Murder on Page One Read Online Free PDF Page A

rhododendrons and mature, waxy-leafed camellias obscured the neighbouring houses. The doorbell gave a musical chime and a dog barked. The door opened a fraction and a woman peered out.
    ‘Detective Sergeant Fortune and Detective Constable Chandavarkar. We phoned earlier,’ Flick said, her warrant card in her hand.
    ‘Just a minute.’ The door closed, there was the noise of canine protest, then the woman opened the door wide. She was fifty-ish, tall and elegantly dressed. Half-moon specs perched on the end of a large nose. She smiled.
    ‘Ms Lenehan?’ Flick asked.
    ‘Mrs Smith, actually, but yes, that’s me. Please come in.’ She led the way into a spacious, south-facing room, brightened and warmed by the midday sun. Bookshelves occupied two walls and a Chippendale carver sat in front of a large mahogany desk covered in papers. The detectives sat side by side on the chintz-covered sofa. Their hostess sat on the carver.
    ‘Do you organise the Debut Dagger Competition?’ Flick asked.
    ‘Yes, I do. Perhaps I should explain. I wrote for ages without any success, then I got my wonderful agent. She told me that Jane Smith, my true name, would never sell books, so I changed it for literary purposes. I’ve been lucky since then.’
    ‘I like crime books, but I regret I haven’t read yours,’ Baggo said. ‘I must correct that deficiency soon.’
    ‘My stuff is set in the nineteen forties. My protagonist is an aristocrat, and he has a pretty girl barrister as a side-kick. I actually sell better in America than here.’
    ‘I shall look out for them,’ Baggo said. ‘I think Lord Peter Wimsey is the bee’s knees.’
    ‘We’re here because we’re investigating the murders of two literary agents in London.’ Flick got the conversation on course. ‘We believe that the murderer may be an aspiring crime writer who would be likely to have entered your competition, and we would very much like to have access to all the entries.’
    Mrs Smith wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m delighted to help if I can, but you must be short of clues,’ she said. Taking the answering silence as agreement, she said, ‘Do you have a warrant?’
    ‘No, but I can get one.’
    ‘I’d prefer it if you did. Data protection and so on. But I don’t want to be obstructive. What do you think you might learn from the entries?’
    ‘Well, both killings show imagination. Not all the details have been released, but we have reason to think that the killer may have wanted revenge on agents who rejected him or her, and killed them in a way that reflected their anger. So entrants showing a strong sense of revenge or describing bizarrely appropriate killings would be worth investigating.’
    ‘Writers do give away quite a lot about themselves, particularly if they’re inexperienced,’ Mrs Smith mused. ‘How soon can you get a warrant?’
    Baggo produced his i-Phone and looked at Flick.
    ‘May we go somewhere private?’ she asked.
    A quarter of an hour later they returned, confident of having a warrant e-mailed to Baggo’s i-Phone by four that afternoon. The detectives prepared to take their leave and return later.
    ‘I wouldn’t hear of it,’ Mrs Smith exclaimed. ‘It would be wonderful to talk to real police officers. When you phoned this morning, I knocked up a lasagne. My husband comes home for lunch, and he’d love to meet you too.’
    Mr Smith turned out to be a local solicitor with a frosty manner that was soon mellowed by a glass of claret. While Flick ate sparingly and drank water, Baggo took advantage of the hospitality, earning his meal with tales of life in the police. He described how Prawo Jazdy became the most wanted man in Ireland, although the words were not a name but meant ‘driving licence’ in Polish. At this, Mr Smith choked alarmingly on his lasagne. As his wife patted his back and fussed over him, Baggo avoided Flick’s glare.
    Having survived lunch, the solicitor drank his coffee and returned to his office. Mrs Smith