Blood at the Bookies. Simon Brett

to the demands of yoga.

      So she lit a fire and then sat down to read the manuscript of a book written by one of her healer friends. It was about control, not controlling others, but taking control of one’s own life, developing one’s own potentialities. Jude, who had read and been disappointed by more than her fair share of self-help books, thought this one was rather good.

      But her mind kept straying. The pale image of the dying Tadeusz Jankowski recurred like an old reproach. What had happened to him? Why did he have to die? She hoped she would soon have answers to those questions.

      The phone rang. Jude answered it.

      ‘Hello. Is this, Jude, please?’ The voice was female, young, heavily accented.

      ‘Yes, it is.’

      ‘It was you who found the body of Tadeusz Jankowski?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Please, I like to meet you.’

      ‘I’m sorry, who am I talking to?’

      ‘My name is Zofia Jankowska. I am the sister of Tadeusz.’