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

They took her up in a lift to the seventh floor then led her along a faceless corridor marked with door after closed door, before finally ushering her into a meeting room. The room housed a long table marked with circular stains from coffee mugs, a dozen chairs, and little else. It was very different from the Saudi Embassy. But it did offer a splendid view of the river, the glass and steel developments rising up on the opposite bank and, nestling amongst the trees just beyond Lambeth Bridge, Lambeth Palace, the official London residence of the Archbishop of Canterbury. Bridget suspected she was going to need some divine intervention if she was going to get anywhere with these people.

Once they were seated, “Jane” spoke for the first time. ‘I would like you to understand that this meeting is strictly off the record. Nothing you hear from us today will be admissible as evidence in court, and if pressed we shall issue a denial of anything you claim. We are able to discuss the circumstances of the murder of Dr Diane Gilbert, but we will not be able to comment on any other matters. Is that clear?’

Bridget responded in her politest, most detached tone. ‘Entirely clear.’

‘As you no doubt already know,’ continued the woman, ‘the remit of the Security Service is domestic counter-intelligence and international counter-terrorism where it threatens the security of the UK.’

‘You mean spying on our enemies,’ said Bridget.

Jane stared back at her impassively. The man glanced at his watch.

Bridget tried a less antagonistic approach. ‘Is it possible that Diane Gilbert may have been considered a threat to national security?’

This time John answered. ‘Dr Gilbert was a person of interest to us. Somebody with her background and activities would always attract our attention.’

‘What can you tell me about her activities?’

‘What do you already know?’

God, it was hard work talking to these people. Like playing poker, and Bridget had never been any good at card games. They clearly had more practice than her at this particular game, and Bridget had no option other than to lay her cards on the table. ‘As a young woman, Diane Gilbert was arrested at Greenham Common for repeated breaches of the peace. In later life she conducted research into areas of policy relating to British and American arms exports to the Middle East. Shortly before her death she wrote a book which, to put it mildly, doesn’t portray the British government in a favourable light and puts at risk contracts worth billions of pounds.’

‘She was also an active member of CND, the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament,’ volunteered Jane.

Bridget felt as if she’d been thrown a crumb. The news was hardly surprising given Diane Gilbert’s political views. Probably all the women at Greenham Common were members of CND. That was the point. She waited to see if any further information would be offered, but John and Jane had nothing to add. Bridget was damned if she had come all this way just to learn something she had already worked out for herself. ‘Given Diane’s political background, her research interests and the fact that she had written a deliberately contentious book,’ she said, ‘not to mention the fact that she had received a death threat, I have to consider the possibility that her death was a politically motivated assassination.’

She waited to see what effect that would produce.

‘What did your contact at the Saudi Embassy have to say to that theory?’ asked John.

Bridget tried to hide her surprise. She had said nothing about her visit to the embassy. No one knew about it apart from her own team – and Dearlove. ‘How did you know about that?’ she demanded.

‘It’s our job to know.’ Was that amusement playing on John’s lips?

The woman remained as sour-faced as ever.

‘The Saudis denied any involvement,’ said Bridget.

‘What did you expect them to say?’ asked John, giving her a patronising smile.

‘Not much,’ admitted Bridget. ‘But so far you’ve told me even less than they did. I came here hoping for some assistance. May I remind you that a British citizen has been murdered. How does the murder of a civilian rate as a threat to domestic security?’

She could tell that her accusation had finally hit the mark. John opened his mouth to speak, but Jane raised her hand to stop him. ‘We are doing our best to assist you, Inspector Hart. But perhaps you aren’t asking the right questions.’

‘What question should I be asking?’

But that only resulted in a shake of the head.

Bridget tried again. ‘Is it your belief that the Saudi security services played any part in Diane’s murder?’

‘If we had any evidence to suggest that possibility, we would be conducting our own investigation.’

‘And are you?’

‘I can’t answer that question.’

‘Then,’ said Bridget, ‘is it possible that the British Security Service had any involvement in her death?’

Jane was ready with her answer. ‘Contrary to popular belief’ – she cast a disdainful look in Bridget’s direction – ‘our officers are strictly prohibited from breaking the law. So it would be an impossibility for us to have carried out a murder or to have engaged in any kind of illegal activity.’

‘I see,’ said Bridget. The answer was the clearest and most definitive response she had been given this entire day, and she guessed that it was the best she could hope for. It was just as she had expected all along – an outright denial of any involvement by the Security Services in an extra-judiciary killing. Effectively a brick wall placed in her path.

‘On the other hand,’ added John, ‘sometimes our informants take matters into their own hands.’

‘Your informants?’

‘Sometimes known as agents. Members of the public acting informally on our behalf as intelligence gatherers. They engage in covert activities and report back to us