Ann Cleeves - The Glass Room

Winterton’s voice was pleasant and light. ‘The first officer called to a crime is responsible for securing the scene,’ he said. ‘Even if he’s a new constable and a senior officer turns up, his duty is to restrict access until the CSIs give permission. It wasn’t always like that! One of the first murders I investigated, the chief constable turned up with half a dozen friends – all in evening jackets and dicky-bow ties. They’d been at some smart do, and gawping at a poor woman who’d been battered to death by her husband provided the after-dinner entertainment.’ He paused. ‘And some officers call those the good old days.’

Lenny Thomas stuck up his hand. ‘What do you think of the way the police are handling Tony Ferdinand’s murder?’

Winterton gave a little laugh. ‘Oh, I’m not prepared to comment on a colleague’s work. If you’re personally involved, even as a witness, you have a very different perspective on an investigation.’ He glanced to the back of the room.

Turning, Nina saw that Vera Stanhope had returned and was standing there next to her good-looking young sergeant. Ashworth gave the inspector a wry grin and she flapped her hand at him, a gesture that said: Don’t you have a go at me too. So perhaps Inspector Stanhope had a tendency to become personally involved in her cases. Perhaps her perspective on the investigation was flawed. The rest of the audience realized the detectives were there and fell silent as if they were expecting an announcement from Vera – news perhaps that Joanna had been charged and that the investigation was officially over. But Vera only said, ‘Don’t mind us, folks! We’re just here to pick up a few tips.’

The interruption and the arrival of Vera Stanhope and Joe Ashworth seemed to put Winterton off his stride. He continued to lecture, but in a dry and formal way as if he were talking to a group of young trainees, emphasizing the need to follow procedure. It was about bagging evidence and taking photographs. All interesting enough, but without the human element that had captured their interest previously. It seemed to Nina that the appearance of the detectives had reminded him of a real death – the death of someone they’d all known – and, even if the victim hadn’t been particularly well liked, he no longer considered murder a fit subject for entertainment.

Yet it was fictional murder that had captured her imagination. She now had her central character and the germ of an idea, which was both simple and audacious. What fun if I can pull this off!

While all around her the residents were asking Mark Winterton questions about fingerprints and DNA, in her mind Nina was out on the terrace in an October dusk, watching a murderer kill a woman who was sitting on a white wrought-iron chair.

Vera’s meeting with Ron Mason, the superintendent, had gone surprisingly well. She thought she couldn’t have handled it better. Her boss was a small man, given to fits of irritability, but she’d caught him on a good day. Perhaps he was so unused to Vera consulting him about anything that she’d flattered him by appearing to ask for his advice. Certainly he had no idea that he was being manipulated.

‘So the prime suspect is a neighbour of yours?’ He leaned forward across the table. He’d once had red hair and, although it was grey now, his eyebrows were still the colour of powdered cinnamon and there were freckles the same colour all over his forehead. Vera had never noticed that before. She thought that spending time with all these writers was turning her brain, making her look at things in a different way.

‘It certainly seemed like that at first, though we don’t have enough to charge her.’ Vera explained about the knife Joanna had been carrying not matching the wounds on Ferdinand’s body.

‘Complicated then.’

‘I wondered if you’d like to take over as senior officer in charge of the inquiry,’ Vera said. ‘In view of what might be considered a conflict of interest.’ Mason was a competent administrator, but hadn’t taken a personal interest in a major crime investigation for years. Word in the canteen had it that he’d lost his nerve.

‘No need for that,’ Mason said quickly. ‘A rural police area like this, we’re always going to bump up against the odd acquaintance.’ He paused. ‘I take it that’s all you are, acquaintances?’

‘I don’t really move in arty circles,’ Vera said, encouraging him to smile at the thought. ‘Like I said, Joanna Tobin and Jack Devanney are just neighbours.’

And that was all it had taken for Mason to confirm her place in the investigation. At the end of the interview he stood up and shook her hand. ‘Thanks for keeping me informed,’ he said. ‘Good luck.’

Back in the Writers’ House, Vera thought they’d need it. It seemed that many of the people there with the opportunity to commit the murder had disliked Tony Ferdinand, but she had no sense yet of why anyone should choose this particular time and place to do it. She arrived just as Winterton’s lecture had started. She could have told them her own stories about balls-ups at crime scenes, and had been tempted to put in her two penn’orth, but had seen that would hardly be professional. When the talk was over and the residents were preparing for dinner she took Ashworth across the yard and into the chapel.

‘What did you make of Winterton, then?’

‘He had opportunity,’ Joe said. ‘I don’t see how he could have motive. He’s never moved in literary circles. He only retired from the job twelve months ago.’

‘What’s he doing here then? Police pension is better than it was, but you’d not think he’d have the spare cash for this sort of jaunt. Have you seen the fees? Or did he get one of those bursaries?’ Vera wondered briefly what she’d do when she retired. She saw herself in Hector’s house, too fat and unfit to get out, watching daytime telly and drinking beer for breakfast. Then the hippy-dippy neighbours would be her only link to the outside world. Maybe after all she had more of a vested interest in Joanna’s innocence than anyone realized.

‘No, he applied for a bursary, but he didn’t get one. I get the impression his writing’s not up to much.’

‘So maybe he had a reason for killing Tony Ferdinand and he came here specially to do it. He used the course as a cover.’

‘Yeah,’ Joe said. ‘And that’s a piggy I can see floating past the window.’

Vera smiled. She liked it when Joe stood up to her, as long as he didn’t do it too often. ‘He’d have the knowledge about how an investigation works. He’d understand enough to pull the stunt with the knives.’

‘But he wouldn’t have got it wrong, would he?’ Joe said. ‘He’d have made sure the right knife was in Joanna’s possession.’

‘So he would.’ Vera was feeling hungry now, but she didn’t want to eat her dinner in front of a party of suspects. Let Mark Winterton play the performing cop for them.

‘I was thinking Winterton might be useful,’ Joe said. ‘An insider. They’ll say things to him that they wouldn’t say to us.’

‘He’s a suspect,’ Vera said sharply. ‘A witness, at the very least. Sometimes you have to keep your distance.’ She saw it was on the tip of Joe’s tongue to make some comment about her own lack of objectivity . Instead he looked at his watch.

‘I should get home. If I don’t see the kids before they go to bed tonight, they’ll forget what I look like.’

‘I was going to talk to Joanna Tobin,’ she said. ‘Now that she’s had a while to think about things and we know what questions we want to ask. I can’t do that on my own. But no problem, of course. Your family has to come first, Joe, I understand that. I’ll ask Holly if she can come along. She could do with the practice. I might get her to take the lead. What do you think?’ Vera smiled sweetly. Joe Ashworth would know exactly what she was playing at. There was no love lost between Holly and Joe, and he wouldn’t want the bright young lass to take credit for any information gained in the interview. Vera lifted up the canvas shopping bag that did as a briefcase, a sign that she needed a decision.