The Glass Room

Chapter Thirty

Vera sent Joe Ashworth to deal with the incident at Nina Backworth’s flat. The rest of them had been excited by the news of the break-in. The investigation had achieved so little that they were glad of anything that might move it on.

‘Too much of a coincidence surely, Ma’am, if it isn’t related to the Writers’ House case.’ Holly, bright-eyed, was ready to leave immediately.

But Vera seemed preoccupied with some project of her own. Joe thought she’d had an idea during the team briefing, had made some connection or seen something they’d missed. Occasionally she had these sudden flashes of inspiration; usually they came to nothing, but sometimes they were important and developed the case in an interesting way. Now she flapped her hands to send him on his way.

‘Use your judgement. You’ll know if it’s just a coincidence – some yob trying his luck – or if it’s related to our investigation. Probably nothing. The CSIs have already been in. Holly, you start chivvying the publishers. I need to know what Miranda was up to. That’s our priority at the moment.’

Joe went, secretly pleased to have an excuse to see Nina again, but offended too that Vera hadn’t decided to confide in him. Usually she was happy enough to share her daft ideas. When he arrived in Newcastle he sat for a moment outside the house where Nina lived. By now it was lunchtime and girls from a private school at the end of the road were walking along the pavement, giggling and scuffing the fallen leaves with their feet. He waited until they’d passed, then he got out of the car and rang the bell.

He thought Nina must be dressed for work. She seemed to him very smart.

‘This is such a nuisance.’ Her voice was peevish. ‘I’ve already had to cancel my class at the university, and I’m supposed to be doing a radio interview this afternoon.’

‘It won’t take long.’

Suddenly she put her head in her hands. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault and it was good of you to come. I’m scared. Absolutely bloody terrified. Waking up in the middle of the night to find someone in the flat. I thought I was going to die like the others.’

‘Of course you’re scared.’

She led him into a large living room with a deep bay window. All the furniture was old. One wall was covered in books. There was a table under the window, where long blue velvet curtains reached almost to the floor. And on the floor a grey carpet.

‘It looks very tidy,’ he said. ‘You’ve not moved anything?’

‘Don’t you believe me?’ She turned on him and he saw how close she was to hysteria.

‘Of course I believe you. Has anything been taken?’

She shook her head. ‘Not that I can tell.’

He thought she would know if anything was missing. This was an ordered place. She was an organized woman.

‘They did bring something, though.’ She pointed to a glass bowl, containing small fruit. They were so perfect that if it hadn’t been for the smell, he’d have thought they weren’t real, that they were wood or china, painted. ‘They were there, left by the intruder. He meant to leave them. That’s why he came in here first. He was on his way to the bedroom when the siren frightened him off.’

‘Apricots, are they?’ He wondered if she was losing her mind. She’d been so tense when he’d last seen her, so strung out, that he wouldn’t have been so surprised.

‘Yes.’

‘Why would a burglar bring you apricots? You must have bought them before you went away and forgotten all about them.’ He kept his voice gentle. ‘You can tell by the smell that they’re very ripe. They could have been here a week.’

‘I didn’t buy them,’ she said. She was frowning and a little angry, but he thought that she was quite sane after all.

‘There’s no sign of a break-in.’ He took a seat on a scratched leather chair.

‘No, and I don’t get that, either. It’s like he’s some ghost who can walk through walls.’

‘More likely someone who’s got hold of a key,’ Ashworth said. ‘Did you have a spare? Have you ever given one to a friend?’ He was thinking that the fruit could be a message. From a lover, maybe. Or a drunken student thinking it would be funny to scare his teacher. This might have nothing to do with the Writers’ House investigation after all.

‘No, I’ve never given a key away. I’ve always lived here alone.’

‘But you’ll have a spare? Could you check it for me, please?’

‘My neighbour has one in case of emergencies. But Dennis has been here as long as I have. He wouldn’t play this kind of stunt.’

Dennis was a small, tidy man in his sixties. He’d worked as an engineer in the shipyards, moved into the garden flat below Nina when his wife had died. Nina filled in the background information as they went downstairs. They found him sweeping leaves in the yard at the front of his flat. Nina told him about the break-in and asked about the key.

‘It’s hanging up in the kitchen where it always is, pet.’ He seemed affronted, as if Nina had accused him of committing burglary. ‘See for yourself.’ He led them through an arched gate at the side of the house and in through the open kitchen door. Over the sink there was a row of hooks, each neatly labelled. The one marked Nina was empty.

‘Not a ghost then,’ Ashworth said. They were back in Nina’s flat and she’d made coffee and a sandwich. It was a poor sort of joke, but he wanted to make her more cheerful. He wasn’t sure how he’d cope if she started to cry. ‘I’ll wait until the locksmith comes before I leave.’

‘But why go to all that bother?’ Now she was furious and he thought it was only the anger that was holding her together. ‘Wait until Dennis was in the back garden and slip into the flat and steal the key. And how would the intruder know he’d have my key in the first place?’

‘Did you tell anyone that Dennis kept the key? A friend?’

She shook her head.

‘A good guess then,’ Ashworth said. But he was thinking that they were dealing with someone intelligent. Or an experienced burglar. Someone had planned this carefully, reccied both flats in advance. And, like Nina, he was wondering why anyone would go to all the bother. ‘You’re sure nothing was taken?’

‘Absolutely certain.’ She looked up from her coffee. You do realize I was a target, like Tony Ferdinand and Miranda? If he hadn’t been scared off by the siren, he’d have killed me like the others.’

Ashworth didn’t answer. He sensed her growing paranoia and couldn’t think what to say that wouldn’t feed it. ‘Were there apricots in any of the stories written during the course?’ he asked at last.

‘I see what you mean.’ She gave him a quick nod of appreciation. ‘You think the intruder was copying a scene from a piece of fiction, in the same way that the murder on the terrace was stolen from my work. But no, I don’t remember anything like that. Of course I didn’t see everything the students wrote. Though when I first saw the apricots they reminded me of something I’d read, it was nothing recent.’

‘Where will I find that written material?’

‘Lenny sent me his novel as an email. I can show you that now, if you want. And I’ve already given you the few paragraphs that Miranda read at the party.’

Joe nodded. ‘No soft fruit there,’ he said. He was pleased to see her give a small smile. ‘And I’ll ask Lenny to let me have a copy of his book.’ He looked at her. ‘Is there anywhere you could stay for a while? A friend who might put you up?’

‘You think it’s not safe here? Even with new locks?’

Again he tried to keep his tone light. ‘I’d worry about you.’ Not really a joke, but she tried another smile.

He thought she’d dismiss the idea out of hand, but she considered. ‘I’ll ask Chrissie, my publisher. She has lots of room.’ She picked up her phone, but didn’t dial immediately. ‘I think someone was following me last night,’ she said. ‘How do I know they won’t follow me to North Farm?’

‘I checked the street before I came in,’ he said. ‘There was nobody there.’

He stood in the road and waved her off. Now the children in the posh school were spilling out of the gates at the end of the day. A couple of small boys were playing conkers, swinging the nuts hard on long shoelaces. A few parents waited in smart vehicles to collect their children, but none of the cars pulled off when Nina did. Joe drove fast, back to the police station.

Holly was on her own in the office, eyes fixed on the computer monitor. She looked up when she heard Ashworth come in. ‘Was Nina all right?’

He shrugged. ‘Shit scared, but putting on a brave face.’

‘What was it? A run-of-the-mill burglary.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Anything but that.’ He thought the place seemed very quiet. ‘Where’s the boss?’ He still couldn’t bring himself to call her Vera, found it difficult even when they were on their own in the pub or she was bending his ear at her house.

‘She spoke to Alex Barton on the phone and then disappeared up the coast. She didn’t tell me where exactly, or why. You know what she can be like. A drama queen. She said she’d see everyone for the briefing tomorrow.’

Joe always felt disloyal complaining about the inspector behind her back. ‘And Charlie?’

‘God knows.’ She stretched and rubbed the back of her neck.

He nodded towards the screen. ‘What are you up to?’

‘I’m trying to trace Miranda’s publisher. The books are out of print and they’re not on Amazon. Nobody recognized that piece she read at the Writers’ House. There’s no support for Vera’s theory that she’d been writing again.’

‘Except the piece that she read.’

‘Mmm,’ Holly said. ‘That could be years old.’

‘The boss has got one of the books in there.’ He nodded through to Vera’s office. ‘I saw a copy on her desk. Cruel Women, it was called. I thought it was appropriate.’

Holly was still grinning when he came back with the novel. ‘I think she pinched it from Miranda’s cottage. The publisher should be listed on the title page.’ He opened the book. ‘Rutherford. Not much use to you, if you’re trying to find out if Miranda has been trying to sell a new book. Giles Rickard told the boss that Rutherford Press got taken over by a multinational years ago.’ He turned to Holly to check that she was listening. She hated being told what to do. ‘Though I suppose some of the same staff might still be there. Worth a punt.’

He closed the book and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He wondered if this was another coincidence. Rutherford, who ran the company that published Miranda’s novels, had been Joanna Tobin’s father-in-law. He wondered too if Vera had known the name of the publisher all the time, and had been waiting to see how long it would take Holly to track it down. Nah, he thought. Not even Vera would be that petty.

‘Where are you off to with that book?’ He should have realized Holly was so sharp she’d notice what he was up to.

‘I’m going to read it,’ he said. ‘See if there’s anything in it about apricots.’