Preface to Murder by M Morris (best books to read for success .txt) 📗

‘That would also explain why they didn’t hear the glass in the back door being smashed,’ said Jake.

Bridget nodded reluctantly. She had believed the two officers’ account, and hoped that her trust in them wasn’t misplaced. ‘It’s a possibility. But it still doesn’t explain why Diane herself didn’t hear the glass break and wake up.’

‘Heavy sleeper?’ suggested Ryan.

‘Her ex-husband said not.’ Bridget gave a summary of her own investigations, recounting what the various family members had told her about Diane, and also telling them about the strong personal antipathy that her boss at the Blavatnik School had harboured towards her.

‘Does that give him a sufficient motive for murder?’ queried Ryan.

‘Professional rivalry?’ said Bridget. ‘We’ll need something more compelling than that before we consider Professor Al-Mutairi to be a suspect. Jake, did you check Ian Dunn’s alibi?’ An ex-husband was always an obvious suspect in any murder enquiry, even though on the face of it Ian Dunn had come across as quite charming.

Jake referred to his notes. ‘I spoke to two of the guests who were at the party Ian attended in Thame. They both confirmed that he and his wife didn’t leave until after eleven o’clock.’

‘Okay, good.’ It was of course conceivable that Ian had attended the party with the express intention of creating an alibi for himself, and then committed the murder on his return to Oxford, but that required the meticulous planning and ruthless efficiency of a criminal mastermind. As far as Bridget could tell, the guy didn’t even have a motive, having been amicably divorced from his ex-wife for many years, and not benefitting in any way from her will.

Bridget turned her attention next to Ffion. The young constable was sitting with Diane’s book on her lap. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance you managed to finish your reading assignment?’ Bridget asked her.

Ffion gave the enormous book a pat. ‘Cover to cover.’

‘Very impressive. And what was your verdict?’

‘On Diane’s political viewpoint? I think she makes some good points, but she only considers one side of the argument.’

‘I meant on whether it sheds any light on her murder.’

Ffion didn’t blink before responding. ‘The book’s central thesis is that the British and American governments collude with the companies that manufacture and export weapons, in order to supply regimes that they know to be repressive. She claims they do this not just for commercial advantage, but also to further their own expansionist geopolitical agendas. On the basis of what I read in her book, various countries must have regarded her as a threat to their national security. In particular, the British, American and Saudi Arabian governments.’

This was the last thing Bridget had hoped to hear. But it confirmed what Grant Sadler had told her at the coffee shop. In particular he had pointed the finger at the British security services. She told the rest of her team what the literary agent had said.

‘With all respect, ma’am,’ said Ryan, ‘surely you can’t seriously believe that Diane Gilbert was assassinated by MI5? I think you’ve been reading too many John le Carré novels.’

Bridget’s problem was that she never had enough time to read novels of any kind. But Ryan was right. It was far too soon to start pointing the finger at governments and security services.

‘But, she’s dead, isn’t she?’ retorted Ffion. ‘So someone must have killed her, and national security is an obvious reason. The method of killing suggests a professional assassination. Don’t forget about the death threat, either.’

‘Where are we with that?’ asked Bridget. ‘Have forensics finished with the letter yet?’

‘Their report came in late yesterday afternoon,’ said Ryan, producing a short document. He paged through it, reading out the highlights. ‘The letter was sent in an envelope postmarked central London. The type of paper used was cheap lined paper from a refill pad, and the envelope was of the white self-sealing kind, so there was no DNA from saliva. It was written with a fountain pen using blue ink from a Parker cartridge. Nothing particularly expensive, just the sort of item you can buy from WH Smith’s. The handwriting itself is unremarkable. Obviously we have nothing to compare it with, but in the opinion of the handwriting expert, the writer didn’t bother to disguise their writing style. She points out that the writing is fluid and shows no signs of pen lifts or words being restarted. So if we were able to obtain a sample of writing from a suspect, we’d probably have a good chance of matching it.’

‘Any fingerprints?’ asked Bridget, ever hopeful.

‘Only the victim’s own prints, and those of the literary agent and the publisher, who she showed it to. Presumably the writer wore gloves while writing and posting the letter. There were no hairs or fibres either.’

‘So we have no fingerprints, no DNA, no footprints, no physical evidence of any kind.’ Bridget had checked for emails from Vik on first arriving at work that morning, but the SOCO team had still not unearthed anything she could use. She would have liked to give Ffion the task of analysing the victim’s mobile phone and laptop, but frustratingly those items were still with forensics.

Andy raised his hand to speak again. ‘After Harry and I got back from the door-to-door, I had time to do a bit of background research on the victim.’

‘Go on,’ said Bridget.

‘Well, it seems she was arrested a few times back in the early nineteen-eighties for protesting at Greenham Common.’ He produced a black and white photograph from a newspaper and passed it over to Bridget, who pinned it to the board for everyone to see. The year of publication was 1982. The picture showed a much