Read Online The Glass Room (Vera Stanhope 5) by Ann Cleeves - Free Book Online
Authors: Ann Cleeves
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mean?’
‘I thought she showed great potential.’ Nina paused. ‘I don’t believe she would have attacked Tony Ferdinand without good cause. I hope you’ll treat her with some sensitivity.’
‘Are you saying Professor Ferdinand deserved to die, Ms Backworth?’
There was a sudden tension in the room, a spark of excitement or energy. The audience was more attentive. The woman regarded Vera warily. ‘Of course not. Nobody deserves to be killed like that. I want to alert you to the fact that there could have been an element of self-defence in what happened here today.’
Vera looked at her. ‘But you believe that Joanna Tobin killed the professor?’
‘Of course!’ Then, when there was no response from Vera, her voice became uncertain. ‘That’s what we were told. That’s what I assumed.’
Joe watched and found he was holding his breath. Sometimes, when she was angry, Vera let her mouth run ahead of her brain. And Joe knew that the assumption that Joanna was a murderer would make her very angry. Don’t let her mention the knives, he thought. Don’t let her give away more than she needs.
Vera looked across at him and her face twitched into what might have been a wink. It was as if she’d known what he was thinking and was saying: Give me credit for a bit of sense, lad!
‘Joanna Tobin is helping the police with our enquiries,’ she said blandly, challenging them to ask more questions. ‘She hasn’t been formally charged, and our investigation continues.’ She took a sip from the coffee cup in front of her, though by now, Joe thought, the drink would be cold. Vera had better timing than a stand-up comedian and knew the importance of a pause. ‘I understand that the writing course is planned to run for two more days. I see no reason why this arrangement should be changed. My colleagues and I will need to talk to you individually, and we’ll begin that process this evening. Our officers will remain here overnight to provide protection and to prevent any intrusion from the press.’ She paused again and swept her eyes around the room. ‘And to stop anyone from running away.’ She looked around the room once more. ‘I assume all the course members are still here.’
‘We had a visiting tutor this morning,’ Miranda Barton said. ‘Chrissie Kerr, who owns and runs North Farm, a small literary press based in the county.’
‘When did she leave?’
The question was directed to the whole room, but again Miranda answered. ‘After lunch. I saw her drive away. And Tony was still very much alive at that point, so I don’t think she’ll be much of a witness for you.’
‘Excuse me!’ This was Nina Backworth again, on her feet, scarcely able to contain herself. Joe thought she’d make a decent defence lawyer. ‘Are you saying that you intend to keep us as prisoners in this house while you carry out your investigation?’
‘Of course not, Ms Backworth.’ Vera gave a chuckle. ‘The comment just now was one of my little jokes. Certainly you’re free to leave, but please tell my officers if that’s your intention. You’re witnesses to a murder, after all.’
Chapter Eight
The drawing room had a huge inglenook fireplace and an ornate wrought-iron basket where logs burned. It seemed to Vera that all the heat went up the chimney and the fire was just for show. Typical of this place. All show and no substance. And just like these people, who were acting their hearts out in an attempt to persuade her that they were sophisticated, intelligent and entirely blameless in the matter of Tony Ferdinand’s death.
She and Joe moved around them, taking contact details and plotting a timeline for their activities, from the coffee served after lunch to the time when Ferdinand had last been seen alive. She doubted Keating would give her a more accurate time of death than the victim’s leaving the meal and the discovery of his body. Some of the Writers’ House residents could be ruled out of the murder
‘I thought she showed great potential.’ Nina paused. ‘I don’t believe she would have attacked Tony Ferdinand without good cause. I hope you’ll treat her with some sensitivity.’
‘Are you saying Professor Ferdinand deserved to die, Ms Backworth?’
There was a sudden tension in the room, a spark of excitement or energy. The audience was more attentive. The woman regarded Vera warily. ‘Of course not. Nobody deserves to be killed like that. I want to alert you to the fact that there could have been an element of self-defence in what happened here today.’
Vera looked at her. ‘But you believe that Joanna Tobin killed the professor?’
‘Of course!’ Then, when there was no response from Vera, her voice became uncertain. ‘That’s what we were told. That’s what I assumed.’
Joe watched and found he was holding his breath. Sometimes, when she was angry, Vera let her mouth run ahead of her brain. And Joe knew that the assumption that Joanna was a murderer would make her very angry. Don’t let her mention the knives, he thought. Don’t let her give away more than she needs.
Vera looked across at him and her face twitched into what might have been a wink. It was as if she’d known what he was thinking and was saying: Give me credit for a bit of sense, lad!
‘Joanna Tobin is helping the police with our enquiries,’ she said blandly, challenging them to ask more questions. ‘She hasn’t been formally charged, and our investigation continues.’ She took a sip from the coffee cup in front of her, though by now, Joe thought, the drink would be cold. Vera had better timing than a stand-up comedian and knew the importance of a pause. ‘I understand that the writing course is planned to run for two more days. I see no reason why this arrangement should be changed. My colleagues and I will need to talk to you individually, and we’ll begin that process this evening. Our officers will remain here overnight to provide protection and to prevent any intrusion from the press.’ She paused again and swept her eyes around the room. ‘And to stop anyone from running away.’ She looked around the room once more. ‘I assume all the course members are still here.’
‘We had a visiting tutor this morning,’ Miranda Barton said. ‘Chrissie Kerr, who owns and runs North Farm, a small literary press based in the county.’
‘When did she leave?’
The question was directed to the whole room, but again Miranda answered. ‘After lunch. I saw her drive away. And Tony was still very much alive at that point, so I don’t think she’ll be much of a witness for you.’
‘Excuse me!’ This was Nina Backworth again, on her feet, scarcely able to contain herself. Joe thought she’d make a decent defence lawyer. ‘Are you saying that you intend to keep us as prisoners in this house while you carry out your investigation?’
‘Of course not, Ms Backworth.’ Vera gave a chuckle. ‘The comment just now was one of my little jokes. Certainly you’re free to leave, but please tell my officers if that’s your intention. You’re witnesses to a murder, after all.’
Chapter Eight
The drawing room had a huge inglenook fireplace and an ornate wrought-iron basket where logs burned. It seemed to Vera that all the heat went up the chimney and the fire was just for show. Typical of this place. All show and no substance. And just like these people, who were acting their hearts out in an attempt to persuade her that they were sophisticated, intelligent and entirely blameless in the matter of Tony Ferdinand’s death.
She and Joe moved around them, taking contact details and plotting a timeline for their activities, from the coffee served after lunch to the time when Ferdinand had last been seen alive. She doubted Keating would give her a more accurate time of death than the victim’s leaving the meal and the discovery of his body. Some of the Writers’ House residents could be ruled out of the murder
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