Die Happy by J. M. Gregson

Perhaps someone who’s been reading Agatha Christie, as you did? Youngsters don’t always draw very clear lines between fact and fiction.’
    â€˜Not impossible, but unlikely. I think this is the work of someone who knows you and wishes to upset you, even if he or she doesn’t intend to do anything further. It may be a longer-standing grudge, of course, but the first thing to do is to check out the people you’ve seen recently. Let’s start with the people you’ve spoken to in the last week.’
    â€˜Apart from phone conversations with my daughter and David Knight, the crime novelist, there aren’t many. I attended a meeting of the Oldford Literary Festival Committee five days ago. I’m getting David Knight to speak on crime writing at the festival at the end of May.’
    â€˜Yes, I know about that. Chief Superintendent Lambert asked me to be on the platform with you, but I think he’s the man you need.’
    â€˜Yes. That was the idea of Marjorie Dooks, who chairs our committee, and I think it was a good one.’
    Bert stored this up in case he had to argue with Lambert again over the matter. He said with pen poised over his pad, ‘I need to know the names of the other people on that committee.’
    â€˜Yes.’ She realized now that she’d known from the first it would come to this, but she had a curious feeling of sneaking, a notion which came back from her schooldays over half a century ago. ‘Well, there’s Mr Lambert’s wife, of course. But I think we can discount her.’
    Bert had a splendid vision of the fun to be had when he warned his wife that her friend Christine was a suspect in this sordid little affair. ‘Nevertheless, we won’t discount her at the moment. Who else, please?’
    â€˜Well, there’s young Sam Hilton. He looks about sixteen to me, but I’m told he’s twenty-two and a poet of some standing. He’s getting the northern poet Bob Crompton to come to the festival. I’m sure this threat wouldn’t have come from Sam.’
    â€˜Even so, we’ll record his name.’
    â€˜And then there’s Ros Barker.’
    â€˜The painter?’
    â€˜Yes, she’s the one.’ Sue could not quite conceal her surprise that a policeman should know who Ros was. ‘But again, I like Ros and I think she quite likes me. I can’t think she would send anything like that.’ For the first time since she had passed it across the desk, she gestured at that sheet with its thick black print.
    â€˜We’ll add her to the list.’ Bert wrote down the name in his large round hand, then looked at her expectantly.
    â€˜And of course there’s Peter Preston. I expect you’ve heard of him.’
    â€˜Most people who live in this area know Mr Preston,’ said DS Hook rather grimly.
    â€˜Peter regards himself as an expert on the arts. That’s a little unfair; I’m quite prepared to accept that he is an expert. The trouble is that he doesn’t think that anyone’s opinion other than his is worth anything.’
    Bert realized that like many people, she had left the person she considered the likeliest suspect until the last. He nodded a couple of times and said, ‘Have you had any disagreement with the erudite Mr Preston?’
    Sue Charles frowned, trying hard to be fair. ‘He might have seen it as that. I would have said that it was no more than a difference of opinion. He doesn’t think detective fiction should be part of a literary festival.’
    â€˜And his reason for that?’
    â€˜He simply doesn’t consider crime novels to be what he calls “real literature”. He didn’t think I and the rest of the committee should have invited David Knight to speak at the festival, even though he’s a leader in our field. Marjorie Dooks shut Peter up rather effectively from the chair by reminding him that this had already been