Preface to Murder

was only my mother who didn’t care.’
Bridget stepped in quickly again, before Ian could say anything. ‘Some women find it difficult to relate to small children. They get on better with their children once they’ve grown up.’
Daniel gave a short, unpleasant laugh. ‘If anything, our relationship deteriorated once I grew up. As a child it was just a matter of maternal indifference on her part. But as I grew older, I became so sick of her left-wing politics that as soon as I had the vote, I rebelled by voting Conservative. I even joined the Conservative Party. Imagine that! Who joins the Conservatives in order to rebel? Anyway, my mother was horrified, which was of course my intention. That was when we really started to argue. And then I dealt the final blow to her by becoming an accountant, working right in the heart of the capitalist system.’
Daniel’s cheeks had become bright red during his tirade, and his chest was heaving. He leaned back in his chair, gripping the armrests tightly, and looked around the room as if daring his father or his aunt to contradict him. Wisely, they declined to rise to the bait.
‘So now you live in London,’ prompted Bridget, seeking to steer the interview into less turbulent waters.
‘I rent a place in Camberwell,’ he said. ‘Not particularly glamorous, but…’ He trailed off.
‘Daniel would like to buy a place with his girlfriend,’ said Ian, ‘but London property prices are sky-high, even with two salaries. Diane and I tried to help out financially, but…’
‘I can imagine,’ said Bridget. Even in Oxford, getting a first step onto the property ladder was a challenge. She knew that Jake, on his sergeant’s salary, was still renting a small flat in East Oxford. And in London, even in somewhere like Camberwell, south of the river, prices were prohibitive for many people starting out on their careers.
The mention of property prices led her nicely onto another tricky question. ‘On the subject of money, who stands to inherit Diane’s estate?’
‘Well,’ said Ian, ‘it’s no great secret. Diane re-wrote her will after our divorce was finalised, and she told us all what she’d done. Daniel will inherit everything. Diane may have struggled to express her love for Daniel in a direct way, but in truth she was devoted to him. Her will leaves everything to him.’

9
A feeling of gloom settled heavily on Grant Sadler as his bus swung around the corner of the High Street and nudged into the congestion of St Aldate’s, heading south. The wide road quickly narrowed as the bus proceeded slowly past Christ Church. Grant gazed forlornly out of the window as the great edifice of Tom Tower appeared briefly on his left and then was gone. The best part of Oxford was behind him now, and ahead lay only the river and the grim terraced houses of the Abingdon Road. Beyond that, the sprawling Park & Ride, the Travelodge and ultimately the ring road.
The edge of the world.
His phone rang in his jacket pocket making him jump. He dragged it out and eyed the screen nervously, fearful that the police wanted to speak to him again. It was a relief to see that it was just Diane’s publisher calling.
‘Hi, Jennifer. What can I do for you?’ The bus bounced wildly over a bump in the road, and he pressed the phone to his ear.
‘News of Diane’s death is out.’
Grant lowered his voice, wishing he was somewhere less public. ‘Yes, I’ve just been speaking to the police. That Inspector Hart who was at the talk last night.’
‘Oh, her. What angle are the police taking?’
‘What do you mean, what angle?’
‘I mean, what questions did she ask you?’
‘Mainly about Diane, and what I did last night.’
‘They think you’re a suspect?’
People on the bus were staring Grant’s way now, and he turned his head to look out of the window. ‘No. Why would they?’
‘Don’t be a fool, Grant,’ said Jennifer. ‘Of course you’re a suspect. So be careful what you tell them. Anyway, listen, I’ve arranged for you to be interviewed by some of the TV networks. Sky News, the BBC and Channel 4. I’ll be handling the radio interviews and newspaper journalists myself.’
Grant marvelled at Jennifer’s insensitivity. ‘Seriously? Diane’s body is barely cold.’
‘That’s why we need to move right away. If we play this right, A Deadly Race will soon be flying off the shelves.’
‘Isn’t that rather mercenary?’
‘I’m surprised you’re taking that attitude, Grant. I thought you’d be keen to garner as much publicity as possible. After all, as I’m sure you don’t need reminding, you’ll be receiving fifteen per cent of earnings.’
‘Fifteen percent,’ said Grant. ‘Hardly a life-changing percentage.’
‘That depends on what it’s fifteen percent of, doesn’t it? Diane’s book now has every ingredient necessary to make it into a bestseller. A death threat; claims of state collusion in arms sales to a repressive government; the murder of an Oxford academic. The conspiracy theorists will go wild.’
‘I’d rather have a successful living author on my books than a dead one-hit wonder.’
‘Would you really, Grant? Some of the biggest books in history have been one-hit wonders, as I’m sure you know. Gone with The Wind was the only book Margaret Mitchell ever published. It was so successful she spent the rest of her life doing nothing but responding to fan mail.’
‘Well, this isn’t Gone with The Wind. And Diane Gilbert won’t be responding to any fan mail.’
‘No, she won’t. But what about you, Grant? How exactly do you plan to spend the rest of your life? Do you think you’ll even be in business five years from now? Everyone knows that the world of publishing is changing, and it’s no secret that you need the money. So I suggest you have a long, hard think about how you’re going