Incinerator by Niall Leonard Read Free Book Online

absconded,” I said.
    Now he seemed to be paying attention.
    “Holy crap,” he said eventually.
    “Can I come in?”
    He looked at me as if calculating which would cause him more grief—keeping me out or letting me in—before he finally stepped back and held the door open.
    Anderson led me along a long hallway with a red and cream chequerboard floor and into a massive library lined with bookshelves. With its deep button-backed sofas and its mottled leather-bound books the room struck me as cheesy and old-fashioned, not the sort of decor I would have expected Nicky to like. Between the bookshelves were hung ornately framed classical paintings, all depicting ancient countryside scenes with milkmaids in suspiciously clean smocks, apart from an odd one depicting a heap of dead partridges … or pheasants, or possibly grouse—my local supermarket stocked more frozen burgers than fresh game, so I was no expert. The placemight have been cosy in the evenings with the fire going, but right now it was as bleak and chilly and cheerless as a funeral parlour. I noticed a tall mahogany cupboard to one side with ostentatiously locked doors. Was he that paranoid about people stealing his brandy?
    Anderson looked as if he would have preferred to sit back in an armchair like the lord of the manor, but right now was too rattled by my news to relax, so he paced the room, rubbing his forehead. “I’m sorry, I had no idea you were a client of Nicky’s,” he said. “I thought you were just her personal trainer.”
    “I’m not her trainer,” I said. “She works out at my gym, that’s all.”
    “Oh yeah, your gym.” Something about the way he said that suggested he’d driven by once to have a look, and not been impressed. Nicky must have told him about me, and whatever she’d said had made him curious.
    “Sorry, but how could you not notice your wife had gone missing?” I said.
    “We had a row last night. She left the house. I thought she’d gone to stay over with—friends.”
    “How often did that happen?”
    “Have you ever been married? Sorry, silly question. How old are you, twenty?”
    “Can I ask what you two were arguing about?”
    He held his hands open in a hopeless gesture. “Nothing. Everything. Are your parents still together?”
    My parents hardly ever fought, I wanted to tell him—they were happy together … right up to the day my mum walked out. But that was none of his business.
    “My parents are dead,” I said.
    “Sorry. Look, Finn, if you’re right, and she really has run off … I’ve got to start making some calls. And you need to find yourself another lawyer.” He ran a hand down his face, pinching his nose, as the implications sank in. “The police are going to turn this place inside out. They’re going to think I knew what she was planning. What a bloody mess.” He looked back at me. “Can I ask—how much did she take you for?”
    “I don’t think that’s what happened,” I said.
    “I don’t want to believe it either,” said Harry. “But here we are.”
    “You think she’s capable of something like that?”
    “Honestly? Yes, I do.” He hesitated, as if reluctant to bad-mouth his own wife, then seemed to decide it didn’t matter any more. “She’s a selfish, spoiled … bitch. I’m just sorry you had to find out this way. Anyway, like I said, I’ve got to start making calls so …” He walked to the door to show me out.
    “Can I use your loo? Sorry,” I said.
    He eyed me up and sniffed, as if wondering if I was going to run off with his toilet roll. But the good manners that were probably beaten into him as a boy eventually prevailed, and he nodded towards the hallway. “Of course,” he said. “There’s one in the hall, under the stairs.”
    Crap … I’d been hoping there wasn’t. I checked to make sure he wasn’t watching, found the loo and opened the door noisily, switched on the light—the walls were hung with cartoons of hunting scenes—and