Murder Takes the Stage by Amy Myers Page A

that?’
    â€˜Not to my knowledge. That’s the problem.’ Will leaned back in his chair. ‘You say you met Christine Reynolds, Georgia. She’s writing a piece about Ken to go with Cath’s feature on the family, and bringing in the Watson murder. How about adding a bit from your professional standpoint? Interesting case and all that. Might do a book on it, etcetera.’
    â€˜You’re on,’ Georgia agreed promptly. ‘But would Christine be up to it?’
    â€˜She sounds as if she’d be glad of anything and anyone to occupy her mind,’ Cath said. ‘Let’s go.’
    Cath was right. Georgia had been ready to back out, if Christine could not take both her and Cath arriving together. As Cath had predicted, however, she seemed eager to see them both, even though her face looked as if she had not slept since the news of her father’s death had been broken to her.
    â€˜Colin’s in France,’ Christine explained, ‘and can’t get back until tomorrow. I’m going quietly spare here on my own. At least this gives me something to do. I’m going crazy telephoning people with the news, unable to say anything about the funeral or what’s going to happen, and just going over the details time and time again either with the police or to myself. That’s the worst bit.’
    â€˜Would you like to get out of the house?’ Georgia suggested, knowing all too well how four walls could so easily close in at such a time. ‘We could do the feature story later.’
    â€˜Yes, I would. That’s why I particularly wanted to see you. The police have rung. I can go round to the house, but I didn’t feel like going alone. I went to see them there yesterday to see if anything had been taken, but today I’d be alone. So I need company – and the more professional, the better, so I can pretend it isn’t happening.’
    Georgia knew how that felt. She’d often done that herself, and sometimes it helped. Sometimes, however, it just put off the evil moment when the situation had to be faced. As they walked out of Christine’s home, the sun came out as if in encouragement. Christine looked even more heavily pregnant now than when she had seen her three weeks earlier, and perhaps the sun would help to raise her spirits just a little. Not only did Christine have to deal with the death of a father she had clearly been devoted to, but now she had to cope with the aftermath.
    Number 59 struck a sombre note even from the outside, although no police were present, as Christine had predicted. ‘The police think that whoever killed my father took his keys and then helped himself,’ she explained. ‘That included Dad’s computer, I’m afraid, which would tie in with a random killing and a follow-up burglary, or I suppose the computer could have been the real target.’
    This was no more than Georgia had expected, but even so it was a hard blow. Nevertheless, there might be something here to help. She steeled herself to enter the house; it was hard enough for her, after having visited Ken so recently, so she could imagine how terrible Christine must be feeling. An empty house has an atmosphere all its own, and one with a story such as this was even more depressing, with all the signs of life suddenly interrupted, the unwashed mug and glass, the supper plate not yet consigned to the dishwasher. There were no signs of upheaval in the kitchen, however, unlike Ken’s office, which was a mess. Georgia could see files and drawers emptied on to the floor in heaps, which would make it difficult to tell what was missing.
    â€˜Did Ken have a backup for his computer?’ Georgia asked. It was a forlorn hope that whoever had done this had not thought of this obvious possibility. If it was a chance burglary, however, it would have been the laptop that would be marginally worth pinching.
    â€˜He had a backup hard disk. I