The Glass Room (Vera Stanhope 5)

belongings had made Vera impatient. She wanted to shake Alex Barton and scream at him.
    He seemed not to give her question any importance. He shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. She always thought of herself as a writer. She wouldn’t ever stop. But I don’t have any details of what she might have worked on recently. Really she didn’t discuss that sort of thing with me.’
    Why did you stay? Vera wondered. You had nothing in common with your mother, so why didn’t you move out? But she’d stayed with Hector. Perhaps things were never quite that easy.

Chapter Twenty-Four
    The house was quiet. Nina Backworth had been allowed back into her own room. Vera had sent a female officer to sit discreetly on the landing with a view of the door. She didn’t think Nina would make a run for it – she was too intelligent for that – but Vera wasn’t taking any chances. Alex Barton was still in the cottage, with a bored plod and the cat that he hated as his only companions. Holly and Charlie were in the Coquet Hotel taking statements from the other residents. Vera knew that soon she’d have to put in an appearance there too, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave the Writers’ House yet.
    After walking out of the cottage she’d gone to the beach to see where the knife had been found. She pictured the scene following Miranda’s murder. The early hours of the morning. A thick frost, and cold that would take your breath away. There’d been a half-moon, but as Vera had discovered on the afternoon of Ferdinand’s death, visibility in the garden would be poor. She’d ask the search team if any of the residents had a torch in their room. Had the killer removed the waterproof jacket on the terrace, or worn it down to the beach? If he – or she – had taken it off at the terrace, there should be a blood-stained bag: he’d need to carry it and the knife in something. Where was the bag? If he’d left the jacket on, they should find traces of blood along the footpath.
    Now, though, she was more interested in the contents of the jacket pocket. And food. And coffee. She and Joe sat in the Writers’ House kitchen.
    ‘Make us a few slices of toast, pet. You can’t expect a woman to work on an empty stomach.’
    The bread was fresh, the slices thick and the marmalade was home-made. Joe couldn’t work out how to operate the fancy coffee machine, so they had instant, but Vera thought she hadn’t been this happy for ages. Joe still seemed subdued, but he’d been moody for a couple of days. If he were a woman, you’d say it was his time of the month.
    ‘So what’s this all about?’ She set the newspaper cutting in its plastic sheet on the table between them. ‘Have we identified the magazine yet?’
    ‘Billy’s scanned it and sent it off to HQ. They’re tracking it down there.’
    ‘We’ll not hold our breaths then.’
    ‘I can’t take it seriously.’ Joe said. ‘It’s like somebody’s been watching too many crap cop shows on television. Or reading too many of those books where there’s a body on every other page, but the police still can’t track down the killer.’
    ‘A joke then, instead of a real message?’ She emptied the mug of coffee and wondered if she could get him to make some more. She didn’t like playing the demanding boss.
    ‘Not so much a joke. More like an attempt to distract us? To make the whole thing more complicated than it really is. Surely the most likely scenario is that Miranda Barton was killed because she saw the first murder. Or guessed the identity of the killer. Arranging the body on the terrace, the magazine cutting – that’s just an attempt to make us chase other links between the victims. Triggered by Nina Backworth’s short story.’
    ‘Aye,’ Vera said. Half her mind was still on a need for more coffee. ‘I dare say you’re right.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘How did the killer persuade Miranda Barton to go to the terrace last night? It must have been late. Joanna, Jack and Rickard were still there when I went home. And it was bloody freezing, even earlier. She must have had a good reason to agree to the meeting.’
    ‘Maybe she made the arrangement,’ Joe said.
    ‘We’re back to blackmail then?’ Vera leaned back in her chair. ‘Miranda knew or guessed the identity of the killer and made the appointment herself? It makes sense. She wouldn’t invite the killer to the cottage. Alex was in there and might have overheard their conversation.’ She peered