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

Grayson looked suitably sheepish. ‘Not willingly, but sometimes certain actions become necessary. You’ll understand that one day if you ever reach the lofty heights that I currently occupy.’

Bridget raised an eyebrow. Was the Chief teasing her, or did he really think she had the potential to step into his shoes and become Chief Superintendent one day? She had been a DI for less than a year. Ahead lay the ranks of Detective Chief Inspector and Detective Superintendent, should she ever make it that far. ‘Sir? Does this mean that I can expect a promotion soon?’

‘Baby steps, DI Hart. These things take time. In the meantime, is there anything you need from me?’

‘There is one thing I’d like to request, sir. Time off. There are some personal matters I need to attend to.’

*

Bridget left the station with Grayson’s blessing. But there were still a few loose ends for her to tie up.

Grant Sadler had been charged over the hoax death threat, and news of the hoax had inevitably leaked to the press. According to Grant, sales of the book would quickly dry up now that there was no juicy publicity to further them. Bridget spared a moment to think of all those freshly-printed books that would now be destined for the pulping machine. Such a waste of paper. But no doubt Professor Al-Mutairi would be quietly celebrating.

Grant himself was close to despair. ‘That’s it, then,’ he told Bridget. ‘My career as an agent is as good as over. Who will sign with me now? No one, that’s who!’

Bridget refrained from reminding him that he had engineered his own misfortunes. Even though Grant had wasted a great deal of her time, it seemed unsavoury to gloat over his downfall. ‘What about Michael Dearlove?’ she asked. ‘I thought you’d agreed a book deal with him and Jennifer.’

Grant’s face turned sour. ‘When Jennifer found out that I was behind the death threat, she cut me out of the deal and signed Michael directly. It’s my own fault, I suppose, for acting on his behalf when I wasn’t even his agent. So that’s it. I’m finished.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ said Bridget.

Now that the murder investigation was all concluded, it would be handed over to the Crown Prosecution Service. Annabel had declined the offer of legal representation and had made a full and detailed confession, explaining exactly how and why she had murdered her sister. She held nothing back, and seemed to find the process of unburdening herself a relief. Her only concern had been about her dog. ‘Who will look after Oscar?’ she asked anxiously.

‘He’s safe in the dog warden’s kennels for the moment,’ said Bridget, ‘but I have an idea about what to do with him in the long term. Leave it with me for now.’

Daniel Dunn was very unsure about her suggestion at first. ‘But I live in a small flat in London. And I have a demanding job. How am I going to look after a dog?’

Oscar was sitting next to him on Ian Dunn’s sofa with his snout laid on his lap, gazing up at him with big brown eyes. Bridget was glad to see that the Jack Russell had been given a bath and was back to his usual white and brown colouring, his fur neatly brushed and dried. It was hard to believe that the creature had behaved so aggressively in defence of his mistress.

Ian Dunn stood on the opposite side of the room, eyeing the dog warily. He didn’t look too happy at having Oscar in his house, and the dog narrowed his gaze whenever he made a movement.

Ian had spoken to Daniel before Bridget arrived, breaking the news that not only was he not his real father, but that Daniel had almost certainly inherited an incurable genetic disorder. It would be necessary to take a test to confirm, but from what Bridget had seen of Daniel herself, she didn’t doubt that Ian’s diagnosis would prove to be correct. Daniel, for his part, was clearly shaken after the day’s events. It would take considerable time for him to come to terms with everything that had happened.

‘What about your mother’s house in Oxford?’ Bridget asked him. ‘What do you plan to do with it?’

‘I was going to sell it,’ said Daniel. ‘And use the cash to buy a house in London. But now I’m having second thoughts. I need to rethink my whole life.’

Bridget nodded sympathetically. She may not have warmed to Daniel during the murder investigation, but she would never have wished on him the devastating news that he had Huntington’s. Perhaps a dog was just what he needed.

‘Oscar’s a friendly dog,’ she said, trying to dispel the image of the terrier’s jaws clamped hard around Ian’s ankle, ‘and he knows you well. I think that you’d be good for each other.’

‘You could be right. I’d like to look after him, for Aunt Annabel’s sake.’

‘I’m sure that she’d appreciate that very much.’ The fact that “Aunt Annabel” had murdered Daniel’s mother and done her best to kill Ian too didn’t seem to have dented Daniel’s affection for her. But Annabel wouldn’t be around to help Daniel come to terms with the fact that he was dying. Bridget was sure that a dog would be a great comfort to him in the days ahead.

‘I’ll leave him with you then,’ she said, standing up.

*

‘Well done, Mum!’

When Bridget returned home, Chloe and Jonathan were waiting for her, with Alfie too. Jonathan wrapped his arms around her in welcome.

‘Nice one, Bridget,’ said Alfie.

Bridget had phoned Jonathan earlier to tell him what had happened, and to let him know that she was safe. Now, in his arms, she really did feel safe.

‘You’re a hero again,’ Jonathan said with a smile.

‘I think