'd better come in," I said tonelessly and stepped back to let him pass me. As I closed the door, I noticed Alexis emerging from my house with a cheery wave in my direction.

Alien was moving tentatively toward the living room, the one open door off the hallway. I'd drawn the line at cleaning the whole house. "Come