Murder in Hampstead by Sabina Manea (read this if txt) 📕

chatter around her was grating. They seemed particularly elated about something.

‘What’s up with them?’

Becky shook her head. ‘Beats me. I think the football must have been on earlier. They’re all mad for it, this lot.’

‘Don’t let anyone take my seat.’

‘Got it. Don’t hold it against Kev, by the way. He’s new and hasn’t learned the ropes yet. He tried it with me the other day, but he just doesn’t give up. Not many girls around here to practise on.’ Becky laughed forgivingly.

Lucia stood up and slunk past the red-faced men shouting and swilling their glasses, spilling beer on the already objectionable carpet. They all had bloodshot eyes. The men’s and women’s toilets faced each other. As she came out, she nearly walked into Jimbo, Danny’s apprentice. The door hovered open for a few seconds before he let it slam behind him. It was long enough for Lucia to see Adam. The tightly rolled-up banknote was the ideal conduit for the thin line of white powder to make the journey from the countertop into his system. He was too engrossed in this activity to notice he had an audience. Jimbo’s eyes were glazed over. He didn’t recognize her, and, even if he had, the encounter would have been forgotten by the morning.

Chapter 23

The invitation sat on the kitchen table, a pithy text handwritten in spidery looped cursive on a thick, orange-bordered card – “Walter and Nina, At Home, Thursday 1st October at 7pm”. It came in the morning post. Nina had never been one for advance planning, not that Lucia had any other plans. She had meant to arrange a catch-up with her old friend ever since Carliss’s Home Office connections had failed to shed any light on the Professor. The party was something to look forward to in the midst of all the unhappiness. Lucia briefly entertained the idea of the inspector as a plus one but decided against it. She had important business that could only be discussed in private. If her plan worked, she could come clean to Carliss in due time.

Lucia reprimanded herself at the distraction. Now was not the time to indulge in thoughts about how an evening in Belgravia might be spent. The chance sighting of Adam in a very compromising position at the Red Lion had given her fresh ammunition. She drained the rest of her coffee cup and got up to go. She had taken a leaf out of Frieda Alexander’s book and bought herself a cross-back apron on the way back from Holland Park. It made a welcome change from the overalls. She wore it with a pair of nurse’s slacks from the army surplus shop – a pleasingly pioneer woman ensemble.

At Beatrice Hall, Lucia was taken aback to find Mrs Byrne polishing the doorknobs. It smacked of displacement activity, given the state of the rest of the house.

‘Mrs Byrne, I need to talk to you.’ Lucia put on her best fraught face. She had turned over in her mind what approach to take. It was unlikely the housekeeper would make a voluntary disclosure this time, so whatever knowledge she was holding on to would have to be somehow prized out of her.

‘Yes, of course.’ There was noticeable panic in her voice. ‘Are you OK, child? You don’t look too well.’

‘Let’s go down to the kitchen if you don’t mind. I don’t want us to be overheard.’

They descended the stairs into the kitchen. Mrs Byrne sat down, and Lucia could almost smell her fear, as if she were waiting for the skies to open up.

‘I don’t know if I should be telling you this.’ Lucia frowned and fidgeted with the hem of her apron. The outfit gave her an air of efficient innocence that was well suited to the occasion.

Mrs Byrne’s eyes widened. ‘What is it?’

Tears welled up and were suppressed.

‘Just get it off your chest, love. I’m here to listen.’ The tension in the room had palpably decreased, as intended, so as to maximize the shock value of what was about to come.

‘It’s Adam. The police think he’s killed the Professor.’

If there ever was any blood in Mrs Byrne’s face, it was gone now. She looked like she couldn’t make her mind up whether to faint or vomit. She sat motionless, like an animal hunted out of its hiding place that knew it stood no chance.

‘They found out about the new will. That makes him the main suspect.’

This fresh blow broke the housekeeper. She started panting heavily and held her head with violently shaking hands. Lucia thought she might be foaming at the mouth but couldn’t be sure. She waited. After a few minutes that felt as long as hours, the panic attack started to subside. Mrs Byrne stood up to fetch herself a glass of water, which she downed with white-knuckled fingers.

‘How do you know all this?’ The question brimmed with fear and suspicion.

‘I overheard that inspector on the phone – you know, when he was hanging around the other day. He said they’re planning to take him in for questioning. I don’t understand. What’s the new will? And what’s that got to do with Adam?’ The room had suddenly become very hot, and Lucia realised she was genuinely anxious as to whether the gamble would pay off.

The housekeeper stared at the sink, which was as neglected as it had always been. Her breathing had steadied, and she had an air of downtrodden resignation about her.

‘The Professor was going to cut him out of the will. He was supposed to inherit the house. She wanted to leave everything to that godforsaken institution of hers.’

‘But if she changed her will, that puts him in the clear. There’d be no point killing her if he was already disinherited.’ Lucia surmised what the retort would be and hoped that Mrs Byrne would continue to play ball.

‘She