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

‘How come you speak it?’ asked Carliss.

‘I read Russian at university. The two are not identical, of course, but there are sufficient similarities between them. I believe the writing says: “For services rendered”.’ The delicate object sat innocently in Nina’s outstretched palm. ‘I think we can extrapolate what sort of services they might be. The code name speaks for itself.’

‘The scheming murderess with the mind of a man,’ said the policeman.

‘I wouldn’t have guessed you were a fan of ancient Greek tragedy, Inspector.’

‘We’re not all PC Plod, you know. Though I never guessed an evening seeing the Oresteia at the National Theatre would ever be directly relevant to my work. But this doesn’t mean anything for our case. We’ve got no proof that Glover knew the Professor was the one who got his lady friend killed.’

‘True, but it makes for a damn good motive, don’t you think?’ replied Lucia. ‘His fiancée was killed by a double agent. That’s not something he would have easily forgotten, even though it was nearly forty years ago. He turns up at Beatrice Hall and sees the brooch – once, twice, until he twigs, like we did, that it’s not a mere adornment. He puts two and two together and realizes the woman he’s been hunting all this time has been right under his nose all along.’

‘Slow down, Miss Marple. This is all fanciful. It’s hardly going to wash in the interview room.’

Lucia knew he was right, not that it alleviated her frustration.

‘And Adam? Are you saying Glover was responsible for his death as well?’ continued the inspector. ‘From where I’m standing, the story’s getting more fantastical by the minute.’

‘Perhaps Adam found out about the Professor’s and Glover’s shared past. Don’t forget he was a forensic accountant, albeit an unemployed one – uncovering secrets would have been his bread and butter,’ added Nina.

‘You lot are making my head spin. The bottom line is, I can’t arrest a man on what you’ve brought me so far,’ protested Carliss.

Virginia tapped her foot impatiently. ‘Pleasant as this may be, I’m going to have to leave you to your deliberations. We’re going out to dinner, and I’ve got to drag your father out of the British Library first. He’s writing yet another book on medieval churches, as if the world hasn’t got plenty already.’

They said their various goodbyes, with Carliss the unfortunate recipient of a crushing handshake, and the depleted team sat back down despondently.

‘Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong. We just need to get our hands on some real evidence before I can move forward,’ said the detective conciliatorily.

Lucia was at that very moment harbouring a niggling doubt. As she reviewed the tableau of the tea party where the Professor had met her end, a particular detail grated. She strained to recall what the inspector had recounted of his first visit to Dr Glover’s office. It would come to her, she was sure. For the moment, the more urgent preoccupation lay elsewhere. ‘Can we see Adam’s post-mortem report?’ It was worth a shot, Lucia reasoned, though she knew Carliss was well within his rights to refuse.

To her surprise, he yielded straightaway. ‘I’ve contravened just about everything, so why not?’ He threw his arms up in the air despairingly and handed them his phone. He stood up and went to look out of the window. Behind him, the women huddled closely together, scrolling through the pages.

‘What are you hoping to find?’ he finally asked, exasperated. ‘I’ve gone through that report with a fine-tooth comb.’

‘Nothing in particular. I just want to make sure we haven’t missed any important details.’ The writing was tiny, and Lucia struggled to follow. ‘Hang on, what’s this?’

Carliss stared at the paragraph in question. ‘It just refers back to the contents of his pockets, for completeness. They were empty, apart from one item. Here – “small straw doll – see photo below.” It will have been bagged up and checked in at the station. Just one of those random things, I suppose.’

He took possession of the phone and was about to replace it in his pocket when Nina interrupted. ‘Let me have a closer look at that picture.’

To anyone else’s eyes, the item would have appeared unremarkable – a tiny, weaved doll in some sort of national dress, the kind that littered souvenir shops at popular holiday destinations all over the world. It had a jolly little face, with round green eyes and bright red lips, topped with a white flower headdress.

To Nina, the toy clearly meant much more. She peered more closely at the screen, examining the tightly bound skirt and fingerless hands. ‘It’s flax, not straw. It looks like a traditional Belarusian liaĺka – a doll given to young children as an amulet for good luck.’

She magnified the picture until she could make out the spindly writing embroidered on the apron and read out the single word: “Emilia”.

Chapter 32

The three exchanged incredulous looks.

DCI Carliss broke the silence. ‘I think we need to crank it up a notch, see where she’s come from. We’ve got woefully little on the woman.’ He got up abruptly and went to retrieve his overcoat. ‘I’m going back to the station. I’ll let you know when I’ve got more.’

As soon as he was out of earshot, Lucia turned to her friend. ‘He feels bad for not taking a closer look at her past earlier. It’s that schoolgirl charm – men can’t help but fall for it.’

For the next few days, life settled into a false semblance of normality. With Beatrice Hall irredeemably out of bounds, Lucia was at a loss. She had no other work lined up – the investigation had swallowed up her entire existence. There was no word from Margaret, who had solemnly promised – and duly failed – to get in touch over the proposed rehaul of