Read The Measby Murder Enquiry for Free Online

off to bed!”
    Much later, as they say in romantic fiction, Deirdre awoke from a pleasant doze.
    “Theo,” she said.
    “Yes?”
    “Are you hungry?”
    “Um, hungry, yes. Capable, not sure.”
    “No, fool. Shall we raid the larder? I could murder a ham sandwich.”

Seven

    GUS POURED HIMSELF a cup of coffee and opened the last letter of a pile of junk mail. He had not slept well. Images from the past had floated repeatedly into his half sleep. A rain-soaked city street in total darkness, with shadowy figures scuttling from doorway to doorway. Nights spent in a shepherd’s hut halfway up a Greek mountain. Bare rooms furnished with dubious-looking recording devices and unshaded lightbulbs.
    At half past three, sweating with fear, he had drunk half a glass of water and reached for a book. He needed something to redirect his thoughts but knew from bitter experience that this did not always work. If the book was a spy thriller, his favourite reading, his dreams would be a jumble of experiences, and he would wake up doubly exhausted, unable to sort out fiction from reality.
    Coffee helped to improve the morning, he now decided, as he spooned brown sugar into his breakfast mug and downed the strong brew. He slit open the envelope. At least this letter was addressed in handwriting, but it was familiar and unwelcome. He read it quickly. It was brief and to the point. On a matter of personal obligation, would he remit the aforementioned sum by the end of the month without fail. Or else.
    He had met his persecutor years ago, and he had seemed a good sort, reliable and trustworthy, but he had turned out to be none of these things. He had led Gus into a world of gambling and deceit, from which he had still not broken free. This was his last unsettled debt, but with the relentless accumulation of interest at a high rate, it had now mounted to a total which Gus had no hope of finding.
    His telephone rang. “Shut up!” he shouted, his nerves jagged. Why had he thought living in a remote Suffolk village would be peaceful seclusion? It continued to ring, and he finally answered it.
    “Hello? Oh, good morning, Ivy.”
    “What’s up with you, Augustus?” Ivy said.
    “Nothing.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course there’s something wrong. I am not stupid.”
    “Sorry, Ivy. Didn’t sleep well. I’ll tell you later.”
    “Unquiet mind,” she said, more perceptively than she knew. “Nothing like a clear conscience for peaceful nights.”
    “Yes, well. Anyway, had you something special to ask me? Has Alwen Jones gone into a decline?”
    “No, but you will, if you don’t get over here in good time. You’ve not forgotten again your talk with old Mrs. Worth? Mrs. Spurling will have your guts for garters if you don’t turn up.”
    Gus had forgotten, but now he assured Ivy he would be there on the dot of eleven o’clock. He had to pick up bread and milk from the village shop but would come on from there. He only hoped he had the energy to keep up a one-sided conversation.
    “I’ll come to see her with you, if you like. Mrs. Worth won’t have any idea who I am, or you, for that matter, but any visitor is better than none. See you later, then. And don’t be late.” Gus groaned. He desperately wanted another coffee but dared not risk the heart flutters and racing pulse that would inevitably go with it.
     
     
    THE SHOP WAS crowded with children who had the day off from school because there had been a power failure. They were excited and noisy with the heady knowledge that they had an unexpected day off. The new shopkeeper, James, smiled at Gus over the heads of milling children. James knew he had no hope of spotting the odd chocbar finding its illegal way into a jacket pocket, and allowed for this in his budgeting. He was learning fast.
    “Form a queue, you lot,” he said good-humouredly. “Now, girls first. Where’s your manners, boys? Susan Rampling, were you first?”
    Gus found his milk and a brown loaf, and waited