Free Funeral Music by Morag Joss Page A

need have been. Sara was willing to bet that Bridger expected the WDC to keep things tidy, wash up discarded teacups and so on, and that the WDC, all power to her, steadfastly didn’t.
    Now he was being brusque and efficient. She related, in answer to his questions, what she had done since her arrival at the Pump Room that morning. He quizzed her about the evening before and she went through it all in detail, beginning with her afternoon rehearsal, right up until when she had left the Pump Room, in the rain, at ten thirty. She told him about Matthew Sawyer’s speech.
    ‘It was disastrous. He was so rude and dismissive, as if he had no idea of what was important to those people. He must have upset them very badly. He certainly embarrassed me.’
    ‘And you’re saying that more or less the whole audience was annoyed? Did you see anyone who seemed particularly upset?’
    ‘How could I tell? Anyway, I left just after that.’ She paused. ‘I only saw one person speak to him afterwards. A colleague of his, Olivia Passmore, the deputy director. No, I didn’t hear what was said. I suppose you can find that out from Olivia, can’t you?’
    She was damned if she was going to give any more help than that. Olivia would be sure to be on the list of people to be interviewed. Anyway, it was none of her business to speculate on what they might have been talking about. It was their business or, more accurately now, Olivia’s. She felt a sudden, tender pity for poor, clumsy Matthew Sawyer, whom she had never even properly met. Bridger was drawing her back to the finding of the body.
Why? Why go over it again? He is doing this to torment me, the little reptile, she thought. She answered mechanically.
    ‘As I’ve told you, I was looking round the museum. I was just waiting till George could open up the office where I’d left my belt. I was the first visitor in. I simply walked up to the railing in front of the overflow. I saw the body lying in the water. I realised who it was. The water was running over his face. The mouth was open. His legs and arms seemed all... all over the place. I must have screamed. George grabbed me. That’s all I remember. It was very upsetting.... Matthew Sawyer was like someone else I... I once knew.’
    She stopped. She did not think she was going to be able to say any more without crying, but she had to know.
    ‘How did he die?’ she asked.
    Bridger paused. The press would be told in a couple of hours anyway; the statement had already been prepared. He picked up the sheet of paper from the desk. He shouldn’t say anything, but it would be a pleasure to watch her take it.
    ‘Pending the forensic pathologist’s full report, a preliminary examination suggests that the deceased sustained fatal stab wounds which are not thought to have been selfinflicted,’ read Bridger, running his tongue over his caramelly teeth, well satisfied.

CHAPTER 4
    SARA COULD NOT free her mind from the grip of the day’s events. It had started to rain by the time she left the building, refusing offers of help, and drove home, forgetting all her plans, intent only on getting back to the comforting privacy of the cottage’s thick walls. She rang James.
    ‘So you see, because of all this, I haven’t bought a thing. I’m so sorry. I was going to go to the fish market. I’ve got salad. There’s nothing for pud. It was going to be a treat. Oh, James, I’m really sorry. What about cheese? What are we to do?’ she babbled, transferring her anxious need for the restoration of some sort of order to the state of the larder, where it could at least be acted upon.
    James interrupted. ‘Will you stop that? I will tell you what we are going to do. I am going to do some shopping, then I am coming straight over. You are to do nothing until I get there, except perhaps make yourself some tea. Hold on.’
    And although he thought it would probably do her good, he reflected that it would not be quite the thing to suggest that she soak