In Love And Murder: An Oxford Murder Mystery (Bridget Hart Book 4) by M S Morris

Author:M S Morris [Morris, M S]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Landmark Media
Published: 2020-08-31T00:00:00+00:00

13

After collecting Chloe from Vanessa’s house the previous evening, an argument had inevitably taken place between mother and daughter during the car journey home to Wolvercote. Bridget’s frustration after her interview with the recalcitrant Avery-Blanchard, followed by her telling-off by Vanessa, her feelings of guilt at abandoning Chloe and discovering about the late-night partying, and finally her misunderstanding, or whatever it had been with Jonathan, had left her frustrated and short-tempered.

‘Why couldn’t you have told me you were going out to a party?’ she’d demanded of Chloe.

‘Because I knew you’d totally freak out!’

‘I’m freaking out now!’ Bridget protested.

‘Well, that just proves it then!’

Chloe appeared to have convinced herself that the vodka-drinking episode had somehow been Bridget’s fault. And now, this morning, she seemed determined to punish Bridget further for her negligent parenting by lying in bed until long after the deadline for a school day had passed.

‘You’ll be late, and you can’t blame me for that!’ Bridget declared. ‘You’re fifteen years old, and you can get yourself out of bed!’

By the time she’d finally prised Chloe from beneath her duvet, retrieved her unwashed school sports kit from the laundry bag – ‘Mum! I’m going to stink wearing this stuff?’ – ‘Well you could learn to use the washing machine yourself!’ – and battled with the roadworks on the Oxford ring road, she only just made it to the John Radcliffe hospital in time.

The hospital’s senior pathologist, Dr Roy Andrews, had promised to make an early start, and Bridget didn’t want to let him down, especially as she was the one who’d bullied him into making his promise. She burst into the autopsy suite just as he was preparing to begin the post-mortem.

‘Ah, Bridget, glad you could make it. Now that the chorus has finally arrived, the concert can commence. As you can see, the soloist is ready to perform.’

The pathologist’s normal hang-dog expression was partially obscured by the mask he wore over his nose and mouth, but his eyes twinkled at Bridget from beneath bushy eyebrows, and she knew that he meant no harm by his gentle teasing.

His assistant, Julie Pearson, who was laying out a terrifying array of surgical tools on the stainless steel worktop, turned and waved at her.

Bridget was always struck by the relentless cheerfulness of the people who worked in the mortuary, even if, in the case of Roy Andrews, it was a rather dour Scottish humour that predominated. Unmarried, and known to be something of a workaholic, his colourful collection of bow ties never failed to brighten up the department. Today a pattern of musical notes peeked out from under his gown.

The welcome from Roy and Julie, combined with the sobering surroundings of the morgue, helped Bridget put her own problems in perspective, and she began to prepare herself mentally for what was to come. She had arranged for Ffion to accompany her to the post-mortem, and was pleased to see that the junior detective had already arrived. The Welsh constable’s natural sangfroid was a considerable asset in the presence of dissected corpses.

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