Preface to Murder

by M S Morris

  Perhaps she was overthinking the problem. The most ancient approach to concealing a message within a larger piece of text was to use the “null cipher” technique. In this method, a simple rule was used to select letters. Take the first letter from each chapter, for example, and arrange them to spell out a word or a sentence. This book had ten chapters. A ten-letter password sounded about right.

  Ffion copied out the first word from each chapter onto a blank sheet of paper.

  Never The Examples Military The Capitalism No Imperial What If

  Next she wrote down the first letter of each word.

  NTEMTCNIWI

  It looked like nonsense, but a computer password didn’t have to be an actual meaningful word. Any string of alphanumeric characters would do. She reached for Diane’s laptop and eagerly typed in the string of letters, taking care to keep them in upper case as written.

  No luck.

  She tried them in lower case too, just in case.

  The laptop remained firmly locked.

  Never mind, Ffion wasn’t beaten that easily. She opened the book again.

  Her phone buzzed, and she checked to see who had sent her a message. Marion. She picked it up to read.

  Just finished work. Do you want to go out for dinner or come over to my place? I can cook if you like. I have something important to tell you xx

  Ffion’s finger lingered over the message. It was a tempting offer and she was intrigued to find out what Marion’s news might be. But she would never be able to relax knowing that her work here was unfinished. She would simply spoil the evening for both of them. She tapped out a quick reply.

  Sorry, tied up at the office tonight. See you tomorrow instead xx

  She felt a brief twinge of regret at declining the invitation, but it was over in an instant, and she put the phone back on her desk, switching it to silent.

  Immediately her attention was back on the job of cracking the password. If the first letter of each word didn’t work (and that was really way too simple), then perhaps a variation on the theme might work. Perhaps the first letter of the first chapter, the second letter of the second chapter…

  She started to write them out, double checking each one as she went.

  Nhaifaklwi

  Still no success.

  The office was deserted now apart from her. Lights had been switched off, and only her desk lamp illuminated the darkened room. If she was going to be here all night she could really use some tea, and a pretty high-powered brew at that. But before going to the kitchen it was worth trying the third most obvious method. Take the first word of the first chapter: Never. Follow it with the second word of the second chapter: establishment. Next the third word of the third chapter: abuse. When she had written down her ten words, she took the first letter from each one. It didn’t take long before a new word appeared before her, order coalescing out of seeming randomness.

  Neapolitan

  Ffion caught her breath. The secret word had been there all along, embedded within a book of ordinary text. Thousands of readers had read these same words and not one of them had guessed that a hidden message lay within them.

  Her fingers reached again for the laptop and began to type. Seconds later she was in.

  *

  Jake entered the wine bar and peered around cautiously. He was looking for a woman called Lauren, with dark mysterious eyes and long black hair. He checked the photo on his phone for about the hundredth time. Lauren certainly looked very attractive, but after his experience with Tilly he wondered whether the real Lauren would bear much resemblance to her profile on the dating app. Would she, too, be almost old enough to be his mother?

  He adjusted his shirt collar and ran a hand through his hair. Nerves. This wine bar really wasn’t his kind of place. Far too showy. At least Tilly had chosen a nice down-to-earth pub on the Cowley Road as a venue. Maybe he should have stuck with Tilly after all. She’d been messaging him on the app ever since their first date, but so far he’d ignored her. Yes, he was desperate, but no, he wasn’t quite that desperate. Not yet.

  He swung his gaze around the glitzy venue, taking in the bright ambience close to the bar, and the dimmer, more secluded tables with their red leather seats. Most of the tables were for two. It was obviously a singles bar. Young (and not so young) couples leaned into each other, gazing intensely into each other’s eyes, clinking glasses together and murmuring sweet nothings. Or perhaps not murmuring – the thumping dance music that pumped through the speakers seemed to rule that out.

  ‘Jake?’

  He looked around and saw a woman aged about thirty smiling at him.

  ‘Lauren.’ To his astonishment she looked just as good as her photo. Better. Wearing a low-cut dress, with dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, her eyes were smouldering. ‘I…’ he mumbled.

  She kissed him on the cheek. ‘You get some drinks while I find us a table. I’ll have a French Martini.’ She drifted off towards a corner table and Jake made his way over to the bar. He tugged nervously at his sleeves. The clientele here looked like they had money to throw around. Perhaps he should have worn something smarter.

  ‘Hi, what can I get you?’

  Jake was distracted momentarily by the barman’s haircut. Shaved to the skin at the back and sides, and clipped to a buzz cut on top, an abstract design of swooping lines and curves had been etched into the hair with a razor.

  ‘Um… a French Martini’ – Jake had no idea what a French Martini was, but he knew he didn’t want one for himself – ‘and do you have any beer?’

  The barman reached into a brightly-lit fridge for a bottle. ‘This month we’re featuring a pineapple and mint sour beer from New Zealand.’

  ‘Pineapple and mint?’ The strange concoction sounded like one of Ffion’s weird teas. ‘What about a plain Yorkshire bitter?’

  ‘No, sorry.’

  Reluctantly, Jake accepted a beer and a cocktail in exchange for what seemed like a substantial portion of his month’s salary, and carried them over to the secluded table where Lauren was waiting for him, all smoky eyes and plunging neckline. She looked very much at home, as if this place was a regular haunt.

  He took the seat opposite her and tried a mouthful of his overpriced beer. In his opinion, pineapple and mint did nothing to improve the flavour, and Yorkshire had nothing to fear from an invasion of Kiwi beer.

  Lauren sipped her cocktail, then slid her hands across the table to touch his. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you, Jake.’

  ‘Me you,’ he said.

  She rubbed her fingers lightly across his palm. ‘So, go on. Tell me all about yourself.’

  He wondered where to begin. ‘I’m from Leeds originally, but I moved to Oxford about a year ago. I’m a police detective with Thames Valley Police.’

  Lauren stroked her fingers over his. ‘Mm. That’s very interesting. Is that a dangerous job, Jake?’

  He turned the question over in his mind. Was his job dangerous? There had certainly been moments when he’d been in mortal peril. He remembered one occasion on top of a college tower, with only a low stone parapet preventing him from plunging to the ground below. And other times when he had grappled assailants armed with deadly weapons including a razor-sharp shard of Chinese ceramic and a ceremonial dagger. But just as often, he recalled, it had been Ffion who had faced the danger full on and made the arrest.

  ‘It’s not so bad, really,’ he said.

  ‘I think you must be very brave,’ said Lauren. She gazed deeply into his eyes. ‘You’re a very handsome man, Jake. Has anyone ever told you that?’

  ‘Um…’ He tried to remember if Ffion had ever said anything along those lines. He didn’t think she had. In fact, she had never said anything particularly complimentary about him during the whole time they were together. Somehow, that had been easier to handle than Lauren’s outpouring of flattery.

  He returned her gaze, losing himself in the dark pools of her eyes. It seemed expected that he should return her c
ompliment. ‘You’re a very beautiful woman, Lauren.’

  She leaned closer. ‘Kiss me, Jake.’

  He felt his own face move towards hers, almost like he had lost control over his actions. Lauren’s lips parted and her eyes drifted closed.

  They were about to kiss when a man’s voice cut across the pounding music. ‘Oi! Get away from her!’

  Lauren’s eyes flicked open and Jake felt the spell that had been cast over him break. He was on his feet in an instant.

  A man was striding towards him, a look of outrage on his face, his hands bunching into fists.

  Jake moved to intercept him. ‘Hey, calm down mate. What’s your problem?’

  ‘You wanna know what my problem is?’ The man jerked his head in Lauren’s direction. ‘You’re having an affair with my wife!’

  ‘Your wife?’

  ‘Aidan,’ pleaded Lauren. ‘I can explain!’

  Jake turned to her. ‘Is this man your husband?’ Ryan had given him plenty of dating advice, but he had never discussed this eventuality.

  ‘I am,’ said Aidan. ‘And who the hell are you?’

  ‘I’m a police officer.’

  ‘You expect me to believe that? You cheeky bastard!’

  A fist swung in Jake’s direction and he dodged aside. Aidan was a big guy and he stumbled heavily into the table, sending drinks flying. Lauren screamed.

  Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out his warrant card. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Jake Derwent,’ he shouted as Aidan lumbered back to his feet. ‘And you need to calm down right now.’

  ‘Calm down? While you’re sleeping with my wife? I don’t care if you’re a bloody police officer or not!’ He aimed another punch at Jake.

  This time Jake caught it and spun the aggrieved husband around, gripping his arm behind his back. Aidan cried out in pain. Jake pushed him up against a wall and slipped a pair of cuffs over his wrists. ‘Now then, mate,’ he said, ‘you can stay like that until you’ve calmed down. And then you and your wife can sort this out between yourselves in a civilised fashion. Otherwise, I’ll be taking you back to the station with me.’

  29

  At the team meeting the next morning, Bridget couldn’t help noticing that Ffion was looking like the cat who’d got the cream, whereas Jake looked as if his milk had been snatched away from him and then he’d been shut outside all night in the cold.

  So when Bridget asked whether anyone had anything to report, she wasn’t surprised when Ffion’s hand shot up. ‘I managed to work out Diane’s password last night, and got into her laptop.’ Her excitement only made her Welsh accent more pronounced than ever.

  ‘What have you managed to find?’

  ‘I know where the payments to her off-shore bank account are coming from.’

  Now Bridget felt her own anticipation mounting. Had they finally made the breakthrough she had been hoping for? Enough to keep Grayson off her back and Baxter at bay? ‘Go on.’

  ‘Diane wrote books.’

  Bridget didn’t know what she’d been expecting to hear, but it wasn’t this. She could tell that the others in the room were feeling let down too. She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice. ‘Books? Like A Deadly Race?’

  ‘No,’ said Ffion with a smirk. ‘Definitely not like that.’

  ‘What then?’ asked Ryan.

  ‘Well,’ said Ffion, obviously enjoying being centre of attention, ‘we already knew from Diane’s phone that she enjoyed reading hot romance books. What I found from her laptop is that she wrote them too, and published them herself online.’

  ‘She wrote romance books?’ repeated Bridget agog.

  ‘Hot romance?’ queried Ryan. ‘Do you mean –’

  ‘Whatever your fevered imagination is picturing right now,’ interrupted Ffion, ‘then, yes, all of that with bells and whistles on. Not to mention whips, handcuffs and all kinds of other accessories.’

  She opened up the laptop to reveal a screen packed full of book covers featuring half-naked men and scantily-clad women. The titles of the books were suggestive, to say the least. Jake’s ears turned pink as he stared at the images.

  ‘So it would seem that Diane had two sides to her personality,’ continued Ffion. ‘And two jobs that reflected them. By day she was a serious academic, writing papers for journals, attending conferences and seminars, and publishing a book about governments and their shady dealings. By night she devoured steamy romance books, and wrote and self-published her own titles under the pen-name of Lula Langton. Obviously, she went to great lengths to keep the two facets apart. She even went to the trouble of encrypting her laptop to stop anyone finding out. We assumed it was because of her investigations into the international arms trade, but it was to protect her academic reputation.’

  Bridget wondered what Professor Al-Mutairi might say if he found out about Diane’s flipside. Talk about bringing his department into disrepute. But she was still puzzled. ‘So where did the money come from?’

  ‘From sales of her romance books. She’s published several series in total, and judging from the number of reviews on Amazon, she has a lot of fans around the world – far more than have ever read A Deadly Race. The payments into her off-shore company are from e-book retailers.’

  ‘So, were her agent and publisher involved in this operation?’

  ‘No. She published her e-books directly online.’

  Bridget had no idea that it was possible to earn so much from e-books. And to do it single-handedly without an agent and publisher working on her behalf. So much for Diane Gilbert’s socialist credentials – she had been a very successful entrepreneur.

  Bridget thanked Ffion for her ingenuity and perseverance. But did this new information actually get them anywhere? Apart from clearing up the mystery of the off-shore company, Bridget wasn’t sure that it brought them any closer to solving the case. If there was nothing sinister behind the payments into Diane’s account, and if the denials of involvement by MI5 and the Saudis could be believed, then what remained? A hoax death threat by a down-at heel literary agent desperate to sell more books. Oh yes – and the persistent and unavoidable fact that a woman had been murdered in her own home while under police protection.

  Who was it who said, You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending? There was something about this case that had been bothering her right from the start.

  ‘The broken glass,’ she muttered, ‘at the back door of the house.’

  ‘What about it, ma’am?’ asked Jake.

  ‘Jake, you come with me. And’ – Bridget searched the faces until her gaze came to rest on the youngest member of her team – ‘Harry.’

  ‘Me?’ His eyes lit up.

  ‘Yes, Harry. I think you’ll be perfect for this job.’

  *

  The crime scene at the back of Diane’s house looked much as it had the week before. The back door was still sealed off by crime tape fluttering in the breeze, but that wouldn’t stop Bridget carrying out the experiment she had in mind. On the way from the station, they had stopped off at a local hardware shop in Kidlington to buy everything they needed.

  Beside her, Harry seemed nervous. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea, ma’am?’

  ‘Yes. I want to get to the bottom of this, once and for all.’

  Harry lowered the pane of glass he was carrying to the ground and propped it up against the brick wall of the house.

  ‘Place it right next to the back door,’ said Bridget. ‘I want to try to reproduce the conditions on the night Diane was killed as closely as we can. Now where’s that hammer?’

  Jake was carrying it. He passed it to Harry, along with a pair of safety glasses.

  ‘So,’ said Bridget. ‘Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll go and wait in my car out the front. Jake, you go up to Diane’s bedroom and wait there. Harry, we’ll text you when we’re both in place, and then you can smash the glass.’

  Harry still looked dubious.

&n
bsp; ‘Would you rather Jake broke the glass?’ asked Bridget.

  That seemed to make Harry’s mind up. ‘No, ma’am. I’ll do it.’

  ‘Good,’ said Bridget. ‘Now let’s all get into position.’ She left Harry at the back of the house with the hammer and the glass, and made her way to the front. The constable who had been guarding the house was no longer on duty. Jake let himself in with a key and disappeared upstairs. Bridget’s car was parked immediately outside, in the exact spot that Sam and Scott had been parked on the night of the murder. She climbed inside, texted Harry to say she was ready, and then waited.

  The street was probably almost as quiet by day as it was by night. Although the nearby Banbury Road was busy at this time, here on St Margaret’s Road, screened by large houses, trees and hedges, only a faint murmur of traffic was audible. Bridget made herself comfortable, closed her eyes, and settled back to wait.

  She was disturbed some while later by a sharp rap on the side window of the car. Harry. Bridget wound the glass down. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s done, ma’am. Didn’t you hear it?’

  ‘No.’ Bridget felt a thrill, knowing now that she had been right to trust Sam and Scott. Their version of events had been shown to be true. From inside a car at the front of the house, it was impossible to hear the sound of breaking glass at the back.

  She left her car and followed Harry inside the house. Jake was just coming down the stairs. ‘Did you hear it?’ she asked him.

  ‘Absolutely. Crystal clear.’

  ‘And would it have woken you up?’

  ‘I would say so.’

  It was just as Bridget had thought. A light sleeper like Diane should definitely have woken up when the intruder broke the glass. Yet she had been found dead in her bed. There was only one possible explanation that fitted the facts. Diane had already been dead when the glass in the back door was broken.

  ‘Let’s go back outside,’ she said to the others.

  Harry led them around to the back. There, where the pane of glass had been propped up, fragments splayed out across the flagstones, just like Bridget had seen on the kitchen floor when she’d arrived and discovered the break-in.