Preface to Murder by M Morris (funny books to read txt) 📕

‘You knew her well?’

Dearlove nodded and set off in the direction of Radcliffe Square. Bridget fell into step beside him, doing her best to keep up with him on her short legs.

‘Diane and I knew each other since way back. God, I can’t bear to think how many years that must be. Suffice to say, we were students together back in the day.’

‘Here at Oxford?’

‘Not likely. I would never have got in here’ – he gestured at the Radcliffe Camera, the Bodleian Library and the other university buildings that surrounded them – ‘and Diane wanted a university that was more in keeping with her socialist principles. We were at Manchester together. That was a wild place to be back in the seventies. We didn’t just smoke tobacco then, I can tell you.’

They began to circle around the domed Radcliffe Camera, the towering spire of the University Church of St Mary the Virgin ahead of them, the ornate crenellations of All Souls College to their left.

‘Do you mind me asking exactly how close you were?’

Dearlove chuckled grimly. ‘Is it that obvious? All right, we slept together a few times at university. God, it was the seventies. Everyone slept with everyone!’ He tossed the stub of his cigarette aside, grinding it into the cobbles with the toe of his shoe. He hesitated, then reached into his pocket and lit up another one. ‘That was before Diane met Ian, of course. We lost touch for a few years, as people do, but then our mutual interest in politics and current affairs drew us back together.’

‘You wrote about similar topics.’

‘Yes,’ said Dearlove. ‘That’s why the publisher sent me an ARC of her book.’

‘An ARC?’

‘Sorry, that’s publishing-world jargon. An advance reading copy or an advance review copy. It’s what publishers send out to reviewers before the finished version of the book goes to the printing presses. They wanted me to read and review it so that I could give them a quote to put on the final cover.’

‘This book will make you rethink everything you know,’ recited Bridget, remembering what she had read on the cover of the book at the festival.

‘You’ve read it?’ asked Dearlove.

‘Only the back-cover blurb,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve been a little preoccupied trying to find out who killed Diane Gilbert and why.’

Dearlove took a deep drag of his cigarette. ‘What progress have you made in that direction?’

‘That’s really why I came to speak to you today,’ she said. ‘We’re building up a profile of Diane Gilbert, speaking to friends, family and colleagues.’

‘Oh yes?’ Dearlove inhaled deeply and blew out more smoke. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d compared his smoking to a Victorian-era mill.

‘But everything keeps pointing back to the same thing.’

Dearlove nodded crisply. ‘A politically motivated assassination.’

‘Exactly.’ However much she had hoped to avoid that conclusion, Bridget couldn’t ignore the evidence. ‘So who do you think might have killed Diane?’

‘On the basis of her political interests and research publications, I’d say that you’re looking at MI5, the CIA, or even the General Intelligence Presidency.’

‘Who?’

‘The GIP is Saudi Arabia’s primary intelligence agency, reporting directly to the king,’ explained Dearlove. ‘The Presidency has close ties to the Mabahith, the Saudi secret police, and also has links with the CIA. It’s the outfit many people believe planned and carried out the murder of the journalist Jamal Khashoggi.’

‘I see.’ If Dearlove was right in his speculation, it was a daunting list of potential suspects. ‘If what you say is true,’ said Bridget, ‘then doesn’t that also make you a potential target? After all, you cover a lot of the same topics in your newspaper articles that Diane wrote about in her book. Have you received any death threats?’

Dearlove laughed mirthlessly, smoke billowing out through his nostrils. ‘Death threats? Sure. I’m a journalist. There’s always some nutcase on Twitter who wants to see me dead. But I’m just a cynical old hack and I don’t pay any attention to that kind of thing. If some government agency really wanted me dead, they could stick a poisoned umbrella tip into me right now, and there’s nothing that you or I could do to prevent them.’

Bridget glanced around. Fortunately, the only umbrella in sight belonged to a tour guide who was pointing the potentially lethal item skywards and corralling his flock to follow him towards the gates of All Souls.

Dearlove finished his second cigarette and threw it onto the cobbles in disgust, stamping it out in a splutter of embers. ‘Can you tell me how she died? I keep thinking of her, all alone in that big empty house of hers, trying to picture her in her last moments. Was it a very violent death?’

Bridget was reluctant to reveal any details about the investigation to Dearlove, but given that he was also a potential target, she figured he had a right to know. ‘We think that Diane may have been given a fatal injection.’

‘Really?’ He took a moment to digest the news. ‘Well, that just confirms my suspicions. How many organisations would have the capability of carrying out that kind of murder, especially while the target was under police protection?’

‘So what do you suggest I do?’ Bridget knew she was getting out of her depth. So far Grayson’s efforts to make progress through official channels had turned up nothing. She needed to find another way forward.

‘Seriously? Forget it. Walk away. None of the groups I mentioned to you are ever going to admit anything. And the minute you start investigating the British security services, you’ll be shut down. The Deep State won’t allow you to get close.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying so, Michael, you’re beginning to sound a little paranoid.’

He grinned. ‘Mock me if you like, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

‘What I