Damned by Logic by Jeffrey Ashford Page A

burglar, finding himself in such a situation, would have taken advantage of it; better be blamed for doing something than doing nothing. So, no, that settled it, her death would be treated as murder as Glover was instinctively convinced there was more to this death than was so far evident.
    The rain finally ceased by the middle of the afternoon. In the main bedroom of number thirty-four, curtains had been taken down and carpet rolled up, ready to be taken to the forensic laboratory; window, furniture and inbuilt cupboard had been checked for prints and other traces. The silver-backed hair brushes, small jewellery case in which were three rings, attractive but probably of no great value, and fifty-two pounds, suggested theft had not been an intruder’s intention, unless – there was almost always an ‘unless’ – he had been so shocked to find Mrs Ansell dead, he had fled with nothing.
    A search, less concentrated, was in progress in the second bedroom when the phone in the hall rang.
    â€˜Answer it,’ Glover shouted.
    Detective Constable Trent, downstairs, did so. Before he could speak, the female caller said, ‘Eileen, where on earth have you been? I’ve rung a dozen times and no reply. Have you decided that what’s good for him is good for you and been having fun while hubby’s up north?’
    â€˜Who is speaking?’ Trent asked.
    â€˜Hullo! Hullo! Let me guess what you look like. Six feet, curly black hair, deep blue eyes, pearly white teeth, lips which caress like duck’s down.’
    â€˜Who is speaking?’ he asked for the second time.
    â€˜I promise I won’t tell, so you don’t have to worry.’
    â€˜I am Detective Constable Trent.’
    â€˜Good God!’
    â€˜And you are who?’
    â€˜Has someone stolen the family silver?’
    â€˜I am very sorry to have to tell you that Mrs Ansell has died.’
    â€˜Christ!’
    He hoped she was not too shocked. One job that disturbed his cheerful life was to have to report a sudden death and know the listener was probably precipitated into mental darkness. ‘Presumably you’re a friend of Mrs Ansell, so may I have your name and address, madam?’
    â€˜Why d’you want to know them?’
    â€˜Someone may need to have a word with you to help us work out what happened.’
    â€˜Why.’
    â€˜In order to make certain what was the cause of death and to contact her next-of-kin.’
    â€˜It must have been heart failure.’
    â€˜She was suffering from a problem with her heart?’ DC Trent reached inside his jacket pocket to bring out his notebook.
    â€˜As fit as a fiddle, but why else would she suddenly die?’
    â€˜Your name and address, please?’ he insisted again.
    She gave them this time, finally overcoming the shock of what she’d heard.
    â€˜Are you married?’
    â€˜Yes ...?’
    â€˜Is your husband with you?’
    â€˜Not at the moment.’
    â€˜An officer may soon be along to talk to you.’
    He replaced the receiver, went upstairs, spoke to Glover. ‘The caller was a woman, sir, who gave her name as Barbara Morley. She did not know Mrs Ansell had died.’
    â€˜Had she any particular reason for phoning?’
    â€˜She’d tried several times before and got no answer.’
    â€˜She’s a friend?’
    â€˜A close one from the sound of things. She thought I was Mrs Ansell’s boyfriend and we were having fun because her husband was not at home.’
    â€˜Having explained the unlikely mistake of that, what did you say?’
    â€˜That an officer would probably be along to have a chat with her.’
    â€˜What kind of person does she sound like?’
    â€˜Bouncy.’
    â€˜In ancient language?’
    â€˜I’d say she’s relatively young and full of fun.’
    â€˜In your definition of “fun”? Did she mention where Ansell was, apart from not being