Free Money Never Sleeps by Stella Whitelaw Page A

property, switching off lights, turning off power.
    ‘You’ll get locked in,’ they warned. ‘Only water to drink.’
    ‘And nothing to read,’ Fancy added.
    ‘Would you like a nightcap?’ Jed asked. ‘There’s just time before the bar closes. The queue has gone.’
    ‘I don’t think so. I need a good night’s sleep before tomorrow. It’s going to be a heavy day. Two panels in the morning, one-to-ones , and then my talk in the evening. And I need to look at my notes.’
    ‘I shall clap heartily at every word.’
    ‘I’d rather you didn’t come.’
    ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
    He was walking her to Lakeside, quite slowly, making it spin out. It was another clear night, stars like diamond dust, the trees still and ghostly. Laughter carried from the bar into the still air. Music came from the disco-gyrating in the small conference hall.
    ‘We must go dancing one evening,’ said Jed. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, after your talk. You’ll be feeling relaxed and want to let your hair down.’
    ‘But…?’
    ‘I do a sort of one-armed dancing, holding the lady the other way round. Nothing wrong with my legs. They can still move.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Fancy, lost for words, still wondering what he meant.
    Jed keyed in the code for the Lakeside entrance door. It was so easy, anyone could have got in. They walked up the stairs, not wanting to use the lift, still stringing out time, stopping on each landing.
    They didn’t know who saw it first. It was hanging from the door handle of room 425; another chiffon scarf, still wet, dripping a puddle on the carpet. It was the kind of scarf that Melody always wore.
    Fancy clutched Jed’s arm, the useless one, not knowing what she was doing. But at least his other arm went round her, holding her close. There was some kind of monster out there, walking the grounds.
    ‘Don’t look,’ he said. ‘I’ll get rid of it and I’ll check your room for you. Then I’ll have a look round outside. Whoever put the scarf there can’t be far away.’
    ‘One minute past eleven.’ Fancy was shaking. ‘What does it mean? You haven’t told me what your friend said. His report. The pathologist in Derby.’
    ‘There was hardly any water in her lungs. Melody was unconscious when she went into the water. Drugged. Barely breathing. She wouldn’t have known anything.’
    ‘Sometimes I think I don’t know anything.’
    ‘There’s one thing you do know. I’m here. And I won’t let anything happen to you.’

SIX
    Monday Night
    J ed searched her room. It was getting to be a habit. No wet intruder hiding in the bathroom. Then he disappeared fast, making sure she was locked in. As he said, the intruder could not have gone far. There were damp marks in the lift, as if the scarf had been carried in a leaking bag.
    So it must be someone here at the conference. Someone who had followed her to Derbyshire. Fancy had thought that by enduring the tedious drive up the M1, she had shaken off whoever it was that had chucked a lump of concrete through her bedroom window. She was wrong.
    It did not make sense. What had she done to evoke such animosity? Written a lot of crime books? All fiction. Edited a magazine called
Macabre Mysteries
?
    Cold cases. It must be something to do with cold crimes. Crimes that had gone cold, that had never been solved. Perhaps one of the issues had come too near to the truth. Perhaps someone was scared. They were nervous, worried, running shitless , scared that the case might be re-opened.
    Jed had been going to talk about some cold crime in
MM
. She had never listened. She tried to remember what cold cases she had featured in the past but was too tied down with lectures and workshops to concentrate. She must listen now.
    Fancy made some weak tea, changed into her pink nightshirt, waited in case Jed returned. He might never return. She was dangerous company. All her life, she had been too bright, too dangerous. Men had left her. Men with no courage, no guts,