Preface to Murder, M Morris [best selling autobiographies TXT] 📗

‘It’s a possibility.’

‘In that case, why wasn’t someone assigned to watch over the rear of the property?’

‘Sir, with respect, I only had two officers available. They were stationed at the front of the house. How was I supposed to cover the rear entrance with the resources I had been given?’

Bridget knew that she was stepping into dangerous territory by invoking resources and budgets. This was firmly Grayson’s area of responsibility.

Tap. Tap. Tap. ‘We don’t have unlimited resources to babysit every person who says something controversial and puts themselves at risk. Whatever the Deputy Commissioner might think.’

This was the closest the Chief had come to taking Bridget’s side. But her relief was short-lived. Grayson closed his fist hard around the fountain pen. ‘Having said that, this was a monumental cock-up of the first order. The murderer sent a letter in black and white saying what they intended to do, and still we failed to stop them. You can consider yourself very fortunate that you have only me to answer to, and not the Deputy Commissioner. Now, the two officers who were on duty outside the victim’s house last night have been suspended while an enquiry is made into their conduct during this operation. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t also suspend you and assign Baxter to lead the murder investigation.’

‘Sir? You can’t do that!’ Bridget was dismayed to learn that Sam and Scott had been suspended from duty. Her gut feeling told her they had been telling the truth about what happened. But the prospect that she might also be suspended was even more alarming. Taking her off the case now and putting her arch rival within the department, DI Greg Baxter, in charge of clearing her name was an appalling prospect.

‘Can’t I?’ The tone of Grayson’s question conveyed a clear warning.

Bridget knew that telling her boss what he could or couldn’t do was likely to put her head on the block. But her sense of injustice seemed determined to ride roughshod over her common sense. ‘It’s just not fair, sir. I have a right to lead this murder enquiry.’

Grayson’s already furrowed brow darkened further. He raised the pen and jabbed it in the air. ‘Let me make this clear, DI Hart. You have absolutely no rights here whatsoever.’

‘An obligation, then, sir. I owe it to the victim and her family to find out who did this. And I’m the person best placed to lead this investigation.’

‘Or the one least likely to take an objective view of the situation.’

Grayson raised his hand to stop her saying anything more. He stared up at the ceiling tiles, tapping the pen gently against his desk while he mulled over his decision. It didn’t take him long. Grayson was never a man plagued by doubt. ‘Well, Inspector Hart, you spectacularly failed to stop Diane Gilbert from being murdered, so you can bloody well make up for it by finding out who killed her. Consider this a penance, not a reward.’

The fountain pen had survived its ordeal and so had Bridget. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, relieved that she wasn’t about to be reassigned to policing petty crime on the Blackbird Leys estate in East Oxford. But she knew that her future hung in the balance. If this went badly, her career might be in jeopardy.

‘Tread carefully,’ warned Grayson. ‘No more mistakes. And given the nature of this book of hers, I want to be informed immediately if there is any hint that Diane Gilbert’s death may be linked to matters of national security.’

‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’ Bridget rose gratefully to her feet. ‘You’ll be the first to know.’

5

Bridget left Grayson’s office taking care to close the door softly behind her. Everyone in the department seemed suddenly to be very busy, staring intently at their screens, flipping pages of the reports that lay open before them, dashing off urgently to make tea or use the bathroom. Bridget felt a spotlight shining on her, even though not a single face turned her way. They must surely have heard Grayson’s angry tirade. She made her way to her desk, then refusing to bow to her humiliation, immediately stood up again.

‘Team meeting, two minutes, sharp.’

There was only one way for her to redeem herself, and it was by moving forward, not looking back.

Team meetings were apparently unendurable without the fortification of tea and coffee, so Bridget waited patiently in the incident room for her team to assemble.

Detective Constable Ffion Hughes was first to appear, bearing her usual Welsh dragon mug, from which dangled a string attached to a herbal teabag. Ginger, judging by the pungent aroma. The smell recalled gingerbread men that Bridget had baked with Chloe when she was little. The memory was comforting, and helped to sooth Bridget’s nerves. Ffion had thoughtfully made Bridget a mug of normal tea in one of the office mugs.

Bridget treated her to a smile. Ever since Ffion had returned to visit her family in Wales for a few days after Christmas, Bridget had noticed a marked softening in the young detective’s normally prickly manner.

‘Everything all right, ma’am?’ asked Ffion, placing the mug on the desk.

‘Good, thanks.’ It was a relief to know that whatever Grayson might think, at least one of her team still backed her.

Next to enter was Jake, balancing a mug of builder’s tea with a chocolate bar and a packet of crisps, closely followed by DS Ryan Hooper bearing a Starbucks coffee and a chocolate brownie. DS Andy Cartwright and DC Harry Johns were the last to appear, carrying a coffee and an energy drink respectively.

Once they were all seated, Bridget wasted no time in starting the briefing. A killer was at large, and Bridget was determined to catch them.

‘Diane Gilbert,’ she said, pointing to a photograph she had pinned to the