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

‘Welcome.’ A tall, olive-skinned man dressed in a well-cut suit strode across the marble floor to greet her. His hair was black and glossy, and he sported a neatly-trimmed beard. ‘Ms Hart, I presume? How good of you to come.’

‘It’s Detective Inspector Hart.’

‘Of course, forgive me.’ The man’s manner was gracious, almost servile, but when he requested, in the politest possible tone, that she switch off her mobile phone and hand it over “for her security and comfort”, there was a steel in his voice that made it clear he would not be argued with.

Bridget complied with his request. Then, divested of her only means of contact with the outside world, she followed the man – who had not given his name – past marble pillars, crystal chandeliers, and yet more gold leaf, to a room where two high-backed chairs upholstered in silk brocade were arranged either side of an octagonal table whose dark wood was inlaid with geometric patterns. The effect was exquisite.

Bridget felt that an appreciative comment might be in order. ‘What a beautiful table,’ she said, picking out the one detail in order to avoid being totally overwhelmed by her palatial surroundings.

‘Yes,’ said her host. ‘It is made from ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl and tortoiseshell, and dates from the Ottoman Empire. Please do take a seat.’ He gestured to one of the chairs and Bridget sat down, crossing her feet at the ankles and tucking her legs under the chair. Was this how prime ministers felt at their weekly audiences with the Queen? ‘I have ordered tea to be served,’ said her host.

As if on cue, a young man dressed in a traditional Arabic tunic and headwear appeared bearing a silver tray on which stood a tall silver teapot and two gold-leaf-trimmed glasses with handles. He set the tray down on the table, bowed, and withdrew without saying a word. Bridget’s host filled the two glasses with deep amber tea and offered one of them to her. She accepted it and took a sip. The drink was hot, strong and very sweet, just what she needed.

‘Thank you for agreeing to meet me,’ she said.

He regarded her with eyes like deep, dark pools. ‘Not at all. We are honoured to be able to help our British friends.’ His lips expressed gratification, but the eyes did not change. ‘I understand that you have questions regarding the death of the academic and writer, Diane Gilbert.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

Her host’s lips twisted down in obvious displeasure. ‘Diane Gilbert was not a friend to Saudi Arabia. Nor to your own country. She was, in fact, an enemy of the state.’ The smile returned. ‘Of course, she is not the only person in the world to voice criticism of the close relationship between our two governments, and in any case, that is no reason to wish her dead. We were deeply sorry to learn of her death.’

‘You were?’ asked Bridget.

‘Of course. Death is always a tragedy, but one that is natural and unavoidable.’

‘In this case, we believe that Dr Gilbert’s death may not have been natural.’

‘Indeed? What reason do you have to be suspicious?’

The man was clearly fishing for information, but Bridget wasn’t going to reveal how much – or how little – she knew. ‘It is the job of the police to investigate all such deaths.’

The man’s smile broadened. ‘Of course.’

‘Are you aware that Dr Gilbert received a death threat shortly before her death?’

Her host’s dark eyebrows rose, expressing surprise. ‘How could I possibly be aware of such a fact?’

Bridget held his gaze. ‘The threat made reference to Dr Gilbert’s new book, which as you know revealed information about the supply of arms to your country.’

‘A legitimate trade, sanctioned by your own government.’

‘You know nothing about who killed her?’

Her host’s smile dimmed, and a look of disappointment took its place on his face. ‘I believe that you do me a great injustice by asking such a question, Detective Inspector. Whatever you may have heard, my country is not in the business of making threats to foreign citizens, much less acting on them.’ He sipped his tea then returned his glass to the tray and steepled his long fingers beneath his chin. ‘Inspector Hart,’ he continued in a more conciliatory tone, ‘I do understand why you felt it necessary to come here today, but I can assure you that the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia had nothing whatsoever to do with the unfortunate death of Diane Gilbert. Even supposing, hypothetically, that we had wanted to kill her, why would we have sent her a death threat? Would it not have been more efficient simply to carry out the killing without warning?’

That was, Bridget was forced to concede, a more logical way to act.

The man smiled again. ‘Perhaps the threat was made by someone who intended merely to frighten Dr Gilbert. It might not have been sent by the actual murderer. Have you considered that?’

Bridget gave no answer. There seemed little more for her to say now that her host had so categorically denied that his country had any involvement in Diane Gilbert’s murder. She finished her tea, thanked him once again for his time, and was escorted from the premises, collecting her mobile phone on the way.

Once the gates of the embassy clanged shut behind her, she paused and breathed a sigh of relief. She might not have learned anything very new from her visit, but she was glad to be outside again in a London street. It was possible that she had been fobbed off, but she was confident of two facts. First, that she had no desire to step foot inside the embassy building again. And secondly, that this was the only meeting she was ever going to be granted.

18

Ffion wasn’t in the habit