Conferences are Murder by Val McDermid Read Free Book Online

Outside the conference, he had simply said, “Come and see,” and led her in silence to the scene of the accident.
    As they waited for the waitress to bring them a pot of tea, Paul started to shiver, like a dog in a thunderstorm. “He looked . . . he looked really weird,” he said in a puzzled voice. “His eyes were really staring, and it was like he was pushing himself up on the steering-wheel. And he’d gone a funny color. Sort of purply.” “He had bad asthma,” Lindsay said. It didn’t seem very helpful, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
    â€œI know,” Paul said. “Ian’s been my friend for years. But I’ve never seen him in a real state with it. Not like that.” The waitress deposited a tray on the table. Lindsay poured the tea and Paul instantly clutched a cup, warming his hands like a man dying of cold. “He looked completely out of control, and I’ve never seen him like that. He always had his drugs with him, always.”

    Lindsay sighed and lit up a cigarette. “Maybe he didn’t take them soon enough. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about asthma.”
    Paul shook his head. “I do. My eldest son is mildly asthmatic. But I’ve never seen him like that either, not even when he was a baby and he couldn’t use inhalers. But Ian was always really careful, really methodical. Well, he would be, wouldn’t he? Look what an organized branch secretary he was.” Paul gave a hysterical laugh. “Listen to me. The poor bastard’s in the past tense already.”
    â€œYou’re sure he was dead?” Lindsay asked, clutching at straws.
    Paul gulped his tea. “I’m sure. No one could get the door open. We tried. The fire brigade had to cut it open. When they finally got him out, they . . .” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat noisily and said, “He didn’t come out in one piece, Lindsay. His face was covered when they took him away. They didn’t have their siren going or their light flashing.” He stared into his cup.
    Lindsay felt numb. It was too much, after Frances. Her grief had overloaded in an emotional short circuit that left her incapable of feeling anything more. In self-preservation, her mind was moving only in practical channels. “I think you should go to the hospital, Paul. You’re in shock.”
    Paul gave a short sharp bark that was a long way from laughter. “I can’t go to hospital. You think I’m in a state? You just wait. Who’s going to tell Laura? I should do that, I saw him die, I was their friend.” The shivering started again.
    Lindsay gently took the cup from him and placed it on its saucer. She took his hands in hers. “You’re not the person to tell her, Paul. Not right now.”
    She saw a sudden flash of relief as his eyes met hers. It disappeared as suddenly as it had come. “But I should,” he said guiltily.
    Lindsay shook her head. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll tell her,” she said softly. She released Paul’s hands and lit another cigarette. “I know what it feels like,” she added distantly.

    Though she’d never have admitted it to Paul, it was a secret relief to Lindsay when they returned to the Winter Gardens and discovered that the bad news had travelled with its usual swiftness. The hall was virtually empty. Standing Orders Sub-Committee were in a huddle by the door, discussing whether to move suspension of standing orders; to bring conference to an end; or simply to make a brief announcement from the stage, followed by a minute’s silence.
    The delegates stood around in subdued groups, talking softly about what they’d heard had happened. Lindsay couldn’t help noticing that there wasn’t a national newspaper reporter in sight. She knew exactly what most of her delegation would be doing now—they’d