Read Online A Murder of Magpies by Judith Flanders - Free Book Online Page B

judge—in fact, a reasonably good sampling of professional London. By the time I headed home, refusing my mother’s repeated invitation to stay, I was feeling much better.
    As I came up the road, I saw a light in Mr. Rudiger’s windows. My mother was right, and I should have thought of it myself. He needed to be warned, so I continued up to his landing, noting on my way that the lightbulbs lower down had blown. The three flats together own the house, so the common parts are a joint responsibility. Since the Lewises have a small child and erratic work patterns, and Mr. Rudiger hasn’t seen the common parts in years, it tends to be me who replaces bulbs, waters the horrible cheese plant an old tenant left behind and no one has the heart to murder, tidies away Bim’s forgotten toys, and cleans the passageway when I do my own flat.
    I tapped gently on the door. “Mr. Rudiger? It’s Sam, from downstairs.”
    I heard him moving toward the doorway, slowly but without a pause. Good. I hadn’t woken him up.
    He opened the door and gestured me in without surprise, as though I were a regular caller just before midnight.
    â€œI’m sorry to trouble you so late, but I thought perhaps this shouldn’t wait until morning.”
    â€œIt’s no trouble.” He has a faint foreign accent. I’ve never been sure where he’s from. Central Europe, I think. I’ve always assumed he was a refugee before the War, but I’ve never asked. His formality is charming, but it sets up a barrier that is not to be breached. I like it—publishing is a tiny world, and we all know everything about everyone. It’s nice to find someone who doesn’t immediately want to bleed all over you.
    He offered me a drink, or coffee, as though we had the night ahead of us. I was already feeling that, whatever I had to say, it could easily have waited. I didn’t want to put him out further.
    â€œNo, thanks. I just wanted to tell you, there’s a bit of a problem at my office that may spill over here.” He listened impassively while I quickly sketched in the details, although I skipped out the money laundering and Kit’s disappearance. I made it sound like a piece of industrial espionage, and left it at that. I didn’t want to terrify the man, just put him on his guard about opening the door to strangers.
    He nodded, as though this were the kind of thing he dealt with every week—vacuum the sitting room, prevent robbery, put the rubbish out. “Thank you, Miss Clair. It was good of you to think of me.”
    I blushed. I hadn’t thought of him at all. “It’s probably not serious, and nothing will happen, but we all ought to be alert.” I wrote down Inspector Field’s number. I wasn’t sure if it was something I should be giving out, but it would be better than dialing 999. An old man hearing things go bump in the night might not make the emergency services leap on to their white chargers.
    In passing, I also tapped at Kay and Anthony’s door. No answer. I didn’t want to knock more loudly, because of Bim. Anthony might be at home, even if Kay was out. When work was scarce, which it often was, she did stints as a cigarette girl for some company that arranged City functions. They always ended at about three in the morning, but the tips were good and it kept Bim in apple juice.
    I would slip a note under their door before I left for work in the morning. After the “workmen” incident, they wouldn’t let anyone in without my say-so. I continued downstairs, groping for the banister. How could two bulbs be out at the same time? I stopped dead halfway down the last flight. Never mind how could two bulbs be out, how could I be so stupid? Here we were, all expecting my flat to be burgled, and I was prancing about in the dark, mumbling, “Wouldn’t you know it, there’s never a lightbulb when you need one.” I stood there,