Murder in the Museum (Fethering Mysteries) by Simon Brett

emotion.
    ‘Yes,’ said Sandy. ‘Didn’t they tell you?’
    ‘Well, obviously they told me, because I’m here. But they didn’t tell who it was coming.’
    Sandy sighed with exasperation. ‘The communications in this place are absolutely appalling.’
    ‘At least there is someone,’ said Mervyn Hunter. ‘Blokes in my hut thought I was doing a “moody visit”.’
    This prompted a chuckle from Sandy, and Jude looked at her for elucidation.
    ‘A “moody visit” is a well-known prison scam. Men pretend they’ve got a visitor, so don’t go off on their afternoon’s work duty, but are sent back to their huts to smarten up. Then they stay there all afternoon. Just another way of skiving.’
    ‘Ah. Thank you.’
    ‘Look, Jude, I’ve got some stuff to sort out, so I’ll be off.’
    ‘You’re not leaving me alone with her?’ Mervyn Hunter’s reaction was instinctive, panicked, surprisingly fearful.
    Sandy Fairbarns turned back. ‘Yes, I’ve got things to get on with. Jude has come to visit you.’
    He slumped back into his chair, and leant his cheek against the wall, as if he wanted to burrow inside it, to disappear. Jude drew up another easy chair to sit in front of him, close enough to be heard, but no closer.
    Amidst the raging noise of the hall, there was a long silence between them. Then, slowly, Mervyn Hunter moved his head round to take a quick look at her. When he saw she was looking at him, his gaze flickered away.
    ‘You don’t mind being alone with me, then?’
    Jude shook her head and looked around the room. ‘Hardly alone, are we?’
    ‘No. You’re never alone in the nick. That’s part of the punishment.’
    Again, in the general cacophony, they were a little pool of silence.
    ‘You don’t get a lot of visitors?’ asked Jude finally.
    A twitch of a head-shake. He wouldn’t let his eyes meet hers. ‘No. My family didn’t want to keep in touch after . . . And then of course her family . . . Well, they wouldn’t have come to see me, anyway . . . And other people . . . no. But I manage,’ he concluded with an unsuccessful attempt at bravado.
    Jude nodded, and let the stillness around them grow. She didn’t make the mistake of pursuing anything, picking up the hints from his words. If he wanted to tell her anything about his crime, he would do so in his own good time.
    ‘Reason I’m here,’ she said, ‘is because Sandy asked me to come.’
    ‘Why’s that?’
    ‘She thought you were down.’
    ‘I’m in the nick, aren’t I? Hardly going to be dancing round the room celebrating.’
    ‘No. Sandy was thinking you seemed able to talk to me in our sessions.’
    ‘Other blokes there then, aren’t there? Not just two of us.’ Once again he turned his cropped head to the wall, and closed his eyes as though in pain.
    ‘Mervyn, are you afraid of being alone with a woman?’
    A long time elapsed before he replied. Rain drummed relentlessly on the roof. Then, without moving his head or opening his eyes, he said, ‘Wouldn’t be that surprising if I was, would it? Given my history?’
    ‘I don’t know your history,’ said Jude evenly.
    ‘You want me to tell you?’ he challenged.
    ‘That’s entirely up to you.’
    He hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. ‘It’s in the papers, if you want to find out. Mervyn Hunter. Wetherby. 1991. You can find it if you’re interested.’
    ‘I might do that.’
    He flashed her a quick look, checking whether he was being sent up, and seemed to relax a bit when he realized he wasn’t.
    ‘How’re things going up at Bracketts? I heard that was working out quite well for you.’
    ‘Yes, it was. Thought that might be a way forward. That kind of work. I like the house. I’ve got quite interested in history, read a lot since I’ve been in the nick. And up at Bracketts it’s like . . . well, history’s right there. They’ve got some books about the house in the library there, and sometimes in my lunch break they’d let me go in