The Locked Room (Ruth Galloway #14)(12)

‘That’s different,’ says David. ‘Janet Meadows just wants to dress up as the Grey Lady and frighten tourists.’

Ruth thinks of Janet in her cloak and of Ted’s comment. Blimey, it’s the Grey Lady.

‘That’s unfair,’ she says. ‘Janet’s a serious historian.’

‘There’ll be a fight about this,’ says David, sounding as if he relishes the prospect. ‘And I hope you’ll be on my side.’

‘I’ll be on the side of truth,’ says Ruth, but only in her head. She doesn’t need Cathbad to tell her that truth can be a very slippery concept.



‘On balance, I think Samantha Wilson committed suicide,’ says Judy. ‘We may never know why.’

‘What about the ready meal in the microwave?’ says Nelson.

‘We can’t know what was in Samantha’s mind,’ says Judy. ‘But there’s no sign of forced entry. No suggestion that anyone was in the house with her. All the evidence points to her lying down on her bed and taking an overdose of sleeping pills. It’s very sad but it’s not suspicious. In my opinion.’

‘I’ve got the post-mortem results here.’ Nelson turns his screen to face Judy. ‘Chris Stephenson agrees with you. Cause of death: respiratory failure due to chemical overdose.’

‘The daughter said her mother suffered from insomnia,’ says Judy. ‘Hence the sleeping pills.’

‘Did the children say anything else?’ asks Nelson. Judy knows that he’s not about to give up. His persistence is one of the things that makes him a good detective but it’s rather trying when you’re on the receiving end of it. ‘Had their mother seemed depressed recently?’

‘No,’ admits Judy. ‘They were very shocked. They seem a close family. Samantha was devoted to her children and to her granddaughter. The son, Brady, saw his mother the day before she died when she seemed in good spirits.’

Nelson is silent for a minute, tapping a pen against his desk. Then he says, ‘Have a word with Intel. See if there have been any other suicides in the area recently. See if there’s a pattern.’

‘What sort of pattern?’

‘A suicide where the person wasn’t previously known as depressed. Something that came out of the blue. Like this one.’

‘OK, boss.’ Judy will talk to her friend Liz, a civilian data analyst. At least that will get Nelson off her back.

At the door she says, ‘Did you hear about the body in Tombland?’

‘No,’ says Nelson. His tone is neutral, but she can see his fingers tighten around the pen.

‘I just saw it on yesterday’s report. A body was found where they’re digging up the road to make cycle lanes. Thought to be medieval. Ruth did the excavation.’

‘That’s all I need,’ says Nelson. ‘Another bloody Stone Age body.’

Judy doesn’t explain the difference between the medieval and Neolithic periods. She knows that, as soon as she is gone, Nelson will be on the phone to Ruth.



‘If you bite it, write it. If you nibble it, scribble it. If you lick it, Bic it.’ Jacquie smiles round at the women sitting in a circle around her. A few smile back, old hands who have been to many Lean Zone meetings. What worries Ruth is that these stalwarts look no thinner than the rest of them.

Ruth is already regretting the impulse that led her to click on the link at the end of Alison’s email. A link that took her to this village hall, smelling of damp and instant coffee. Lean Zone products are arranged on a trestle table by the door, the Zs on the low-sugar chocolate and diet drinks merging to create one long, soporific ZZZZZZ. Ruth feels pretty tired too after a rather fractious day at work, but she doesn’t have to collect Kate until six and she has already filled out the forms to join, her untidy academic handwriting sprawling out of the tiny boxes provided.

Is she here because Alison has lost three stone and everyone at the reunion said how well she looked? Well, partly. And partly because she thinks that, at nearly fifty-two, she should make one last effort to become slimmer and healthier. After all, her mother had a stroke in her seventies and Ruth has always been told that she resembles her. And how hard can it be to lose weight? If Jacquie is to be believed, it’s simply a matter of writing down everything you eat. Oh, and never eating carbohydrates or drinking alcohol.

Ruth is woken out of a miserable low-cal doze by the swing doors opening and shutting. A woman is apologising for being late whilst taking a seat in the circle.

‘Hi, Zoe,’ says someone.

Ruth turns around to see her new next-door neighbour stowing her handbag under her chair. Zoe straightens up and mimes pleasure and surprise at seeing Ruth. Ruth herself feels rather embarrassed. Guilty of the terrible crime of being overweight. But, at the same time, Zoe’s presence makes her feel slightly better. Although built on the same lines as Ruth and her mother, Zoe looks very attractive to Ruth. She’s wearing a green dress and low-heeled brown boots and manages to look smart without being overdressed. Her brown hair, which was in a bun last time, is now loose around her shoulders. Maybe it’s not, after all, the law that you must have a neat bob after the age of fifty.

When Jacquie has told them who is Slimmer of the Week and exhorted them to keep a food diary, they are free to go. Zoe comes over to Ruth.