The Distant Dead by Lesley Thomson (most difficult books to read .txt) 📗

occasions when scraps of cloth or a stray button solved a murder, Cotton had raised his pint of London Pride to there being one villain fewer in London. Never more than now did Cotton wish he could be Cameron or Tither working in the coroner’s officers’ cosy room at Hammersmith’s mortuary. Or that Maple’s murderer was a vicar in the grip of the devil. Nothing in his career had prepared George Cotton for what he had to do next.

Chapter Eighteen

2019

Stella

At a prearranged meeting, arrive first. At the moment the nominal enters, before they adopt a social mask, watch them. In that flicker of a second, they will inevitably reveal themselves. Stella’s dad had taught her to choose a position with a wide-angle view that included entrances and other exits.

Stella arrived at 9.50 a.m. at the Abbey Gardens teashop and bagged a corner seat with a view of the door and the servery. Everything had returned to normal: tables and chairs at which sat customers eating pastries and drinking coffee. Occasional snatches of conversation told Stella that only one topic was being discussed. The murder of Roddy March.

Stella had been surprised to discover that, since the abbey was closed, the teashop had remained open. But Janet said it wasn’t a crime scene and besides, her team had taken statements from all the Death Café attendees.

When Janet had suggested meeting at the teashop, Stella had panicked. Was the plan to get her relaxed then pounce with a killer question? Stella had told Lucie she had an extra cleaning shift at the teashop to prevent Lucie tagging along, or lurking on the yew path. Stella hadn’t told Lucie the cleaning company had cancelled her shifts. Naturally, the manager had said, Stella would need to recover from finding a body in the abbey. Code for ‘not tainting the company name with murder’, Stella had been let go.

Recalling last night’s Death Café, Stella felt far from relaxed. She was riddled with guilt. She had not told Janet that Lucie was in town and she had told Lucie information that, since it hadn’t been reported, Janet must be withholding. Roddy March’s dying words. Word. Stella had told Lucie it had sounded like ‘chamomile’. Lucie said Stella had misheard. Stella felt sick at the memory of Roddy’s terrible efforts to make her understand. He had died knowing she had not got it.

Lucie had promised Stella not to be at the 11 a.m. press conference with the police, but Lucie’s promises had a short use-by date.

Although the fire was lit, damp from the rain, Stella was trembling and cold.

Janet locked eyes with Stella as soon as she walked in. Terry never said what to do if the nominal you were meeting was a police officer.

Mindful of not engaging with props when she was shaking, Stella refused coffee then changed her mind. A drink would be warming and perhaps it was better to have something to do with her hands.

‘After last night we both need blood sugar.’ Janet returned with a tray of coffees and a chocolate brownie with two forks. ‘I can’t tell you how relieved I was when my sergeant gave your name as the witness. I said to myself, there can only be one Stella Darnell, detective extraordinaire.’

‘I’m a cleaner.’ Stella took a sip of coffee. She wanted nothing to do with murder.

‘Don’t get me wrong, once the team have got over my not being the bloke who just retired, they’ll shape up. But it’s all so by-the-book – not like with Terry or his daughter.’ She grinned at Stella.

‘Terry worked by the book,’ Stella said.

‘Terry made the rules work for him. Think how he got to grips with PACE. Others moaned it was a show-stopper, but not your dad – he made the pros work for the cons. At least I can discount you as a suspect.’ She divided the brownie in half.

‘I’m not a suspect?’ Stella spluttered coffee.

‘Duh. No?’ Janet attacked her half of the brownie with the side of her fork. A hand over her mouth she went on, ‘Sure, you had means, but when and where did you dispose of the weapon? You were soaked in March’s blood, but the stains were the result of staunching his stab wound, not spatter from an attack. Motive? Aside from meeting March a couple of times, we can’t find evidence you knew the guy. OK, so the timing is right, March was stabbed just before you – allegedly – found him, but I know this because you told me yourself. You could have lied and said you got there later.’ Janet flipped through her notebook. ‘Stella, when you commit a murder it will be perfect.’

‘You’ve ruled me out with an argument that rules me in,’ Stella said. ‘What if this is my perfect murder?’

‘Help me out here – rule yourself out. I’m ducking under the thin blue line because I need your eyes, ears and definitely your brain. Eat.’ Janet pushed across the other half of brownie. ‘Were he here running this, Terry would be talking to you.’

Looking around the tearoom, Stella imagined the Death Café group around the table, faces in shadow. Since her dad’s death, she had understood he’d respected her. Nowadays this feeling was mutual. She had found a relationship with Terry after his death. On the day before he died, Terry had rung her for help on a case, but she’d changed her number and forgotten to tell him.

Janet had had Terry’s back. Stella owed her.

‘Honestly, Stella, don’t let me down. I need you as my sanity check. I leave London for a slower pace and find myself locked in an Agatha Christie novel.’

‘Not sure how I can help.’ Reaching into her rucksack, Stella got out her own – pretend – police notebook.

‘You are my star witness. Tell me anything and everything that comes to mind about this creepy death group you’ve joined.’ Janet rested her elbows on the table.

‘OK, so there were seven of us there. Including