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

‘So, what happened in the end?’ enquired Ryan. ‘Did you take her home?’

‘Are you joking? I called a taxi for her and wished her goodnight.’

Ryan shook his head in disappointment. ‘Mate, you could at least have walked her home and gone in for a coffee.’

Jake glared at him, his arms folded across his chest. ‘She just wasn’t the kind of woman I was looking for.’

‘Well, never mind. That’s the way it goes sometimes. At least now you know how online dating works, so you can try another one.’

‘Another one? You’re not serious?’

Ryan munched on his ketchup-and-vinegar-sodden chicken. ‘You know what your trouble is? You’re far too choosy. And if you don’t mind me saying, someone in your position can hardly afford to be.’

‘Is that right?’

‘It is. So, here’s what you need to do. Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep trying until you get lucky.’ Ryan jabbed his fork in the direction of Jake’s plate. ‘And if you’re not going to eat those chips, I’ll have them.’

*

Lunch at the Eagle and Child had been a pleasant way to pass an hour, but other than a rather hard lesson in the precarious economics of the publishing industry, Bridget couldn’t say that she had learned a lot. There was no doubt that Jennifer’s publishing house would benefit immeasurably from increased sales of A Deadly Race. But did that make Jennifer herself into a suspect? Bridget made a mental note to get Andy to check out the financial status of the publishing house.

She returned to Kidlington to see if there was any progress on the handwriting analysis or any of the many other outstanding tasks, but before she could quiz her team on progress she was intercepted in the corridor by Chief Superintendent Grayson. She tried to slip past him unnoticed, but a clearing of Grayson’s throat told her that she was about to be subjected to another grilling.

‘DI Hart. My office, please.’

She followed him into his lair and waited while he lowered himself into his leather chair. He didn’t invite her to take a seat. ‘So, outline your current thinking,’ he said.

Bridget knew that she needed to tell a good story, regardless of her own distinct lack of confidence in her ability to identify Diane’s killer. ‘At this point, sir, we’re following a number of clear leads.’ She summarised her visit to London and her hope that analysis of Al-Mutairi’s handwriting might identify him as the author of the death threat. She also filled him in on the mysterious payments into Diane’s account.

Grayson’s pen was treated to a workout as she went over the various points, but the Chief Super’s eyebrows remained resolutely in a straight line, even when she revealed the total amount that Diane had received from the company in the Cayman Islands. ‘So, you still have no idea what the source of this money might be,’ said Grayson, ‘and so far only one suspect.’

The criticism felt rather unfair to Bridget. ‘A strong suspect, sir.’

‘Maybe. What about the toxin that was used to kill the victim?’

Bridget nodded, glad to be able to answer at least one of the Chief’s questions unambiguously. ‘A mixture of phosphorous, magnesium and potassium. The injection into the heart led to instant cardiac arrest.’

‘Do we know where it came from?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Well, you need to find out.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Time’s running out, DI Hart. If you don’t make real progress soon, I promise you, I’ll bring in Baxter to take over.’

*

After escaping from Grayson, Bridget made her way to the incident room. There, everyone was busy, but had little to report. ‘Find out what’s happening with that handwriting analysis,’ Bridget told Jake. ‘That’s our strongest lead.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

She realised that she had raised her voice at him and immediately regretted it. Just because Grayson was piling the pressure on her, there was no excuse for her to pass it on to her team. One look around the office told her that they were all working as hard as they could, and the best thing she could do would be to get out of their way and leave them to it. She turned around and left the office, wondering how she could best use the remaining hours in the day.

The top priority in her mind, after confirming whether Al-Mutairi had penned the death threat, was to find out the source of the Cayman Islands money. Since Jennifer Eagleston had been unable to help, it made sense to ask the one person who might be in a position to shed light on the matter. Ian Dunn, Diane’s ex-husband. After all, the academic had made no attempt to conceal her unexplained income, declaring it on her tax returns – hardly the action of someone embroiled in illegal activities. Perhaps there was a completely innocent explanation for the money. If so, they could forget about the issue and focus the investigation elsewhere.

When she arrived at the house in Headington, the silver Lexus Coupé belonging to the hospital consultant was parked outside, and a black Volkswagen Golf was pulling up behind it. Bridget parked on the opposite side of the road and watched as Daniel Dunn got out of the car, carrying a zipped, black document folder.

She opened her door and crossed the road. ‘Good afternoon. I was hoping for a quick word with your father, but if you’re here too, all the better.’

He regarded her warily, but nodded. ‘All right. You’d better come in.’

He seemed rather flustered by her appearance. Tucking the leather folder under one arm, he inserted the key into the lock and grappled with the door handle. The folder slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground. Bridget picked it up and handed it back to him.