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

blood alcohol level was normal. He tested positive for coke and we found a small amount in his flat which would definitely grieve Mrs Wren.’

‘In his podcast, Roddy claimed to know the identity of the real killer of Professor Northcote who was murdered in that house beyond the wall. If Northcote’s killer is still alive then that’s a motive to murder him,’ Stella said.

‘What bilge that was. Produced with Sellotape on a shoestring. A reason to bump him off might be to prevent him making more episodes.’ Janet flapped a hand in front of her face. ‘The Northcote case was clear-cut, it pointed to the son. I asked Mrs Wren if March talked about his podcast. She said he’d kept it under his hat, he wouldn’t say who he thought killed Northcote. My guess is March was stirring dead embers. You can tell from that vacuous first episode the podcast would have been all hope and hype. From the one I’ve heard and from various descriptions, he appeared grandiose, a fantasist. I’ll keep an open mind for now.’

‘He said he was receiving death threats.’

‘He never mentioned that to Gladys Wren, which since she told me they had gossipy sherry evenings is odd. We’re checking every cloud, as surely he’s saved his stuff somewhere. Nothing so far.’

‘If the son was innocent, someone might want to make sure that never comes out.’ Against her judgement, the podcast had piqued Stella’s interest. ‘Roddy is dead – doesn’t that increase the likelihood his theory about Giles not being the killer holds water?’

‘Up to a point and I will chase that down. I’ll have a hard time pushing for a fifty-year-old solve, which left no room for doubt, to be reopened on a flimsy basis. It’s not that we’d have the hurdle of going against the techs of the time – with no more than March’s saying Giles Northcote was innocent, my boss wouldn’t front up the budget and nor could I blame him.’ Janet looked impatient. Stella was reminded that, Terry’s daughter or not, Janet would see her as an amateur with no idea of how to operate in the real world of policing.

‘I’m more inclined to go down the stranger route. A gold candlestick is missing from that chapel and, sad though it is, robbery is motive enough. It’s possible that March went for playing hero and tried to do a citizen’s arrest.’

‘That means his killer didn’t catch him by surprise?’ Stella tried to remember if she’d seen the candlestick the last time she cleaned.

‘One bloke goes for the candlestick, March grabs him, doesn’t see the accomplice and is stabbed. While you’re spotting Roderick’s beanie, they make a getaway down the Three Kings’ aisle and leave without you or the grumpy organist knowing they were there. Terry always said how often the more colourful murders have a banal solution.’ Janet did quote marks.

‘It’s possible.’ Stella tried to recall what happened after she had got up and seen the beanie. Unconvinced by the banal explanation, she wondered out loud, ‘Did Giles Northcote have children?’

‘No, but March wanted to clear his name so why would any offspring want March dead? I’ve got the techies on his laptop where we may find any research and, if he bothered with one, a projected plan of the series.’

‘He told the Death Café group that he knew who the real killer was – that’s a finite group of suspects.’ Stella knew, as she did a lot these days, that she was arguing for the sake of it.

‘He said it on his podcast,’ Janet said. Stella didn’t repeat Lucie’s view that the number of listeners was in the low single figures.

‘He left about fifteen minutes before the Death Café ended,’ Stella said.

‘Joy the organist said she unlocked the doors when she came to practise. March can only have entered the abbey after her.’ Putting on her coat, maybe Janet had concluded she’d overestimated Stella’s observational powers. Or she’d remembered that, at the end of the day, Stella was a cleaner not a detective.

‘Did you find his notebook?’ Stella tried to delay Janet leaving. ‘It was in his jacket pocket when he left the Death Café.’

‘Nope.’ Janet frowned.

‘What if the candlestick was stolen before Roddy went into the chapel?’ Stella tried to conjure up the little altar, the cloth on the table, the shadowy starved monk. Had there been a candlestick then?

‘His pockets were empty. If he had a wallet that had gone too.’ Doing up her coat, Janet wasn’t listening. ‘We found photocopies of newspapers from the war, 1940 during the Blitz, in his room.’ She brightened. ‘Actually, one article featured our old stomping ground, a woman strangled in a house by the Thames in Hammersmith, murderer never caught. He’d scribbled “Retro Murders” on one of the cuttings. We’ll check them out, but I’m guessing they were ideas for yet another podcast.’ Janet glanced at her watch. ‘I should be gone. Media circus is in half an hour, boss’ll be antsy if I’m not prepping.’ She tossed a couple of pound coins onto the tablecloth.

Outside, Stella pulled up her hood against the relentless rain.

‘After that I’m taking March’s parents to view his body,’ Janet said. ‘They’ve flown in from Australia. Roddy came from a hick town outside Perth, no wonder he was a thrill-seeker.’

‘They got here quickly, the flight’s about thirty-six hours.’

‘That’s the sad thing, they were coming over anyway – a family reunion after five years.’ Janet gazed up at the abbey, the tower lost in the mizzle. ‘They got here yesterday. They missed him by hours. Remind me, Stella, why do I do this job?’

Stella couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would.

She pictured the small chapel, the cold stone of the starved monk’s tomb seeping through the fabric of her anorak as Roddy March’s warm blood soaked her trousers.

‘Word to the wise, Stella, keep whatever it was March said as he died to yourself, OK?’ Janet checked her hair in the tearoom window. ‘I don’t want the