The Glass Room (Vera Stanhope 5)

locked her in our apartment in Paris? That I hit her? It’s the stuff of melodrama.’ His words were scathing. ‘She’s plausible, vulnerable. And very clever. She has a knack of making people love her. Then she makes fools of them. Don’t let her make a fool of you, Inspector.’
    He began to stand up as if he was about to leave, but she nodded for him to remain seated and he stayed where he was.
    ‘When did you last hear from Joanna, Mr Rutherford?’
    He paused and she thought he was deciding whether or not to tell her the truth. Or perhaps he too was enjoying the drama, and the hesitation was to add to the suspense.
    ‘About a month ago.’
    ‘Would you tell me what she wanted from you?’
    Now he did get to his feet. ‘Money, Inspector. That’s what she wanted. Joanna was blackmailing me. Of course I refused to pay. It does seem a coincidence that suddenly I find her picture all over the popular newspapers. Though I find it hard to believe that even she would commit murder to spite me.’ He turned suddenly and walked out. Vera sat where she was and watched him go.
    As she drove north into the country, it occurred to Vera that she might have been wrong all along about Joanna. Perhaps Rutherford was no psychopath, just a man who suffered from stress and was being harassed by a flaky ex-wife. The idea was shocking: Vera wasn’t used to being wrong. But why did you want the money, Joanna pet? Why stoop to blackmail? Vera really couldn’t get her head round that one. The Joanna she knew boasted about the charity-shop clothes, the bartered veggies, the Freecycle fridge. Joanna despised money as common, vulgar, and thought an obsession with money displayed the worst possible taste. What had she called greed? The meanest of vices. So why was she so desperate for cash that she’d got back in touch with the man she hated?
    Vera was so puzzled that she almost missed the lane to Chrissie Kerr’s place. Vera had tracked down Nina’s publisher the day before. Holly had spoken to her earlier in the investigation. After all, Chrissie had been in the Writers’ House the morning of Ferdinand’s death. Holly had reported back that the woman had no useful information, but Holly wasn’t brilliant at picking up unspoken messages. Besides, Vera had her own reasons now for wanting to speak to the publisher.
    Chrissie Kerr still lived with her parents, it seemed, and had given Vera directions. Once it would have been a farmhouse as scruffy as Jack and Joanna’s, but the land had been sold off and the house and a barn conversion were all that was left. The house was rather grand now, solid and double-fronted, with long sash windows and a view out to the National Park. The barn had been turned into a stylish office, one wall made almost entirely of glass, the roof covered in solar panels. A sign, black on green: North Farm Press. Between the two buildings, where once there would have been a mucky farmyard, white lines marked parking places on a paved courtyard.
    No shortage of money here. Vera climbed out of the car and waited. Chrissie was expecting her and would have heard her coming. It was mid-afternoon, still a beautiful day, but already the sun was low. Vera hesitated, unsure whether to knock at the house or the office.
    ‘Inspector Stanhope!’
    A young woman still in her twenties, but confident and loud. Big-busted and wide-hipped, dressed in a black frock that hid most of the bulges. Vera didn’t know much about clothes, but thought that sort of magic wouldn’t come cheap. She could do with something similar herself, but would probably shrink it the first time she washed it. Anyway she wouldn’t have the aplomb to carry it off.
    ‘Come into the house and have some tea.’ Chrissie’s foghorn voice carried from the door of the office. ‘I usually take a break at about this time. Mummy and Daddy are in town, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.’
    By the time tea had been made and carried into a living room Vera knew all about Chrissie Kerr. About how Mummy had been an academic, a classicist, and Daddy a scientist, and they’d both given up posts in the university to move out to the country. ‘They both got a bloody good redundancy package, actually. They were at the top of their pay scales and the university couldn’t wait to get rid of them.’ Chrissie poured tea, but she didn’t stop talking. Vera looked around her. A pot of chrysanthemums stood on the windowsill. The carpet was red and there