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

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘You want me to give you a contact?’

‘Don’t journalists have all the best sources?’

‘We prefer to keep them to ourselves.’

‘But if you want me to properly investigate Diane’s death…’ She let the sentence dangle, like a hook on a rod.

Dearlove studied her face, perhaps weighing up whether he could trust her. ‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll get you a name. For Diane’s sake.’

‘Thank you,’ said Bridget, giving him her card.

They had completed a full circle of Radcliffe Square and were now back on Catte Street, near the festival marquee. Booklovers were entering and leaving the tent in an almost constant flow.

Dearlove pocketed her card and waved farewell, before turning back. ‘While I work on getting you a contact, perhaps you should begin by looking a little closer to home.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Diane’s boss at the Blavatnik. Everyone knows that Al-Mutairi and Diane hated each other. He’s in thrall to the Saudis and thinks that the British and Americans are the Middle East’s best buddies. He has friends high up in the Saudi regime, and he’ll know more than he’s told you, you can count on that.’

And with that he strode away, leaving Bridget with the lingering scent of tobacco and a growing sense of unease.

14

Bridget’s phone rang as she was walking back to her car, and Ffion’s name flashed up on the screen. She answered immediately, glad of a distraction from the world of international espionage and intelligence agencies.

As always, the Welsh detective wasted no time getting to the point. ‘Good news, boss, forensics have finished with Diane’s phone and laptop.’

‘That is good news. So how soon can you get hold of them?’

‘Already have.’

‘And?’

‘I’ve haven’t been able to get into the laptop yet,’ said Ffion, ‘but I’ve got access to her phone. I’m working through all her emails and messages.’

‘Find anything significant yet?’

‘Not yet. There are thousands to look at. I just wanted to let you know before I finished for the day.’

‘Okay.’

It was unlike Ffion to make a call unless she had something of real significance to report. Bridget waited.

‘There was one other thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘One of the apps she used most regularly on her phone, apart from messaging apps, was an e-reader.’

‘You mean for reading books?’

‘Exactly.’

Personally, Bridget hadn’t yet made the leap from paper to digital. It wasn’t just with books that she lagged behind the times. Despite Chloe’s constant urging for her to ditch her old music collection and embrace the world of streaming she was still unwilling to move on from CDs. She was clinging to the past perhaps, or putting her faith in physical objects that she could hold in her hands. Perhaps because of all she had lost in her life – her sister, her husband – that was understandable.

‘So what kind of books did you find?’

Bridget recalled the heavily laden bookshelves in Diane’s house, stacked full of political and other non-fiction books, and sensed that Ffion was about to reveal something surprising.

‘Hot romance. Hundreds of books, all with covers featuring half-naked men with ripped torsos. You know the kind of thing.’

‘Right,’ said Bridget, who didn’t, and for whom “hot romance” meant Jane Eyre. ‘So I guess this explains the lack of reading material on Diane’s bedside locker. She was secretly reading this stuff on her phone.’

‘Guilty pleasures,’ said Ffion, sounding amused.

It was yet another insight into Diane Gilbert’s secret world. On the outside, in full command of her emotions. Underneath, a lonely woman with an unsatisfied craving for love. Ian Dunn had said that there had been no romantic relationships in her life since their divorce. Bridget was almost starting to feel sorry for the woman.

‘Diane Gilbert liked to present herself as a heavyweight intellectual,’ said Ffion, ‘but behind the façade she was human, like the rest of us.’

Ffion was certainly right about that. Everyone had guilty pleasures and Bridget didn’t need to gaze very deeply into her soul to reveal her own. Chocolate. Red wine. And double cream.

*

It had been a long tiring week, especially after working all day Saturday, and Jake was more than ready to head home for a quiet evening by the telly. If there was nothing much on, he might even pick up that book Ryan had lent him. You never knew – maybe there was something to this world of books that everyone was suddenly talking about.

‘Come off it, mate,’ said Ryan when Jake revealed his plans to him. ‘It’s Saturday night. Time to grab a few beers and let off some steam. Why don’t you join me and Andy down the King’s Head? Even young Harry’s agreed to come along.’

Jake had doubts. While it would be good to have some company instead of another night stuck on his own, the King’s Head could get quite rowdy on a weekend, and he wasn’t sure how much steam Ryan intended to let off. But he figured that if Andy and Harry were going to be there, it would probably be okay.

‘Well, all right,’ he said. ‘Is Ffion coming?’

Ryan shook his head. ‘I asked her, but she’s already meeting someone. Some girl, apparently.’

‘Marion, I expect,’ said Jake, recalling the name of Ffion’s new date.

Ryan cocked his head to one side. ‘You know more than me. So forget about Ffion, it’s a boys’ night out for you. No escape.’

By the time Jake had packed away his gear and headed over to the pub, Ryan was already on his second beer. Jake bought himself a pint and a packet of crisps and joined him and the other guys at a corner table. Soon he was listening to a