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

Ian must have heard their arrival, because he appeared immediately in the hallway, removing a pair of reading glasses from his nose. ‘Daniel, and Inspector Hart too. Any news?’

‘Just more questions, I’m afraid,’ said Bridget.

‘In that case, let’s go into the sitting room. Would you like a drink? I can put the coffee machine on if you like.’

Bridget gratefully accepted the offer and Ian disappeared into the kitchen.

Daniel sat on the sofa and Bridget took a seat opposite. He regarded her inscrutably, the leather folder balanced on his knees, his hands crossed protectively over it. ‘So, no progress on my mother’s death?’ he asked.

‘We’re following up several leads,’ said Bridget.

‘Oh?’

‘Perhaps we could wait until your father returns.’

‘Oh, yes, sure.’ He lapsed back into sullen silence.

‘You’ve been out?’ asked Bridget.

‘To the solicitors. To see about the will.’

‘Ah, yes.’ So that’s what his precious folder contained.

Ian entered the room with three coffees on a tray. He had gone to the trouble of arranging the cups on saucers and laying out a plate of Amaretti biscuits. ‘Oh, I really shouldn’t,’ said Bridget, eyeing the golden, almond-scented domes that always reminded her so much of Italy. ‘But I’m sure that one won’t do any harm.’

‘I’m sure it won’t,’ said Ian indulgently. He turned to Daniel. ‘So, how did you get on with the solicitors?’

Daniel gave Bridget an irritated glance before replying. No doubt he would have preferred to discuss his business in private. Well, too bad. ‘It was a useful first meeting. But they can’t do anything about the will until after the inquest. Everything is going to be delayed because of the murder enquiry.’

‘It’s normal for a coroner’s inquest to be held in the case of a suspicious death,’ said Bridget. ‘But the purpose of the inquest is simply to determine the cause of death, not to assign blame. The murder enquiry shouldn’t delay matters.’

‘Yes, well,’ said Daniel. ‘It’s all very stressful.’

‘Of course it is,’ said Ian soothingly. ‘But you’re doing a good job. Mum would have been proud of you.’

Daniel shrugged indifferently.

‘But the will is all in order?’ asked Ian.

‘Yes. The will is exactly as Mum said it would be.’

‘So you inherit everything?’ pressed Ian.

‘Yes.’

‘Nothing at all for Aunt Annabel?’

‘No.’

‘I thought that Diane was very close to her sister,’ said Bridget who had been watching this exchange between father and son as avidly as she would a Wimbledon final.

‘They were,’ said Ian. ‘But Annabel has everything she needs, financially.’

‘Whereas I’m the one struggling to get onto the housing ladder,’ said Daniel petulantly.

Not for much longer, thought Bridget. ‘The house must be worth, what…?’

‘Several million,’ said Daniel, making a rocking motion with his hand as if to suggest that one million here or there was of no great import. ‘I’ve asked a couple of agents to give me a valuation. Of course, they can’t look inside until your lot have finished doing whatever it is you do.’

‘What about the royalties from her book?’ asked Bridget, ignoring Daniel’s implied criticism of police procedures. ‘Who will receive those?’

‘Me,’ said Daniel. ‘But I don’t think it will be a significant sum. Who wants to read about my mother’s ridiculous conspiracy theories?’ He dunked his Amaretto into his coffee, but it slipped from his hand. ‘Ow,’ he said, scalding his fingers as he attempted to retrieve the floating biscuit. In annoyance, he levered it out with his teaspoon and deposited it on the saucer, where it sat sodden and dripping over the edge. ‘She’d have been better off writing some potboiler novel. That would have made her more money.’

‘I don’t think your mother wrote for the money, Daniel,’ said Ian.

‘No, of course not. She had higher ideals. Earning money was for the rest of us.’ He leaned back in the sofa, sulking like a man who had just lost a great deal of money rather than one who was about to inherit a several million pounds.

‘I think you might find,’ said Bridget, ‘that the royalties from sales of her book will amount to rather more than you expect. According to her publisher, the book’s flying off the shelves.’

Daniel’s interest was immediately aroused. ‘Really? That is good news.’

Bridget turned her attention to the main reason for her visit. ‘Ian, on the subject of money, we’ve been going through Diane’s bank account and there was something I was hoping you might be able to explain.’

‘Well,’ said Ian, ‘I’ll help you if I can, but Diane hasn’t shared any information about her finances with me since our divorce.’

‘There’s not any kind of problem with her account, is there?’ asked Daniel, frowning.

‘No, nothing like that,’ said Bridget. ‘But in addition to her university salary she was receiving a substantial sum each month from an off-shore company by the name of Per Sempre Holdings. On her tax returns she declared it as dividend payments.’

Daniel leaned forward with renewed interest. ‘When you say “substantial”, what sort of amounts are we talking about?’

‘Well in excess of her salary as a senior lecturer,’ said Bridget.

‘And where did you say these payments were coming from?’

‘A company called Per Sempre Holdings. It’s registered in the Cayman Islands. Do either of you know anything about it?’

Father and son looked at each other and the surprise on their faces appeared genuine.

‘I’ve never heard of this company,’ said Ian, ‘but as I say we’ve been divorced for around ten years now. When was the company registered?’

‘We’re still looking into all the details,’ said Bridget. ‘As I said, it’s an off-shore company so it’s taking a little time to get to the bottom of it. I just thought that one of you might be able to give me an answer more quickly.’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t help