Cast in Order of Disappearance by Simon Brett

his daughter, wondering if she could be involved in this grotesque business. But in her face, as easily read as her mother’s, there was nothing devious; she was telling the truth. ‘Anyway, Daddy, why do you tell me that? Was it Steen you went to see last night?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜I didn’t know you knew him.’
    â€˜I didn’t.’ He sipped the coffee. It wasn’t what he needed. His body felt dangerously unstable and bilious. ‘Juliet, could you get me a drop of whisky?’
    â€˜At this time in the morning? Daddy’—with all the awe of a television documentary—are you an alcoholic?’
    â€˜I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. Where does liking a drink stop and being an alcoholic start?’
    â€˜I should think it starts when you need a hair of the dog the next morning.’ Juliet italicised the unfamiliar phrase.
    â€˜Well, I do need one now.’
    â€˜I don’t know whether I should—’
    â€˜Oh, get it!’ he snapped impatiently. As Juliet scurried shocked to the cocktail cabinet, Charles asked himself whether he was in fact an alcoholic. On balance, he decided he probably wasn’t. He could do without drink. But he wouldn’t like to have to. It was an old joke—a teetotaller knows every morning when he wakes up that that’s the best he’s going to feel all day. Drink at least offers some prospect of things improving.
    He felt Juliet’s shocked eyes on him as he poured whisky into his coffee and drank it gratefully. It made him feel more stable, but desperately tired. Waves of relief washed over him. Steen had died of a heart attack. Thoughts of murder had been prompted only by the events of the previous week and the melodramatic circumstances of the discovery of the body. All the contradictory details evaporated. Charles believed what he wanted to believe. The pressure was off. ‘Juliet love, what’s the time?’
    â€˜Twenty past ten.’
    â€˜Look, I think I’ll go back to bed for a bit.’
    â€˜But you must have something to eat.’ Frances’ eternal cry.
    â€˜When have you got to go to work?’
    â€˜Have to leave quarter to two.’
    â€˜Wake me at half-past twelve. Then I’ll have something to eat. I promise.’
    It wasn’t until after lunch and Juliet’s departure that Charles remembered about Jacqui, still lying low at Hereford Road. The public announcement of Steen’s death had sapped the urgency out of him and yesterday’s imperatives no longer mattered. Jacqui was just the frayed end of an otherwise completed pattern and it was with reluctance that he dialled his own number.
    Jacqui answered. All of the Swedish girls must be out at their various Swedish employments. Her voice was guarded, but not panic-stricken. ‘Charles? I wondered when you were going to ring. I was just about to leave.’
    â€˜Jacqui, I’ve got some bad news . . .’
    â€˜It’s all right. I heard. On Open House .’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜The radio.’
    â€˜Ah. Well, I’m sorry.’
    â€˜Thank you.’ There was a pause, and Charles could feel how fiercely she was controlling her emotions.
    â€˜Jacqui, I’m afraid I never got the photos to him.’
    â€˜That hardly matters now, does it? Nothing much matters now.’
    â€˜Jacqui . . .’
    â€˜I’ll be all right.’
    â€˜Yes. I suppose that’s the end of it, isn’t it?’
    â€˜I wouldn’t count on that.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’ Charles had an unpleasant feeling he was about to sacrifice his recently-won calm.
    â€˜Do you think he died of a heart attack, Charles?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    There was a grunt from the other end of the line, a sound between exasperation and despair. ‘Charles, I can’t talk about it now. I’m too . . . I’ll talk