Page 71 of Dead Fall

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Back at the nick they found Craig and Becca both wearing long faces.

‘What’s up?’ asked Streaky. ‘Did somebody’s hamster die?’

‘Ethan has an alibi for the time Bronte died. A real one this time,’ said Craig. ‘Tell them, Becca.’

‘Ethan’s bandmate admitted to lying about Ethan sleeping at his place in Holloway that night.’ Becca looked forlorn. ‘But he did it because Ethan actually spent the night in Camden with the girlfriend of the band’s drummer.’

‘And his latest version of events stands up?’ asked Streaky.

Becca nodded miserably. ‘I spoke to her myself and she confirmed it. She broke down, said she’d have to tell her boyfriend she’s been cheating on him.’

Flyte felt a surge of anger at Ethan: not just for spinning them a line to cover his back, but on Cassie’s behalf too.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Cassie had booked the day of Bronte’s funeral as holiday so she could watch the coverage from the boat. Naturally, the service at St Ioannas would be a private affair, but the funeral cortege and guests arriving was being live-streamed by a US-based online music and entertainment channel.

She wouldn’t be watching alone though – she had an unexpected guest in the form of Ethan, who’d called to ask if he could come over.

‘Thanks for this,’ he said as he took a seat in the cabin, and she was touched to see that he had shaved and wore a clean shirt, presumably to mark the seriousness of the occasion. ‘George would probably have put me on the list for inside but I wasn’t about to give social media fresh meat – you know, “evil junkie boyfriend attends funeral of his victim”.’ Taking the cup of tea she handed him, he added, ‘And I didn’t want to be on my own.’

As she sat beside him, close enough to feel the warmth of his arm, she realised that her crazy little crush on him had totally evaporated. Ethan had edgy good looks and charisma by the bucketload – but even she could see that he ought to come with a relationship health warning tattooed on his forehead.

What had she been thinking? A lot of it had been their shared connection with Bronte, heightened by Cassie’s guilt about the bullying at school. And it wouldn’t be the first time that she’d jumped into a new relationship in a bid to paper over her feelings about the previous one. She did still wonder if she’d done the right thing, calling time on her and Archie.

The streamed footage stood in stark contrast with her memories of the Amy Winehouse funeral, back when she’d still been at school. Although she’d been a far bigger star than Bronte, that had been a low-key affair, with only a modest gathering of respectful fans and well-wishers who had kept their distance. This time there was a noisy scrum of spectators and the police had thrown a ring of steel barriers around Agios Ioannis fronted by officers in hi-vis jackets to keep them at bay, and she saw four TV cameras and a bunch of other press in a kind of pen off to one side of the church entrance.

Seeing the funeral cortege arrive, flanked by two motorcycle cops, Cassie lowered the volume so they didn’t have to listen to the inane chatter of the presenters. A sea of arms went up from the crowd to capture the moment on their smartphones. ‘Look!’ she told Ethan, pointing to a neon pink head at the front of the crowd filming herself as Bronte’s hearse drew up in the background.

‘Oh yeah!’ he said. ‘That’s that Charly girl whose post got me a kicking, right?’

‘What happened about that?’ asked Cassie.

‘She took the posts down.’ He shrugged. ‘If I could afford a libel lawyer I’d be a few hundred grand richer by now.’

‘Do the cops still think you had something to do with it?’

‘Nah,’ he said. ‘I had to give them the name of the girl I was with that night’ – he sent her an awkward look. ‘She’s the girlfriend of our drummer. So as you can imagine I’m persona non grata with the band, but hey, she dumped him and we’re legit now.’ He sounded more resigned than thrilled by the outcome.

‘But you’re not watching this with her?’ Cassie asked lightly.

‘She wouldn’t like it.’ He gave a half-shake of his head. ‘You cared about Bronte. And put yourself in danger to try and find out what happened to her.’

The back of the hearse was so full of flowers you could only catch glimpses of the dark wood coffin within. The report cut to a close-up, filling the screen with the words ‘Goodbye Baby Girl’ spelled out in red roses on a background of white lilies. The limo directly behind, which presumably carried George and Chrysanthi, had heavily tinted windows protecting the privacy of its occupants.

As the hearse turned into the churchyard entrance a shower of flowers thrown by the crowd fell on and around it, some getting crushed under the wheels.

Once the cortege of cars was inside, a couple of church flunkies came and shut the gates. Cassie threw a look at Ethan and was shocked to see tears spilling from his eyes.

‘Oh Ethan,’ she said, putting a hand on his arm.

‘I’m all right.’ Taking a breath, he put up a hand. ‘I know I was a totally shit boyfriend but, you know, I really did love her.’

She filled two shot glasses with iced vodka from the freezer.

Raising her glass, she said, ‘To Bronte. One of the brave ones.’

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