The Locked Room (Ruth Galloway #14)(3)

Samantha was fifty-two, Nelson’s age. She was divorced with two adult children: Saffron, a beautician, and Brady, a personal trainer. Samantha worked part-time at the local library. The scene was attended by two uniformed PCs who reported no signs of forced entry or struggle. The photograph, taken by one of the officers, shows a woman lying, fully dressed, on a flower-patterned duvet. Her face looks peaceful, her ash-blonde hair neatly arranged. Brady, who’d been too shocked for a proper interview, said that his mother had not seemed depressed or worried. This, in itself, is no reason to suspect foul play. Children, even grown-up children, don’t always know what goes on in their parents’ minds. No, what worries Nelson is the description of the kitchen. Sergeant Jane Campion has done a thorough job: Daily Mail on the table next to an empty coffee mug, vase of tulips, empty water glass upside down on the draining board, ready meal in the microwave. This last is what’s making Nelson wonder if the Serious Crimes Unit should be involved. Because who puts a Weight Watchers’ chicken and lemon risotto in the microwave if they’re planning to kill themselves?

His phone buzzes. Jo Archer. Why is Nelson’s boss ringing him at home?

‘Hi, Nelson,’ says Jo. ‘Look, it’s nothing to worry about.’

‘What isn’t?’ says Nelson, worrying.

‘I’ve been thinking about coronavirus.’

Even Nelson hasn’t been able to avoid hearing about the deadly flu that apparently started in China. The news has been full of cancelled flights, holidaymakers trapped on a cruise ship like some modern-day re-enactment of the Flying Dutchman. Nelson is sorry for anyone caught up in it, of course, but it does slightly confirm his view that it’s better to avoid holidays altogether.

‘Have there been more cases here?’ he asks. ‘In the UK?’

‘Thirteen more today.’

‘That’s still not that many though, is it?’

‘There’ll be more,’ says Jo, with what Nelson thinks of as ghoulish relish.

‘It’s just flu though, isn’t it?’

‘People die of flu,’ said Jo. ‘Remember the Spanish flu?’

‘I’m not that old.’ He knows Jo wants him to retire but this is ridiculous. Wasn’t the Spanish flu just after the First World War?

‘I think we ought to be prepared,’ says Jo. ‘I’m calling a meeting on Monday.’

Jo loves meetings. Nelson bets that she’ll conduct this one in a full hazmat suit, complete with Darth Vader mask. He thinks she’s overreacting but he can’t really say so.

‘I’ll be there,’ he says.

‘And we should tell everyone to carry hand sanitiser with them. I’ve ordered extra.’

Hand sanitiser. Jesus wept.

‘I’ve been thinking about the Gaywood suicide,’ he says. ‘Something’s not quite right about it.’ He explains about the microwave meal.

‘Maybe she just forgot to eat,’ says Jo. ‘I often do.’

One of the many differences between them.



‘So I think we’ve got enough ingredients to make our own bread for several weeks. We can grow potatoes, leeks and carrots in the garden. I wonder if we should get some hens?’

Judy looks at the jars of flour and yeast in the pantry. When they bought the cottage, she hadn’t even known what the little room off the kitchen was for. But Cathbad, she realises, was always secretly prepared for the apocalypse.

‘Do you really think it’ll come to that?’ she says. ‘Shops running out of things? There have only been a couple of cases in the UK.’

‘People always panic about food,’ says Cathbad. ‘Food and loo paper.’ They get their lavatory paper specially delivered from an ethically sourced company. Judy approves in principle but she wishes the boxes weren’t labelled ‘Who Gives A Crap?’

‘Are you panicking?’ she asks.

‘No,’ says Cathbad. ‘But I like to be prepared.’ And he does look quite happy, humming under his breath as he sorts jars of pasta. But all the same, despite the everyday noises of Michael playing the piano, Miranda watching TV and Thing, their bull terrier, whining gently from the hallway, Judy feels slightly jolted. Could this coronavirus thing be more serious than everyone thinks? She’s not a catastrophist but she does trust Cathbad’s instincts.

‘Super Jo has called a meeting for Monday,’ she says.

‘Good for Jo,’ says Cathbad. ‘What does Nelson say?’

‘He says,’ Judy consults her phone. ‘“Jesus wept. What a lot of fuss about nothing.”’

‘I’m afraid Nelson is wrong this time,’ says Cathbad. ‘I’m going to put a circle of protection around the house.’

‘Things must be serious,’ says Judy. She means it lightly but Cathbad says, almost to himself, ‘I just hope it’ll be enough.’





Chapter 3


Cathy has to go home for her low-calorie meal, but Jack offers to stay and babysit Kate while Ruth is out. ‘We’ll get fish and chips,’ he says. Kate looks delighted.

‘Thank you,’ says Ruth. ‘I’ll drive you home when I get back.’ It’s a good excuse not to drink.

Alison says they’re meeting in a pub in Blackheath. ‘There’ll be a few people from our year. Paul Edwards. Dave Rutherford. Kelly Prentis. Kelly Sutherland as was.’