The Glass Room (Vera Stanhope 5)

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.

Chapter Twelve
    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,