A Fatal Flaw: A gripping, twisty murder mystery perfect for all crime fiction fans. Faith Martin
jars of face cream which brought her skin out in a rash… It faded after a few days, but she pulled out of the competition anyway. Just silly little pranks like that.’
Trudy frowned. ‘But isn’t that likely to be a simple case of rivalry between the contestants? It sounds like the sort of mean tricks that some girl who wants to scare others into withdrawing from the contest might use.’
‘Yes. That’s what everyone seems to think,’ Grace admitted reluctantly. ‘But, Trudy, I’m not so sure. I have a bad feeling about it all. I think… Oh, I just wish you’d talk to your coroner friend about Abby! Perhaps you could come down to the theatre sometime, during rehearsals or something, and just take a look around? See if anything strikes you as… odd. But you mustn’t tell anyone that you know me, or that I’ve been talking to you, because then I could lose my job,’ Grace added hastily, suddenly clutching her arm and holding it in a tight grip. ‘Mr Dunbar wouldn’t like it if he thought that I’d been speaking out of turn. He’s dead scared as it is that the papers will get to know about our little problems and give us bad publicity. So you mustn’t come in uniform or anything… I know!’ She suddenly beamed brightly. ‘You could pretend to be thinking of applying to be a contestant or something. It would give you the perfect excuse for being there and having a look around. Oh, Trudy, please?’
Trudy, unable to resist the appeal in her friend’s eyes, suddenly gave in. What could it really hurt, just to put her mind at rest? DI Jennings need never know about it. Besides, she was intrigued.
‘OK. I’ll go and see Dr Ryder and tell him what you’ve said. If nothing else, he can at least give us some advice. But I’m not promising anything mind!’
‘Oh, Trudy! Thanks ever so much!’ Grace leaned across and gave her a hug. ‘Now, I’ve really got to get back to Mum,’ she said. ‘I don’t like leaving her in the house for long with just Dad to look after her,’ she admitted, and Trudy gave her a quick, fierce hug back.
‘Of course!’ she said, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. ‘And I do hope your mother gets better soon,’ she said. She simply couldn’t imagine what she’d do, or how she’d feel or cope, if her own mother suddenly got so ill. The thought made Trudy feel quite sick.
She jumped up and ushered her friend downstairs. And with a quick ‘goodbye’ called out to the older Lovedays who were still in the kitchen, Grace was gone.
But as Grace Farley walked to the end of the street and caught the bus across town, she sat in her seat, swaying slightly and looking out at the darkening city with a growing sense of panic.
Had she done the right thing? What if it all backfired? What if Trudy didn’t come through for her? Or worse yet, what if she did, but didn’t get the results that she, Grace, so desperately needed her to get? And what if her old friend was really good at her job, and learned far more than was good for her?
Grace shifted on the seat, fighting back a growing sense of unease. What if she’d miscalculated, and it all went wrong?
For a long moment, Grace Farley felt chilled to the bone.
She could actually end up in prison.
Or worse yet! What would her tormentor do to her if it came out that she, Grace, had brought the police sniffing around the theatre?
And yet… And yet, the risk had to be worth it.
She simply had to get something on her persecutor, before… well, before things got totally out of control.
Trudy Loveday was the only one she knew who might be able to find such ammunition. But she’d have to watch her old friend closely.
Dr Clement Ryder watched his hand, which was lying flat on the tabletop, and scowled as it began to twitch slightly. Grimly, he used his other hand to massage the palm, and after a while, the twitching slowly abated. But he knew it would be back.
He’d self-diagnosed himself as suffering from Parkinson’s disease whilst still a surgeon in London, which had led to him resigning from his medical career and embarking on his new life as a coroner in Oxford.
Although, so far, he’d managed to keep his condition a secret from everyone – his friends, family, and work colleagues alike – he was well aware that he faced an uphill struggle in the years ahead to keep the secret safe, as the disease inevitably progressed and worsened. And the symptoms became more and more obvious.
But at least, being a widower and living alone now that both of his grown children were off living lives of their own, his domestic situation put him in a good position to keep his private demons strictly private.
Which was why he scowled somewhat ferociously as he heard the doorbell ring. Visitors were seldom welcome. He glanced outside, saw that it was nearly fully dark, and wondered who could be calling at this time in the evening.
Although he was a man of influence and power, and often socialised with Oxford’s movers and shakers, his real friends were few and far between, and all of them knew that he wasn’t the kind of man that you simply ‘dropped in on’ to have a chat and a nightcap with.
He got up somewhat reluctantly from his chair, a tall man at just over six feet in height, with a shock of thick silvery-white hair. He was a few years off his sixtieth birthday, but looked comfortably closer to 50. As he walked out into the hall, he watched his feet carefully. The stumbling uneven gait of a man in his condition was a dead giveaway to well-informed eyes, and he was glad to notice that, so far, he was walking as well as he’d ever done.
Perhaps, in the future, he might have to feign some sort of leg injury to cover up any falls or mishaps? Or a touch of fictional arthritis might fit the bill? It would certainly give him an excuse to use a walking cane. He’d have to give it some thought.
He opened his front door with a peremptory sweep, and then blinked in surprise as he saw the young, tall, brunette woman standing anxiously on his step.
Trudy Loveday had never called at the coroner’s home before. On the previous two occasions that they’d worked murder cases, she’d always gone to his office to make her reports or to meet up with him.
She’d found his name and address in the phone book and hadn’t been at all surprised to have to find her way to the prestigious area near South Parks Road, where he lived in a terrace of large, Victorian houses, in a leafy street not far from Keble College.
‘Hello, Dr Ryder,’ she said now, launching nervously into speech. ‘I hope you don’t mind me calling on you like this… If you’ve got company, I can always come back…’ She half-turned, almost wishing he’d say that he had, so that she could go away again.
For now that she was here, she was feeling distinctly uneasy. It was one thing to be assigned as this important man’s police liaison by her boss, but that was a whole world away from coming to his private residence, out of uniform, and begging for a favour. It smacked of presumptuousness, and as such, was enough to send her face flooding with colour.
Which was why she’d come over barely ten minutes after Grace Farley had left, as she’d felt that the sooner she got it over with, the less fraught her nerves would become.
‘No, no, I’m alone,’ he reassured her pleasantly. ‘Come on in, Constable Loveday,’ Clement said, using her title rather than her name, since he’d instantly picked up on her anxiety.
Trudy forced a smile and stepped inside a small but – to her eyes at least – still rather grand hall, with black and white tiles on the floor, and a large oval ornately-framed mirror set over a narrow console table. She noted the private telephone that rested on it and was once again reminded of the differences in their status.
If the Lovedays ever needed to make a telephone call, they used the phone box at the end of their street, like everyone else.
‘Come