Report for Murder

by Val McDermid

Under Cordelia’s careful guidance, Lindsay drove them to a quiet cul-de-sac of tall Victorian terraced houses overlooking Highbury Fields. Feeling somewhat overawed by the fact that Cordelia’s home was obviously one of the few three-story houses that was not converted into flats, Lindsay followed Cordelia up the steps to the door. Cordelia caught sight of Lindsay’s expression and grinned.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, “it’s not as grand as it looks. My accountant told me that property was the best investment, so I lashed out on this with the proceeds of my early successes in the mass media.”

  They stepped into the narrow hall. Cordelia flicked on the subdued lighting that revealed watercolor sketches of Italian landscapes. “In here,” she said, opening one of the doors leading off the hall. Lindsay stepped through into an L-shaped living-room that was twice the size of her own in Glasgow. Four wooden-shuttered windows stretched from ceiling to floor. There was an enormous gray leather Chesterfield on one side of the fireplace and two matching wing chairs on the other side. On the polished wooden floor a couple of good Oriental rugs provided the only splashes of color. Round the corner was the dining area, furnished with an oval mahogany dining-table and six matching balloon-backed chairs.

  “My God,” said Lindsay. “It’s like living in a page out of House and Garden.”

  Mistaking her contempt for admiration, Cordelia laughed and said, “As I spend an enormous amount of time in this place, I took a great deal of time and trouble to furnish it. I indulged myself completely. Do you really like it?”

  Lindsay looked around her again in amazement. “To be honest, I don’t think I’d ever feel at home in these surroundings, Cordelia. You could buy my whole flat in Glasgow with what you’ve spent on this one room.”

  “But what’s wrong with being comfortable, for God’s sake?”

  “There’s comfort and there’s comfort. I feel comfortable in my flat with its tatty chairs that don’t match and the threadbare carpet in the spare room. Put it down to my Scottish puritanism or my politics, but I find it a bit over the top.”

  “I’m sorry if you find it oppressive—I’ll just have to reeducate you to appreciate it,” Cordelia replied acidly.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude, I was just being honest. I get outraged about anyone spending so much money on a place to live. Though I suppose if I had the money I’d lash out a bit myself.”

  “But your flat’s lovely. All the rooms are so airy. Now take my study. It has practically no light at all; even in summer I have to have the desk lamp on most of the day. My mother keeps telling me it’ll make me go blind. I tell her she’s getting muddled and my eyesight is in no danger.” They laughed. “Fancy a drink? I could do with one, and you must be exhausted after all that driving. There’s whisky, sherry, gin, vodka, you name it . . .”

  Lindsay settled for wine and together they went through to the kitchen. Cordelia said, “We’ll have something to eat. The freezer’s full of food. I have a binge every three months—I cook like mad, fill the freezer, and live out of it.”

  The conspicuous consumerism of the kitchen took Lindsay’s breath away. The units were oak, and the worktops bristled with gadgetry. “I love kitchen machines,” said Cordelia as she tossed the chosen lasagna-for-two into the microwave.

  “I never realized writing was so lucrative,” said Lindsay wryly, picturing her own kitchen whose sum total of gadgetry was a blender, a coffee grinder, and a cooker, and whose decor consisted of theatre posters begged from friends.

  “Well, to be fair, it’s not all the proceeds of my sweated labor. My grandmother died three years ago and left me rather a large legacy. That went on the deposit for this place. Most of the rest of the money has come from telly, radio, and the film I scripted last year. Crazy, isn’t it? The novels are what I really care about, but they wouldn’t allow me to live in a bedsit in Hackney, let alone here.”

  “You really are one of the obscenely privileged minority, aren’t you?” remarked Lindsay. “I don’t know what I’m doing with you at all. In my job, I see so much poverty, so much deprivation, so much exploitation, I can’t help feeling that luxury like this is obscene. Don’t you want to change things?”

  Cordelia laughed and replied lightly. “But what would you have me do? Give all I’ve got, to the poor?”

  Lindsay saw the chasm yawning at her feet. She could leave the argument lying for a future day when there might be a strong enough relationship between them to stand the weight of disagreement. Or she could pursue the subject relentlessly and kill the magic stone dead. She turned away and deliberately picked up a cookery book.

  That night, the love-making was more tentative, less urgent than before. The reverberations of their earlier differences had died down as they had explored each other’s history during the evening. Cordelia was already in bed by the time Lindsay came through from the kitchen with a tumbler of water. She undressed quickly. As she slid beneath the duvet, Cordelia turned on her side and they embraced. “All right?” she enquired.

  “I feel a bit drained, to be honest. It’s been quite a day. Margaret, Cartwright, Paddy in prison. And tonight. I haven’t worked so hard for a long time.” She smiled ruefully. “And then, boring you with my life story. Very exhausting.”

  “I wasn’t bored. But I know what you mean. I feel pretty done in too.”

  “Not so tired that all you want is sleep?”

  In reply, Cordelia leaned over and kissed her warmly.

  More than the chaotic coupling of the previous nights, it sealed them close. For the first time, neither was trying to prove anything. Lindsay lay awake as Cordelia slept. No matter how much she buried herself in the joyous sensation of making love with Cordelia, the uncomfortable thoughts wouldn’t disappear without trace. And now that she’d actually seen for herself the way her new lover lived, those uncomfortable thoughts had a new element.

  PART THREE:

  FUGUE

  13

  It was noon before Cordelia and Lindsay pulled in beside Paddy Callaghan’s Land Rover at Derbyshire House on Friday. Lindsay had felt an increasing sense of unreality as the morning had worn on. The conversation of the evening before had all but restored her to her normal frame of mind, by recalling her past and awakening her desires for the future. Somehow that all seemed very distant from what had been happening in the last few days. It seemed absurd to Lindsay that she and Cordelia should have any pretensions about being able to solve the problem of Lorna Smith-Couper’s death. She could not shake the increasing conviction that she was taking part in some elaborate but ultimately silly game. Only the presence of Cordelia made her determined to finish what they had started.

  She was not even able to pause and collect her thoughts before they came face to face with Jessica Bennett at the door of Longnor House. The girl started when she saw them and a momentary panic flashed across her eyes before she regained her composure.

  “Hello, Jessica. We haven’t actually met, but Cordelia and I wanted to have a chat with you.” Lindsay announced before the girl could escape. “We saw Miss Callaghan yesterday. She thought you might be able to help us with a couple of details. Are you busy at the moment?”

  “Well . . . I suppose not. I’m meant to be in the library for private study, but no one will check up on me if I’m not there. They’ll just assume I’m doing something else,” the girl replied nervously.

  The three of them went to Paddy’s rooms. While Cordelia made some coffee, Jessica seemed apprehensive, so Lindsay tried to put her at her ease. “What are you studying for now? Is it A levels?”

  “Yes. I’m doing music, history, and math. I know it sounds a funny combination—at least, everyone says it is—but math and music are very closely related in some ways, so it helps. The history I’m doing because I like it.”

  “That’s a good enough reason. What comes next? After this place?”

  “I’m not sure. I’d like to carry on with my music, but I don’t know if I’ll be good enough to ge
t into one of the Royal Colleges. If not, I’ll settle for reading music at university, I suppose. If my results are good enough. It’s just a matter of working hard now, I guess.”

  Lindsay reckoned that Jessica was being so forthcoming because she did not want to come round to the subject of Lorna’s death. So while the girl was still talkative, Lindsay started to slip in the more awkward questions. She said casually, “I shouldn’t imagine anyone’s getting much work done at the moment. The upheaval of the last few days must take a lot of getting used to.”

  Jessica’s air of nervousness instantly returned. “It hasn’t exactly been a help to anyone,” she replied.

  “If you’d known Miss Callaghan as long as I have, you’d know for certain she just couldn’t have been involved in this,” Lindsay said, throwing caution to the winds. “What are the girls saying?”

  “No one—at least, no one I’ve heard—can believe it. Miss Callaghan’s a marvelous housemistress. She really does have an instinct about the way people’s minds work, and she gets under your skin to know how you feel underneath. She’s always so understanding, you know? She tries to be a friend to us without being patronizing, or playing favorites, like some teachers do. She gets angry with people sometimes and lets them know it, but nobody could imagine her being so . . . so . . . you know? We like her, you see,” Jessica explained anxiously.

  “And you didn’t like Lorna Smith-Couper, did you?”

  Jessica did not flinch. She did not respond at all. Lindsay continued slowly and quietly. “We have a problem. We’re trying to get Miss Callaghan freed from prison, not just because Miss Overton has asked us to. We’re not necessarily setting out to prove that any particular person did it. What we are trying to show is that there are other people against whom there is as much or as little circumstantial evidence as that which exists against Miss Callaghan. That way, her solicitor can show up the weakness of the case against her.”

  Cordelia returned with the coffee and handed the mugs round. She took over from Lindsay, saying, “It seems to us, from what Miss Callaghan told us, that you might have some information about her movements that might possibly help. Let me repeat, we’re not trying to pin the blame on you or on anyone else. We’re simply trying to prove that other people were as likely—or unlikely, if you like—to have done this thing as Paddy. Now I think it’s possible you didn’t tell the police every detail of what you saw and heard. Perhaps you thought they might take it the wrong way because they don’t know the people concerned. But you can tell us everything. You know whose side we’re on.”

  For a moment there was stillness. Then Jessica nodded and said, “I don’t mind talking to you. You could probably find out anything I have to tell you by asking other people, anyway. And Miss Overton asked us at assembly to cooperate with you as well as with the police. But I’d rather you heard what I have to say from me and not in a garbled version from other people. What do you want to ask me?”

  The girl was still clearly very tense. There was little color in her face and her freckles stood out like a rash. But as Cordelia asked the first question, she flushed an ugly scarlet. “How did you feel about Lorna?”

  Jessica started to speak, but bit back her words. She struggled for control, then said venomously, “I hope she rots in hell. I hated her. And I despised her. I’m not surprised that someone killed her. I only wish it could have happened before she ever came near us. Then Dominic would still be alive now. I wished her dead, and I’m glad now that she is. I wish I’d had the nerve to think of doing it myself. I’d have enjoyed watching her suffer with the realization that she was paying for what she did to my brother.” She ran out of steam, seeming surprised and a little dismayed at her vehemence.

  “What did she do to your brother, Jessica?” Lindsay pushed.

  “They were going out with each other, and she promised him that she’d give him a job. She ran a string quartet and there was a vacancy for a violinist. He was really good, you know, more than good enough for her quartet. Anyway, they had a row and she ended up giving the job to someone else who wasn’t anything like as good. So Dominic applied for a job with the Garden Chamber Orchestra as a second violin. And she was such a bitch that she gave him a reference that was so unenthusiastic it cost him that job too. After that, he found it really hard to get decent work. All he ever cared about was making the best possible music. But Lorna put a stop to that. And he killed himself.” Her voice faded out, shaking and tearful.

  “Was this the first time you’d seen her since your brother’s death?” asked Lindsay.

  “I didn’t really see her, only across the room at dinner. I couldn’t face going to the concert. I couldn’t bear to hear her playing music I love. It would have hurt too much; Miss Callaghan saw that. That’s why she left me in charge of Longnor, so I wouldn’t have to be at the concert. And she sorted it all out with Miss Macdonald. I was supposed to be in the choir, you see, with a small solo. They got Karina Holgate to do it instead.”

  “But you did come across to the hall, didn’t you? I thought I saw you talking to Caroline Barrington,” said Lindsay.

  Jessica nodded and took a gulp of coffee. “I thought the police would have asked me about that, but no one seems to have told them I was there. I told you I was left in charge of Longnor. Well, one of the fourth-formers was ill. She kept being sick, and I suspected she might have been drinking. I didn’t want to be responsible for what might happen, so I thought it was best to come across to find Miss Callaghan.”

  “Did you see anyone hanging around outside, or anything else suspicious?”

  Jessica shook her head. “There were quite a few people milling around outside the hall, but they all looked as if they were going to the concert. I recognized one or two of them because I’ve seen them in the town, and some of them because they’re parents. I saw Caroline’s father getting out of his car when I came across, but I don’t think he can have stayed for the concert because his car had gone when I came back with Miss Callaghan. But you’d better ask Caroline about that.”

  Lindsay and Cordelia exchanged a look. Yet another complication had emerged. “What happened when you got to the hall?” Cordelia asked.

  “I asked Caroline if she’d seen Miss Callaghan and she said she thought she was still backstage. I went through and asked one or two people if they’d seen her, but everyone was too busy to have noticed. I went down the side passage as far as the storeroom to see if she was there, but there was no sign of her. Then I went back to the main corridor and looked into the rest of the music rooms. I finally found her just outside Miss Macdonald’s room, round the corner. I told her what had happened and she said I’d done the right thing and came straight back with me. She stayed in Longnor then for about half an hour.” She ground to a halt.

  “Did it seem to you as if Miss Callaghan had just come out of Miss Macdonald’s room?” asked Lindsay cautiously.

  “I don’t think so. There are a few steps that lead down to the room. She was about halfway down them, looking out of the window down the front drive.” She hesitated, then said in a rush, “She seemed to be miles away. I had to speak to her twice before she heard me.”

  Lindsay and Cordelia looked at each other, both filled with dread at the thought of how this new evidence could be made to sound by a good prosecuting counsel. Then Cordelia roused herself and said, “Did she seem upset or agitated at all, Jessica?”

  “No, she just seemed to be very thoughtful. Preoccupied. Usually she’s very lively and chatty. It was as if she had something on her mind. Not as if she’d just killed someone, if that’s what you mean—not like that at all. She couldn’t have done that, could she? Not someone like Miss Callaghan?”

  “We don’t believe so, no,” said Lindsay. “Are you sure you didn’t go any further down the side passage than the storeroom? You said you checked all the other music rooms on the main corridor. Didn’t you check Music 2?”

  “No, I definitely didn’t go all the way down the corridor.
”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I knew that’s where Lorna Smith-Couper had to be. I knew who was supposed to be in which room. I’d been involved with everything up to the last minute. I thought I could face her, so I’d taken part in the preparations. I knew the only room she could be in was Music 2 and she was the last person I wanted to see. If Miss Callaghan had been with her, I would just have had to wait till she came out again, or tried to find Matron. Nothing would have induced me to go anywhere near that room.”

  “Why didn’t you get Matron in the first place? Why come to the music rooms for Miss Callaghan at all?” asked Lindsay.

  “Because I thought the girl had been drinking. I thought Miss Callaghan would deal with it more sort of sensibly than Matron.”

  “Okay. Now, when you went down to the Storeroom, did you see anyone outside Music 2?”

  “I couldn’t see round the corner of the corridor. But I did hear someone running down the back stairs. It sounded like someone wearing high heels. Could that be important, do you think?”

  Cordelia replied, “I don’t think that would tell the police anything they don’t know already,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. The last thing she wanted was for the girl to think she had any ulterior motive in keeping her from giving information to the police. Lindsay and Cordelia exchanged a worried look. Almost certainly it was Cordelia that Jessica had heard. But if they encouraged her to go to the police with that corroboration, she might also tell them about Paddy’s state outside Margaret Macdonald’s room. The question of what to do for the best completely put out of their minds any other questions they might have wanted to ask Jessica.

  “Is that all, then,” the red-head asked.

  Lindsay nodded. “Yes, thank you. You’ve been quite a help to us. You’d better get off to the library now in case anyone’s looking for you.”

  Jessica rose and went to the door. As she left, she turned and said shyly, “I hope you manage to clear Miss Callaghan. We all miss her.” And she was gone.