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

Ffion’s fingers stopped abruptly. A connection was forming in her mind. Encryption technology… surveillance techniques… the secret state. Diane’s book collection back at her house in North Oxford contained a section on codebreaking and cryptography. Maybe it was worth going back to the house and taking a closer look.

Bridget was still out of the office but Ffion didn’t think her boss would object to her looking through Diane Gilbert’s book collection again. Not if it meant she was able to get into the laptop at last. On her Kawasaki, she could be there and back in half an hour. If nothing else it would be a welcome change of scene. Pulling on her motorcycle leathers and grabbing her crash helmet, she headed out of the station.

*

It was pleasantly warm in the spring sunshine, and the hanging baskets on the nearby pub were filled to abundance with spring flowers. Bridget turned her face to the sun as she walked the short distance from Ian Dunn’s house back to her car. But the flood of pleasure was fleeting. Grayson’s stern voice rang again in her mind like an echo that refused to die away. Time’s running out, DI Hart. I promise you, I’ll bring in Baxter to take over.

She was painfully aware of how little progress she had made that day. Time seemed to be slipping through her fingers with little to show for its passing. Her phone rang, and hoping that it was Jake or Ffion with an update, she answered without first checking the caller ID.

Mistake. It was Vanessa. ‘Oh, Bridget, I’m so glad I caught you.’

‘Actually, I’m working. Is it something important?’

Vanessa’s voice was full of reproach. ‘Well, yes, actually, it is. So if you can give me five minutes of your precious time.’

A car drove past noisily and Bridget returned to her own car. Inside, with the door closed, the background noise was much reduced. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s Mum.’ Vanessa sounded upset.

‘What’s happened?’

‘She’s had a fall.’

‘Another one?’ Bridget thought back to the sprained wrist their mother had suffered when she fell just before Christmas. ‘Is she all right?’

‘What do you mean, is she all right? Didn’t you hear what I said? She’s had a fall.’

‘But, I mean, how serious is it… is she in hospital?’

‘Dad took her in to be looked at, but they’re back home now. She’s broken her arm and has a black eye.’

‘Have you spoken to her?’ asked Bridget.

‘Only briefly. I spoke to Dad mainly.’

‘And how is he coping?’

‘Well, you know him. He says he’s managing perfectly well, but…’

‘But?’

‘Clearly he’s not.’

Bridget took a deep breath. Arguing with Vanessa was always a mistake, but… ‘If Dad says he’s managing, then maybe he is.’

A pause greeted her suggestion, and Bridget recognised the signs of Vanessa gearing up for a lengthy oration. ‘Bridget, our father is not managing at all. He hasn’t been managing for the past year. I already explained to you how frail Mum has become. And Dad has health problems of his own. Even under normal conditions they barely muddle through. So now with Mum’s arm in plaster and badly shaken-up –’

Vanessa was difficult to interrupt when she was in full flow, but Bridget needed to cut through the tirade. ‘What do you think we should do?’

‘I would have thought that was obvious. You and I need to go down there right away and make sure that they’re all right. What Dad needs is a good rest while we take care of Mum. James has agreed to work from home for the next few days and look after the children, and I’m sure Chloe will be fine on her own, but she can always stay at our place if she doesn’t want to fend for herself –’

‘Vanessa, I can’t just drop everything and go down to Lyme Regis. I’m in the middle of a murder enquiry.’

‘You’re always in the middle of something,’ said Vanessa. ‘Doesn’t Thames Valley Police have any other detectives? Haven’t you got a team you can delegate to? You’re always making excuses.’

Vanessa’s accusation stung, and Bridget knew that it contained a kernel of truth. Her life was a constant balancing act between competing pressures of work and family – one that she could never seem to get right. There simply wasn’t enough of her to go around. But this time her career was on the line. ‘Listen, I’ll call Dad tonight and have a chat with him. If I think the situation is as bad as you make out, then I’ll see what I can do about taking some time off. But I can’t promise anything.’

‘Well, suit yourself,’ said Vanessa stiffly. ‘I’m driving down to Lyme Regis tomorrow. Someone needs to step up, and it looks like it will have to be me. If you think you can spare the time to join me, call me back. If not, don’t bother.’

*

‘Ffion, love, how’re you doing?’

Ffion had just been about to wrap up for the day when her phone rang. It was her older sister, Siân. She wasn’t supposed to take personal calls while at work, but then again, it was already an hour past the time she was supposed to have finished. A pile of Diane Gilbert’s books now stood teetering on her desk – books on codemaking, codebreaking, ciphers, cryptographs and cryptograms. She had begun to work her way through the collection, but it was too late in the day to be starting a new project. Anyway, since no one else was around, it wouldn’t matter if she took the call. She picked up and was immediately cheered by her sister’s friendly voice. Siân’s enthusiasm was always infectious.

‘I’m good,’ she replied. ‘How are you?