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

News of Diane’s past political activism didn’t greatly surprise Bridget, given what she already knew about the academic. The Greenham Common Women’s Peace Camp had become famous – or infamous – during the eighties because of the hundreds of women who camped outside the RAF base in Berkshire to protest at the decision of the British government to allow American cruise missiles to be deployed there. Margaret Thatcher had been in Number Ten at the time and the effects of free market capitalism were just beginning to make themselves felt in the economic boom in the City of London. Other parts of the country, with an industrial base rooted in the previous century, were faring less well. It had been a turbulent time in British history, and Diane Gilbert would have been a young woman, full of political conviction and self-righteous indignation. Greenham Common would have been her natural habitat.

‘So it’s very likely that MI5 have a file on her dating back a few decades,’ concluded Andy. ‘And given what we know about her recent activities, they may have continued to watch her.’

Bridget thanked Andy for his diligent research. Much as she disliked the idea, all the available evidence seemed to be pointing in the direction of a national security connection, and she couldn’t afford to ignore it. ‘The Chief Super is on the case, knocking on the doors of power to see what he can find out. In the meantime, let’s work with what we’ve got. Jake, Ryan, I’d like you to go back to the Blavatnik School of Government and talk to the rest of Diane’s colleagues. See what you can unearth, bearing in mind everything we’ve talked about this morning.’

‘We’re on it, ma’am,’ said Jake.

‘Andy, carry on with your background checks. I want to know everything there is to know about Diane and her political activities. Harry, start following up on her phone records.’ She turned to Ffion. ‘You can come with me. I think that after spending all of yesterday with your head in a book, you could probably use some fresh air.’

12

The wall that bounded Diane Gilbert’s back garden stood eight feet tall. Bridget looked up at it doubtfully. It would be impossible for her to climb, and Vik had assured her that there were no footprints or tell-tale marks in the soil beneath the wall that a ladder might have made. But whoever had gained entry to Diane’s house had come and gone somehow.

‘What do you reckon?’ asked Bridget. She waited whilst Ffion eyed up the brick wall. At almost six feet in flat shoes, Ffion could just about reach the top if she stood on tiptoes.

‘You want me to give it a go?’

‘If you don’t mind,’ said Bridget.

Ffion accepted the unusual request without comment, appearing to relish the challenge. She bent forward and touched her toes, jogged on the spot for a moment, then took a running leap at the wall. She managed to grab hold of the top, but even with her long legs she struggled to gain a foothold on the vertical surface. She tried swinging her right leg up to the top of the wall, but it was simply too far. For a moment she hung there, suspended above the shrubbery, then let herself drop back down, landing with a feline grace. She returned to Bridget, rubbing mud and moss from her hands, looking obviously disappointed not to have made it over the top.

‘Good try,’ said Bridget. ‘You proved the point.’ She indicated the deep impressions that Ffion had left in the soil of the flowerbed. ‘Even if someone had managed to climb over, they would have left clear marks behind. And Vik assured me that there were no marks.’

‘So if they didn’t come over the top, might they have come through that door?’ asked Ffion, pointing to the solid wooden door in the wall.

‘Not unless they had the key,’ said Bridget. The door fitted flush to the wall, and was secured with a standard mortice lock. ‘The key was found hanging in the kitchen. And since the intruder had to break the glass in the kitchen door to get into the house, it’s unlikely they would have had a key to the garden door. In any case, it was locked when Vik’s team examined it. Why would someone bother to lock the garden gate after smashing open the kitchen door? It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘No,’ said Ffion, ‘so we still have no idea how they got in?’

Bridget was reluctant to admit that the most obvious explanation was staring her in the face – that Sam and Scott had not been telling the truth about staying on guard all night. If it could be proved that they had lied to her, their careers might well be over before they had barely started. She felt a stab of pity, but also a fair amount of anger.

They walked round the rest of the garden, but there was no obvious way by which the intruder might have entered, if not through the front driveway. Bridget re-examined the garden shed, but it was firmly padlocked as before. An inspection of the garage revealed nothing new either. With a sigh, Bridget had to accept that they would be unable to solve this particular part of the mystery by further examination of the grounds.

‘Let’s take a look inside the house.’

The back entrance was sealed off with crime tape, and broken glass still littered the kitchen floor, so they circled round to the front of the house where a uniformed constable let them inside.

The broken pane of glass in the kitchen door was letting the damp April air inside, and the house had taken on a chill feel. Bridget kept her coat on as she and Ffion began their examination of