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

‘What’s this about? I’m in no mood for boozing in Belgravia, not with a fresh dead body on the cards,’ Carliss interrupted impatiently.

‘She can’t tell me on the phone. I can only assume she’s dug up something good. Hurry up – you don’t want to face her if you’re late.’

Chapter 31

After a twenty-minute rollercoaster ride to rival Lucia’s dangerous driving, the taxi spat them out at Lygon Place. They would have liked a little time to settle the contents of their stomachs, but they had barely taken their coats off when the doorbell rang.

‘Mater. Lovely to see you. You’ve kept us all in suspense.’

From the doorway, Virginia Lexington’s hazel eyes scanned the company her daughter was keeping and appeared to deem it satisfactory. The precision-cut cap of grey hair, wide-legged trousers and mannish shirt made for redoubtable armour. ‘Lucia, my darling. It’s been too long.’ They embraced warmly.

Nina ushered them into the house and made the requisite introductions. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Carliss, the SIO for Professor Kiseleva’s death. My mother, Virginia Lexington.’

‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am,’ Carliss said, at a loss as to how to address her.

‘Virginia, please. I’m retired – all this business of titles is behind me.’ She dismissed him with a haughty glance and marched decisively into the drawing room, which she proceeded to assess with an unequivocal scrunch of the nose. It was plain that her progeny’s taste in interiors didn’t pass muster.

Carliss tiptoed behind the group and sat down as far away from her as possible.

‘Tea?’ offered Nina.

Lucia was amused by the detective’s ill-concealed unease – it was a common enough reaction to Virginia Lexington’s presence. She must have reminded him too much of the Super. Lucia and Nina were used to the style of silent dressing-down and didn’t take it to heart.

‘No time for small talk, dear child. Since I’ve got your undivided attention, I’ll crack on. That chap Glover you had me look into has given me no end of trouble. I’ve pulled more strings than Jim Henson, but I have managed to deliver. He was in Belarus – or Byelorussia, as it then was – from 1981 to 1983. All very neat and above board – the British Council had recently set up an educational exchange programme for British doctors to travel out there and vice versa. Needless to say, Glover’s military background made him the perfect choice.’ Virginia paused and looked suspiciously around the room. ‘Sorry. Even in retirement, being listened to remains an occupational hazard. That’s why I couldn’t impart the information on the phone.’

‘I’m sure we’re perfectly safe here, Mater.’

‘Yes, I should think so. People can’t be falling over each other to manipulate the market in sprats.’

Lucia suppressed a smile. Although Virginia Lexington was very fond of her son-in-law, she couldn’t resist being amused at his line of work. She herself was from Nottinghamshire farming stock. Though she had married Guy Lexington – renowned Cambridge historian and heir to Lexington Hall – she had risen up in the diplomatic service by sheer determination and hard work, so the jibe was fairly innocent.

Virginia nodded pensively. ‘Of course, swapping knowledge about infection control wasn’t the real reason for Dr Glover’s presence at that end of Europe. We had a double agent in Minsk, a secretary at the ministry of health. They met under the guise that she was assisting him with his work. I don’t know her name. What I do know is that it became more than a purely professional relationship. London was getting rather antsy – there were even rumours of an engagement. Before they could reprimand him, the woman was found dead in her flat. The case was rapidly closed as suicide – the bullet went cleanly through her temple, and the gun was in her hand. Naturally, London didn’t buy it, and he was withdrawn immediately. It turns out the Belarusians had someone with an eye on her all along – a false defector, who gained her confidence and was only known as Clytemnestra. One can only assume she was a woman. And there the thread ends, I’m afraid.’

‘And the Professor?’ Carliss asked.

‘Nothing on that front beyond what you already know from Nina. Either my sources aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, or she’s covered her tracks impeccably.’

Lucia’s expression suggested she was cooking something up. ‘Clytemnestra, you said?’ She rummaged around in her bag and produced an object which she placed on the white marble coffee table. ‘Does anyone know what this is?’

Apart from Nina, they gathered around with quizzical looks.

‘Is this a trick question?’ asked Virginia, somewhat confused.

‘It’s a jazzy leafwing. The Latin name is Hypna clytemnestra,’ explained Lucia, waiting for a reaction.

Carliss recognized the black and white butterfly-shaped brooch. ‘Emilia was wearing it when we spoke to her in the library. She said it belonged to her employer. How did you get it?’ he asked.

‘I swiped it earlier. I knew I’d seen it on the Professor when I first met her. It struck me as too peculiar a piece not to have special significance. I looked it up, but the name meant nothing to me until now.’ Getting hold of the piece of jewellery had been childishly easy. All it took was a speedy incursion upstairs before sitting down with Mrs Byrne, while the inspector had nipped to the facilities and Nina kept watch.

‘Lucia, are you suggesting the Professor is Clytemnestra?’ asked Virginia with an impressed look on her face.

‘It could be a long shot, but there’s no such thing as a coincidence, as the inspector is probably sick of hearing me say.’

‘So unusual.’ Nina picked up the brooch gingerly and turned it over. The underside was matt gold, which made the masterfully engraved inscription all the more striking. ‘This must be Belarusian. My language skills are somewhat rusty.’ She strained to make sense