What the hell?Marcus’s jaw dropped at that. But then, when he studied the photograph again, the fact was so blatant. Each held a glass out, but the fingers of each other’s hands were entwined in the other’s. Maybe you could call Damian Stone attractive, but not in a masculine sense. If Marcus had to use a word to describe him, he would have used the word pretty. In the picture, he appeared to be wearing eyeliner.
“Not married. Civil partnership. Three years,” said Ken.
“Oh God, Ken. I’m so sorry,” said Marcus.
“Yeah, well. Shit happens. Had over a year to try to get used to it,” said Ken, dropping tea bags into mugs and keeping his head down. But Marcus could hear in his voice that the memory still hurt. When Ken brought mugs of tea over and placed one on a coaster in front of Marcus, he paused a moment, looking puzzled into Marcus’s eyes.
“I know you, don’t I?”
For a moment, Marcus felt a rush of optimism. Had he met Ken and Damian Stone before while with Raine? And if so, when?
“Yeah,” said Ken, handing another mug to Daniel but with his gaze still on Marcus. “You’re that chef on the telly. Vine. The one what does traditional British food. Me and Stoner had our anniversary dinner at your Shepherd’s Bush restaurant. Your head waiter was a star. Made us feel really special. You’re one of us too, ain’t you?”
“I am. And I’m really pleased we gave you a good memory.”
“Were you and Mr. Stone exclusive?” asked Daniel out of the blue. While Marcus and Ken sat, Daniel remained standing by a bookcase. Marcus couldn’t help but show his disgust at the question, but Ken didn’t appear to mind.
“Mostly, yeah. We had an understanding.”
“What kind of an understanding? Did Mr. Stone date women too?”
“Dan!” said Marcus.
Ken’s sudden laugh sounded like someone sawing wood. “Damian used to tell people he was a prototype gay, a solid six on the Kinsey scale. He was one of those blokes who you just know are gay as soon as they open their mouths. The girls at work loved him like the brother they never had; they all turned out for his funeral. But if a woman ever hit on him, he’d run a mile screaming. And to be fair to him, Stoner wasn’t the one of us who messed around. Most of the time he was too busy. Either fixing up this place—he was the designer and decorator—or doing his jobs. But I had urges every now and then. He understood that.”
“So,” said Marcus to Daniel, “that answers that mystery. Raine was definitely not having an affair with Damian.”
But Daniel had already moved on. “Did you know where he was heading the Friday they died?”
“No. He did yoga in the morning and should have been home that afternoon.”
“At the Cumberland Health Sanctuary?”
“That’s the one.”
“Still doesn’t answer what they were doing driving south on the M25,” said Daniel.
“Look,” said Ken, “I don’t know if this helps, but sometimes Stoner did a bit of moonlighting. His company would have fired his arse if they’d known. But I’d sometimes help out if they were shorthanded.”
“What kind of moonlighting?” asked Daniel in full interrogation mode.
“Organizing kids’ parties, weddings, anniversaries, that kind of thing. He’d sort out venues, catering, staff, invitations, and everything. Reckoned that once he’d saved up enough, he was going to set up a full-time business. Get away from those bloodsucking corporate bastards.”
At first Marcus couldn’t see how that information helped, but once again Daniel piped up. “Did he have a list of preferred venues?”
“He did, as it goes. Five or six. Mainly around London. Usually depended on where the client lived or whether the guests needed accommodation too.”
“Any chance we can have a look?”
This time Ken simply reached around Daniel to a large box folder in the bookcase. He proffered the file to Daniel. “Knock yourself out.”
Marcus was not sure exactly what Daniel expected to find, but rather than question him, he went along with the idea. Daniel had the professional experience, after all. Forty-five minutes later, they came up with invoices from six venues Damian had used over the past three years, all dotted around the home counties and within easy reach of the M25.
“What exactly are we looking for, Dan?”
“It’s just a theory,” he said, jotting down contact details in his notepad from each of the invoices. “But maybe Raine was organizing an event. Maybe something for the kids. Who better to help with the arrangements than her gay yoga buddy?”
“Me, Dan. I’m her best gay buddy. If Raine had been organizing an event and wanted professional help, she would have come to me.”
