Blue Genes - By Val McDermid Page 0,5

on through," I said, ushering him in and pointing him at the sofa Alexis had just vacated. He sat down, carefully hitching up his trousers at the knees. In the light, the charcoal gray suit looked more like Jasper Conran than Marks and Spencer; ripping off widows was clearly a profitable business.

"Thanks for agreeing to see me, Mrs. Barclay," Alien said, concern dripping from his warm voice. He was clean-cut and clean-shaven, with a disturbing resem¬blance to John Cusack at his most disarming. "Was your husband's death very sudden?" he asked, his eyebrows wrinkling in concern.

"Car accident," I said, gulping back a sob. Hard work, acting. Almost convinces you Kevin Costner earns every dollar of the millions he gets for a movie.

"Tragic," he intoned. "To lose him in his prime. Tragic." Much more of this and I wasn't going to be acting. I was going to be weeping for real. And not from sorrow.

I made a point of looking at his business card again. "I don't understand, Mr. Alien. What is it you're here about?"

"My company is in the business of providing high-quality memorials for loved ones who pass away. The quality element is especially important for someone like yourself, losing a loved one so young. You'll want to be cer¬tain that whatever you choose to remember him by will more than stand the test of time." His solemn smile was close to passing the sincerity test. If I really were a grief-stricken widow, I'd have been half in love with him by now.

"But the undertaker said he'd get that all sorted out for me," I said, going for the sensible-but-confused line.

"Traditionally, we have relied on funeral directors to refer people on to us, but we've found that this doesn't really lead to a satisfactory conclusion," Alien said confi¬dentially. "When you're making the arrangements for a funeral, there are so many different matters to consider. It's hard under those circumstances to give a memorial the undivided attention it deserves."

I nodded. "I know what you mean," I said wearily. "It all starts to blur into one after a while."

"And that's exactly why we decided that a radical rethink was needed. A memorial is something that lasts, and it's important for those of us left behind that it symbolizes the love and respect we have for the person we have lost. We at Greenhalgh and Edwards feel that the crucial issue here is that you make the decision about how to com¬memorate your dear husband in the peace of your own home, uncluttered by thoughts of the various elements that will make up the funeral."

"I see," I said. "It sounds sensible, I suppose."

"We think so. Tell me, Mrs. Barclay, have you opted for internment or cremation?"

"Not cremation," I said very firmly. "A proper burial, that's what Richard would have wanted." But only after he was actually dead, I added mentally.

He snapped open the locks on the slim black briefcase he'd placed next to him on the sofa. "An excellent choice, if I may say so, Mrs. Barclay. It's important to have a place where you can mourn properly, a focus for the communi¬cation I'm sure you'll feel between yourself and Mr. Bar¬clay for a long time to come. Now, because we're still in the trial period of this new way of communicating with our customers, we are able to offer our high-quality memorials at a significant discount of twenty percent less than the prices quoted on our behalf by funeral directors. So that means you get much better value for your money; a memorial that previously might have seemed out of your price range suddenly becomes affordable. Because, of course, we all want the very best for our loved ones," he added, his voice oozing sympathy.

I bit back the overwhelming desire to rip his testicles off and have them nickel-plated as a memorial to his crass opportunism and nodded weakly. "I suppose," I said.

"I wonder if I might take this opportunity to show you our range?" The briefcase was as open as the expression on his face. How could I refuse?

"I don't know..."

"There's absolutely no obligation, though obviously it would be in your best interests to go down the road that offers you the best value for your money." He was on his feet and across the room to sit next to me in one fluid movement, a display file from his briefcase in his hand as if by magic. Sleight of hand like his, he could have been the new