‘Come on, Hugh,’ Doc said. ‘This is a good place. Some of us have spent most of our lives here. We’ve had a run of bad luck, that’s all.’
‘And we’re still having it,’ Hugh said explosively. ‘By god, this had better not be some scheme he came up with. Half the country doesn’t know what’s happened here. It’d make a neat enough cover for some other … Oh, hell.’ He rested his forehead on his hands atop the back of the chair. ‘Will you just tell me who it is … please?’
Doc frowned, his concern clear, but he shook his head, no.
‘Who are you talking about, Hugh. Who is the “he” you’re talking about.’
Hugh said, ‘Forget it.’
‘We’re supposed to wait here on our own,’ Alex said. ‘I feel horrible. This has been a horrible day but you know how O’Reilly is. Any detectives would be the same way. They give the orders, Hugh. Hold on and everyone will know the whole thing. But who did you mean just then? Please, who were you talking about?’
‘I don’t know anything anymore,’ he said. He looked up and shook his head. ‘It’s not your fault, but if it turns out the way I’m afraid it could, I’ll have a lot to say.’
‘Oh, Hugh. What are you trying to say? What—’
He pushed away from his chair and walked out before Alex could finish. She looked at Tony and turned up her hands. ‘What did that mean? I’m not surprised he feels badly if something awful happened to a tenant in his … estate, I suppose. But there’s something else there. Am I wrong?’
Tony grasped her hand and kissed her fingers lightly. ‘No, darling. You’re not wrong, there’s something really strange about his reaction. But can we agree not to mention anything about it to the police?’
His father drew his brows down and nodded slowly. ‘Absolutely. It’s too easy to raise unnecessary suspicion.’
‘You’re right,’ Alex agreed.
‘Coffee and sandwiches,’ Lily said through the hatch to the back of the bar. ‘Ham and cheese. Egg salad. Cheese and tomato. Tuna mayonnaise. Let me know if you want more.’
She got a rousing ‘thank you’, and withdrew. Lily had a built-in sense of appropriate behavior.
Doc moved the plates and cups from the pass through to the table and sat down again.
‘Okay,’ Tony said, still holding on to Alex’s hand. ‘Why did you rush off to see Sybil Davis? Right before Wicks turned up to tell us to come here?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘You don’t …’ Now what? ‘Why wouldn’t you talk about it? To us?’
‘Because I don’t know what I saw or if I saw anything at all. When you’ve said something, you can’t take it back and I don’t want to get someone in trouble they don’t deserve. I need to be quiet and think about it. That isn’t going to happen yet, so please drop it. When I can think it through and maybe check something out, I’ll explain. I promise. Okay?’
Before he could answer, Detective Chief Inspector O’Reilly and Detective Sergeant Bill Lamb came in, closed the door and seated themselves at the table.
‘Elyan Quillam’s father is on his way back from London,’ Dan O’Reilly said. ‘No point in wasting time there until he gets home.’ His Irish accent was familiar.
‘Where’s Elyan?’ Tony asked. ‘I thought you wanted all of us where you could find us easily.’
‘None of your business,’ Bill Lamb said, in character as usual. His guileless blue eyes belied the brusque voice. He continued to wear his sandy hair in a thick crewcut, but not too short even though it stood straight up.
‘We left an officer at the house,’ Dan said mildly. ‘Elyan’s probably passed out by now. Poor kid is shocked and exhausted. He didn’t tell anyone in his family what happened and we only gave a bare bones explanation. With an officer sitting watch, it’s likely to stay quiet. There’s staff wandering around. They’re shattered. When we get a call, we’ll go back.’
‘How have you two been?’ Tony asked and thought, The devil made me say it.
Lamb glared but O’Reilly nodded, dug out a rumpled bag of sweets and said, ‘Same old, same old. Can’t complain. Sherbet lemon?’
They all demurred but O’Reilly pulled out one of his favorite sticky yellow sweets, popped it in his mouth and sucked, giving the expected wince when the sharp sherbet exploded.
Tony caught Alex’s eye and they grinned. Some things didn’t change and that could be comforting.
Lamb went to the hatch and ordered a lime and lemon. O’Reilly said he wanted coffee.
‘Now,’ O’Reilly said. ‘Let’s go through it from the beginning.’
For the first time, Tony heard Alex explain what had happened that morning, all the way through. He detested seeing her so deflated and sad. She finished by telling O’Reilly she thought Laura had passed out and hit her head as she fell.
‘That’s it, then,’ Bill Lamb said. ‘Case solved by the resident expert. We can all go home.’
‘Damn, you’re a sarcastic bastard,’ Tony said.
His father laughed while he piled sandwiches on a small plate.
Scratching at the door got Dan O’Reilly out of his chair immediately. He let Katie in with Bogie a close second. Both dogs waggled to the policeman and when he sat down, fussed around his knees.
‘Long memories,’ Tony said.
O’Reilly only shrugged but he ruffled the two animals’ coats and accepted licks with obvious pleasure.
‘You’re sure the victim was dead when you found her?’ Lamb said to Alex.
‘No. Or I wasn’t. Not until Doc Harrison got there. She was singing and playing the piano until …’
‘Until what?’ Lamb said.
‘I don’t know. I walked around the churchyard. I was thinking. I had a lot on my mind.’
‘Like what?’ Lamb said.
‘None of your business,’ Tony said and enjoyed it too much to feel childish – or too childish.
‘Anything in particular on your mind?’ O’Reilly asked, smiling slightly. ‘That might have a bearing on the incident?’
Alex hung her head back. ‘Nothing like that. I was deciding on a memorial bench for someone special to me. I took a while walking around the graveyard, looking for the right spot. And there were some riders and dogs – I love to watch them. Then I went back to the church. It was quiet and I went inside to see if I could catch whoever had been singing. She had a fabulous, moody voice. A blues voice. I wanted to tell her how much I enjoyed it and that I hoped I’d hear her again.’
A memorial bench, Tony thought. She’d been distant for weeks but he wasn’t sure why, unless she was afraid of getting in too deep with him. Was the bench for the little girl she lost? He was fairly sure it was. He’d like to have a child, with her, but there never seemed to be a right moment to talk about it. And now he couldn’t imagine ever mentioning the subject to her.
‘And you, doctor?’ O’Reilly said. ‘You decided, what?’
‘She was dead. There was a significant blow to the head, behind the left temple. The brass music stand could be involved, but I don’t know how heavy it is or whether it would fall over with the impact. It was still standing when I saw it. I don’t know what the police surgeon thinks, we didn’t speak yet, but I imagine she’ll agree we have to wait for the post-mortem.’
Lamb ate sandwiches, one after another.
‘We don’t expect the results of that before tomorrow, if we’re lucky,’ O’Reilly said. ‘Depends on the backlog. But you didn’t get anything else you thought might be interesting? Out of synch?’
Tony’s dad looked steadily at O’Reilly, a look his son knew meant that he was making up his mind what should come next. At last he said, ‘Let’s wait for the surgeon’s findings. I can say the young woman was dead when I got there. That she had a significant blow to the head. Anything else needs to wait.’
‘He does think something else,’ Lamb said, his voice rising. ‘You’re holding back, doc. What did you see that you thought was off?’
Doc pursed his mouth, shook his head. ‘Uh uh. That would be speculation. Just like Dr Lewis, I don’t have anything else to give you without substantiation.’ He slid back in his chair and crossed his arms. ‘I’d like to stand in on the post-mortem, if that’s possible.’
O’Reilly was giving Doc a measured look when his own mobile rang. He answered and listened, hung up. ‘We need to go,’ he told Lamb. ‘The rest of you, remember, don’t fuel the talk. Keep your own counsel – unless you hear what you think you already know coming from someone who wasn’t there. We’ll need to speak with each of you.’
Alex put down a cup of coffee that had to be cold. ‘If they do tell us something new, what are we supposed to say then?’
‘Nothing,’ Lamb snapped. ‘Come straight to us.’
SIX
‘Must be nice,’ Lamb said. ‘Just a little hovel away from home.’
‘At your sarcastic best, Bill?’
‘Look at it. The driveway’s about five miles long.’
Dan grinned. ‘Could be two. But that’s long enough. Place is beautiful but people who own piles like this have the money, so what?’
‘So how does the manager of a local pub own an estate like this?’
The mystery of Hugh Rhys had not eluded Dan. ‘We’ll find out. But don’t get too excited. He won’t be the first rich man who opts for a simple life.’
‘If he wants it so simple, why the palatial digs?’
Dan drummed his fingers on the console. ‘We’ve got a bit of a balls-up here. Not that it’s a surprise. This lot in Folly always spell trouble and a messy case.’
‘They get on my wick,’ Bill said. ‘I honestly think we’d shove the case to someone else if we weren’t so damn curious about what they’re up to this time.’
He wasn’t getting into that discussion. ‘It’s the contamination of evidence I’m talking about. And not necessarily the physical. They’ve had nothing but time together. Nothing but time to shine up their facts. They’re back there now – all cozy and comparing notes. The only one missing is the boy, so keep your ears pinned and your eyes peeled. Comparing their story with his is going to be critical.’
Bill hunkered down in his seat. ‘He’d have to say something earth-shattering to be useful.’
‘He wasn’t there when Alex allegedly fell,’ Dan said. ‘None of them were. Allegedly.’
‘You saw her elbows. Left one was bleeding and she didn’t even know it till she pushed up her sleeves after we got there. She should have bruises in other places.’
‘Yeah.’ Dan wasn’t worried about proving Alex had bruises, he had seen the ones on her elbows, and the grazed palms.
The house came into view. A beautiful, angular, many-roofed building of warm gold Cotswold stone. Espaliered pyracantha climbed walls on a large porch, the masses of red berries ablaze in the sun.
‘Tennis courts,’ Bill said, pointing to the right of the house. ‘What do you bet they’ve got a swimming pool, too?’
‘I quite like the black Bentley, myself,’ Dan said, and meant it. Behind the Bentley, in the drive that circled in front of the house, a red and white mini, shiny and new as it was, looked as if it should be in some staff parking area.
‘Think the Bentley’s Quillam Senior’s?’ Bill scanned the leaded pane windows on the lower floor, some set at odd angles where different segments of the building ducked in to meet one of the recessed walls. There were stained glass brow windows in jewel colors.
‘The call I got said Percy Quillam was on his way and should be home by now,’ Dan said. ‘Park in front of the Bentley or we’re likely to get blocked in if someone else comes. You do know we have to step carefully here, don’t you?’
As usual, the expression in Bill Lamb’s pale blue eyes gave no clue to what he was thinking. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘What are you going to say about the cause of death?’
‘That depends. I’ll size him up, first. There could be something to be said for holding back, or for the shock value of laying right out what has a good chance of being true. What’s the wife’s name?’
‘Sonia,’ Lamb said promptly. He took the parking spot Dan had suggested. ‘Then there’s a piano teacher called Sebastian Carstens. Sebastian’s a poncy name.’
‘Is it?’ Rising to Bill’s goading might please Dan’s sergeant but it was a waste of energy. They had different views on more than they agreed about. He pulled out his notebook and leafed through a few pages. ‘His little girl is Daisy.’
‘Didn’t know he had a kid. Do they live here?’
‘They live wherever the virtuoso lives. I gather from talking to Maud Meeker on the phone that the only reason any of them bother to live at all is to mollycoddle the prodigy. There’s an agent. Italian name I don’t remember but he’s in London most of the time.’
‘Who is Maud Meeker?’
‘Housekeeper,’ Dan said shortly. ‘They’re using local casual help for other things. Barbara and Crystal, I think Edie said. Potter twins. We’ve sat here long enough. Off we go.’
Bill leaned on the window and spread an arm along his seatback. ‘This ought to be an accident. Given the way it looks. But you don’t think so. Why?’
‘If the post-mortem sets me straight, we’re out of here,’ Dan said. ‘Let’s leave it at that for now.’
He got out of the unmarked Lexus and walked around the bonnet. By the time Bill slammed his door and Dan started up the front steps beneath a stone-covered porch, a heavy front door had swung open.
A stocky man with gray hair scraped back into a tail at his nape erupted toward them. He looked a bit late 1700s in a knee-length velvet coat, trousers that hugged heavily muscled calves and a gold and black striped cravat tied in a floppy bow and draping over the mostly green coat.
Puffy white sleeves flowed beneath his coat cuffs and he spread his arms like an exotic bird about to take flight. ‘Come in, come in,’ he boomed. ‘Can’t get a sensible word out of Elyan and the rest insist they don’t know anything. I leave them alone for a few hours and the whole bloody lot falls apart. What’s happened? All Sebastian would say was that Laura was taken ill. Where is she? Why is that any business of the police? I’m Percy Quillam, by the way. Elyan’s father.’
Not Laura’s father?
A broad, curving staircase overshadowed the entry hall. Paintings, all of them rather too dark and ominous-looking for Dan’s taste, lined the hall walls and swathed the staircase. The walls themselves were covered in heavily woven gold silk.
Where, Dan wondered, were the flunkies who ought to be hovering?
In a room dominated by a grand piano, where white drapes pulled back from the windows fell in artful puddles on light oak floors as clear and bright as mirrors, Percy waved them toward tapestry couches and chairs in shades of rose and red that Dan assumed were antiques. He had learned the house came furnished and became increasingly interested in Hugh Rhys, the pub manager, since almost everything in sight belonged to him. It was doubtful that big money was to be made betting on dart matches but he wouldn’t buy this house, or furnish the place on a pub manager’s salary. He hadn’t forgotten the man owned a 1939 BMW Frazer Nash either. Any connection between Rhys’s finances and the dead girl were unlikely, but they were titillating.
Percy had gone directly to a chinoiserie credenza old enough to show cracks in its pagodas, and lifted the stopper from a decanter. Without asking, he poured liberal measures into three glasses, turned to hand one to each policeman and took his own to a couch close to the gray marble fireplace.
‘Sit,’ he said, taking a hearty swallow from his own glass. ‘Gad, I’m sorry. It’s whisky, Macallan. Not bad, but if you’d rather have something else …’ He let his sentence fade.
Like Dan, Bill muttered nothing in particular and sipped at what was a very tasty single malt. Dan sat and put his glass on a gilded, spindly-legged table. Bill followed suit. Neither of them drank on duty – but there hadn’t been an appropriate pause to say as much.
‘
Your son hasn’t given you the details about what happened this morning?’
‘My son is apparently too upset to talk to his father. So exhausted, he’s sleeping.’ Quillam looked disgusted.
Bill produced a notebook from an inside pocket in his jacket and flipped it open. He waited with a pen hovering over the paper.
‘Is Laura’s mother here?’ Dan said. He began to wonder if Percy Quillam was trying to control the situation by keeping all other family members out of the way.
He coughed. ‘Audrey, her mother died years ago. While Laura was a small girl. Sonia is my second wife. Elyan’s mother.’
‘Is Mrs Quillam here?’
‘She’s resting.’
Dan shifted on the couch. ‘I’m sure we can cover a great deal with you but we will want to talk with everyone in the household.’
‘Why?’ Quillam’s jaw jutted.
‘Because we have questions for them. At least some of them must have interacted with your daughter before she left for the church.’
Color rose in Quillam’s cheeks. ‘Church?’
‘St Aldwyn’s in the village. She went there to play the piano and sing.’
The man’s eyes bulged. He swallowed, slugged down the rest of his drink and got up to refill his glass. ‘I don’t know what you’re suggesting,’ he said. ‘Laura doesn’t attend church.’
‘She used the piano and sang,’ Dan said. ‘She wasn’t attending church.’
‘If she wants to play a piano, she need not leave this house to do that.’
‘That’s what she did today,’ Bill told him. ‘The woman who found her said your daughter was singing …’ He looked to Dan for help. ‘What was she singing?’
‘Jazz. I think Alex said. Blues?’
Quillam rolled his glass back and forth across his forehead. ‘Now I see,’ he said. ‘Defying me as usual. Always defying me. She got sick and I’m not surprised. It’s too much for her. They all thought I wouldn’t find out and now they don’t want to admit they colluded in her nonsense – messing around with that rubbish. They know how I’m going to react. Where is she?’
Melody of Murder Page 5
