A Killing Resurrected (19 page)

In fact, he was startled into wakefulness when the bell over the door jangled harshly as Claire came into the shop. He'd been browsing through an old copy of an art magazine, and had begun to drift.

‘Claire!' he said neutrally. ‘What brings you here? I left a message for you after Kevin told me what had happened at the house, in fact I left a couple. Are you all right?'

‘I'm fine,' she told him, ‘and I'm sorry I didn't ring you back, but I've been rather busy, what with the police, the house, and trying to keep up with my business. But I bring good news. My client has agreed to buy the seascape we spoke about last time I was here, so I hope you haven't sold it to someone else in the meantime. Eighteen hundred, wasn't it?' She flashed a smile of mock guilt. ‘I hope it was, because that's the price I quoted, and that's the price he's agreed to pay.'

‘You're joking, of course?' he said, half believing she might be but hoping she wasn't. ‘I told you
maybe
twelve hundred.'

‘And I told you it was worth more than that,' Claire countered.

‘Then you must have the difference as a commission,' he said. ‘And thank, you, Claire. Thank you very much.'

‘You're very welcome, David,' she said, ‘but no commission. Your seascape fits in beautifully with the motif we are trying to create, which helps me, so there is no way I'm going to accept a commission for that.'

He eyed her for a long moment, but could see from the set of her mouth that there was no point in arguing. ‘Then let me buy you dinner,' he said. ‘You name the place. Anywhere you want to go. This is fantastic! Are you free tonight?'

‘I am and I'd like that,' she said. ‘How about Torino's?' It was a small Italian restaurant, tucked away in an alley off Cross Lane, and Claire knew of David's fondness for Italian food. She had been there a number of times herself, and she'd never been disappointed. The pasta was excellent, the cheeses superb, and you could sit there in one of the brick-lined alcoves as long as you liked, sipping wine and enjoying the ambience and the company.

‘Great,' he said, glancing at the time. ‘I have some cleaning up to do, but I'll give them a ring now and book a table. Would seven be all right for you?'

Later that evening, as they were finishing dinner, David raised his glass and said, ‘To you, Claire. Selling that painting couldn't have come at a better time. And as for eighteen hundred? Wow! It really is a lifesaver, because it will give me a bit of breathing room while I decide what to do.'

‘Is business really that bad?' Claire asked.

He nodded. ‘I'm afraid it is,' he confessed. ‘In fact, it's been going downhill for some time now. There are all sorts of reasons I could give you, but it comes down to me in the end. I'm not a businessman, Claire, I'm a painter. My shop is too small, it's in the wrong place, and I can't afford to carry enough really good stock to attract people away from the shopping centres. The Internet doesn't help, either. And to make matters worse, I have almost no time for painting, and the light in my place . . .' He spread his hands. ‘Well, you've seen it, haven't you?'

She nodded. It wasn't just small, it was
dingy
! How he could even begin to be creative in a place like that she couldn't imagine.

It had never crossed her mind until that moment, but suddenly Claire had a vision of David Taylor in front of an easel in the conservatory in Aunt Jane's house – her house now. There was plenty of light and plenty of room; it would be ideal! For that matter, there was more than enough room in the house for both of them and that would solve his housing problem as well.

On the other hand, she hadn't made up her mind about whether to move in herself, so it would be cruel to raise David's hopes until she was sure. Perhaps she should take a bit more time to think it through.

Claire picked up her glass and gave a sympathetic nod. ‘I think you've done very well to have survived at all, considering the odds,' she said. ‘Do you have any sort of plan of action in mind?'

He shook his head. ‘It's going to be hard to find someone to take over the lease, especially the way things are today. However, with what I've managed to scrape together, and the proceeds from the painting, I can at least get some of my creditors off my back, and that should give me time to work something out with the bank.'

‘What would you really
like
to do, David?'

He smiled. ‘I'd
like
to go somewhere quiet and peaceful and just spend my time painting and not have to worry about anything else,' he said wistfully, ‘but I know that's not going to happen, so my first priority will be to find a job and a place to live.'

‘I just wish there was something I could do . . .' Claire began, then stopped, afraid her innermost thoughts might betray her.

‘There's not much anyone can do,' he said, ‘and I shouldn't be burdening you with my problems, especially after what you've done for me today. We came out to celebrate.' He raised his glass again. ‘So, thanks again, Claire. Here's to tomorrow and a brighter future!'

They drank and set their glasses down. ‘Now,' he said, ‘I'm afraid it's been all about me so far, and I apologize for that.' His voice took on a serious tone as he continued. ‘What's happening with the police investigation? It certainly looks as if it stirred someone up if they tried to set fire to the house. Thank God you were able to scare him off. Do you think they knew you were in the house?'

Claire shook her head. ‘I'm pretty sure they didn't. They probably assumed the house was empty, because they weren't bothering to be quiet while they were sloshing all that petrol about.'

Impulsively, he reached across the table to cover Claire's hand with his own. ‘Do the police have any idea who did it? Kev said they've been talking to everyone who was at the party, and I half expected your Chief Inspector friend to come round again, but I haven't heard from him at all.'

‘It's probably only a matter of time,' Claire told him. ‘He came to see me yesterday. He was looking for some background on the people who were at the party last Saturday.'

David frowned. ‘Background?' he said. ‘What sort of background? And why would he come to you? What was he after?'

‘Nothing that would incriminate anyone, if that's what you mean,' Claire said lightly. ‘And I assume he came to me because I've been involved from the beginning, and I was the one who let it slip that the police were going to search the house. As he said, to him they were just names on a piece of paper, and all he wanted from me was a sort of thumbnail sketch of who they were and how they came to be at the party.'

‘Isn't that rather odd? I mean what did you tell him about me, for example?'

‘Just that you were there along with everyone else.' Puzzled, Claire withdrew her hand. ‘Why? Is there something I
shouldn't
have told him, David? I don't understand. I've said nothing detrimental about you or anyone else, and yet I get the uncomfortable feeling that you think I shouldn't be talking to the police at all. I know it's a long time after the fact, and it won't bring your father back, but I thought you would be pleased to know that they are trying to find the people who killed him.'

Claire sat back in her chair and eyed him quizzically. ‘Why are you so nervous about the police talking to me?' she asked quietly. ‘There's something you're not telling me, and I'd like to know what it is, because you've been worried about it ever since I came to the flat the other night. Why do I have the feeling that you think I've done something wrong?'

David Taylor sighed heavily. ‘You haven't done anything wrong, Claire,' he said. ‘It's me. My own guilty conscience about how things were back then. You never knew my father, did you?'

‘No, I didn't. Unfortunately, the one clear memory I do have of him is when he shouted at me and told me to get my sticky little fingers off the glass display case. I think I was about five or six at the time, and he scared the daylights out of me.'

‘Scared the daylights out of me a good many times as well when I was growing up,' David confessed. ‘He could be very sharp, even with his customers. He was a hard worker and a good man in many ways, but everything – and I do mean
everything
– had to be done his way. He had our lives mapped out right from the time Kevin and I were born, and as kids we accepted that. But as we grew older, and developed a few opinions of our own, things became more difficult, especially for me, because I wasn't prepared to follow the plan.'

‘The plan . . .?'

‘That Kevin and I should have the education he never had, and go on to university with the ultimate goal of going into one of the professions: doctor, dentist, lawyer, whatever, it didn't matter as long as it was a recognized profession, and an arts degree just didn't cut it. He tried everything he could think of to dissuade me. He would remind me that he and my mother had gone without a lot of things so my brother and I could have a good education, and by rejecting what was good for me, I was throwing it back in their faces. There was money in the bank for our education, but it was not going to be frittered away on some fanciful idea that I could earn a living by painting. In short, he did his best to make me feel guilty about the path I'd chosen.'

David took a sip of wine and set the glass down again. ‘And he succeeded,' he said quietly. ‘Believe me, Claire, I tried to get him to see it would be a sheer waste of time and money for me to follow Kevin, because I had no interest in any of those things, but he wouldn't listen. I just wanted to let the matter drop, but Dad wouldn't let it go. He kept sniping at me every chance he got, and he was doing it again on the morning he died. He was upset to begin with, because something had gone wrong with the first batch of loaves that morning, and we were running behind, so he took it out on me.

‘He kept going on about how hard they'd saved to make sure that Kevin and I would make something of our lives, and how ungrateful I was . . .' David looked away as he said, ‘I just lost it, Claire. I told him I didn't want his money, and I was quite capable of making it on my own, and I had no intention of spending my life living his dream.'

David picked up his glass and emptied it. ‘And that's the last thing I said to him before leaving to do the morning deliveries,' he said. He set the glass down. ‘I know I can't change things, but I can't help wishing I hadn't said some of the things I did that day.' He flicked an apologetic glance at Claire. ‘So when you told me the other night that the investigation was on again, everything came rushing back, and I'm afraid I overreacted. So between that and Barry's suicide, I . . .'

Claire frowned. ‘Barry's suicide?' she said. ‘What did that have to do with it?'

But David brushed the question aside. ‘Nothing,' he said tersely. ‘Just that it happened so soon after, that's all.'

He drew a deep breath. ‘But that's enough of that!' he said lightly. ‘I'm becoming positively maudlin, and we came out to celebrate. You should have stopped me, Claire.' He picked up the bottle. ‘Can't let this go to waste. More wine? Let's have your glass.'

‘No need to apologize,' Claire said, allowing him to top up her glass. ‘I'm glad you told me because . . . well, I did wonder. I'm just sorry I was the one to stir up old memories. Funny how you and Kevin are so different. Did he ever take sides?'

David laughed. ‘As a matter of fact Kevin benefited from my scraps with Dad, because it kept Dad's attention off him and his relationship with Steph.'

Clair looked puzzled. ‘Why? What was wrong with that?' she asked. ‘I would have thought he would be pleased that Kevin was going to be marrying the daughter of the head of a law firm.'

David made a face. ‘He would have been,' he said, ‘if it hadn't been for the infamous Cornish pasty case, when Dad was sued by a customer who became ill after eating one of our Cornish pasties.

‘You see, Dad and Ed Bradshaw used to be friends. Not close friends, but they'd known each other for a long time. So when he found out that Ed was acting for the customer who was suing Dad over some tainted Cornish pasties that had come from our ovens, he was furious with Ed, and from that time on it was not a good idea to mention Ed Bradshaw's name around our house.

‘So, when Dad found out that Kevin was dating Stephanie Bradshaw, that
really
set him off. He told Kevin he could forget any support, financial or otherwise, from him if he continued to see Steph, and told him flat out to drop her.

‘Well, you know Kevin; he's nothing if not a realist, and tuition fees, especially for someone reading Law, were pretty steep even back then, so Kevin told Dad he'd dropped her. He hadn't, of course, in fact the two of them were living together on campus, but they had to be very careful whenever they came home between semesters. It was tricky at times, especially after Kevin went to work for Ed Bradshaw, and . . .'

David sucked in his breath and stopped speaking. ‘But that is another story,' he said, ‘and I've bored you enough for one evening, Claire. Care to go clubbing when we leave here?'

‘Thank you, but no,' Claire said. ‘Pleasant as this has been, I don't want to be late home tonight, because I have a lot of catching up to do. And don't change the subject. What were you about to say about Kevin going to work for Ed Bradshaw?'

But David refused to be drawn, and when they parted company later that evening, her question still remained un-answered. As did the question David had brushed aside when she'd asked why he had mentioned the suicide of Barry Grant in the same breath as his problems with his father.

I
t wasn't the sort of venue Molly Forsythe would have chosen for an interview, but Peter Anderson had insisted on it. ‘It is the only time I have free, today,' he'd told her on the phone. ‘I leave tonight for a conference in Stockholm, so it is either there this morning or you'll have to wait until after I come back a week from today.'