SECRET CRIMES a gripping crime thriller full of suspense (18 page)

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ he asked. All he got in reply was a shrug. The older brother said his sibling had returned to Italy some years before.

On leaving the office Marsh spoke to a younger family member, who was busy unloading stores from a delivery van. The young man told Marsh that Uncle Briano still visited them at Christmas. Then he spotted his father watching from the window and refused to say any more.

* * *

‘There was a distinct similarity to our man,’ Marsh reported to Sophie back in Swanage. ‘Neither of the brothers really wanted to talk about him. It was lucky I bumped into the son while we were coming out, otherwise we’d be nowhere. I’m convinced they’re hiding something. If it is him, he might well be back in Italy by now, and that’ll make things difficult for us.’

‘Let’s put someone onto it. If his proper name is Briano rather than Brian it might explain why we haven’t been able to find him. By the way, how did you get on with Jimmy this morning? Has he twigged anything about Rae?’

‘No, not as far as I can tell. He just thinks she’s a lesbian. I think he’s suffering from a bruised ego after she turned him down.’

‘Allbright has guessed. I’ve told her to treat Rae the same as any other woman officer. I took a low-key approach, and I think she’ll toe the line. I hope you’re right, and Jen really is as understanding as she appears. The trouble is, appearances can be deceptive in these situations. Apparently fair-minded people can turn bloody-minded and people you think are bigoted can be as wise as Solomon . . . I’m off to visit Rosemary with a note from our Mr Wilton. His story does seem to ring true, so it looks as though I’m in for a part as a go-between.’

‘Doesn’t sound much like fun,’ said Marsh.

‘Hmm. I’m going to invite them to my house for a meal, and try my hand at cooking. It’s something I rarely do. Martin and Jade are such good cooks. There won’t be any opportunities for hanky-panky between them, not with Jade on the case. She’s enough to intimidate anyone, believe me. But then you’ve met her, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, at your father’s funeral and, before that, at last December’s charity do. She sat opposite us at the meal. It was about then that Sammie and I realised that maybe we weren’t meant for each other.’

‘Probably not a coincidence, knowing my daughter the way I do, although I have to say that she is mellowing slightly as she gets older.’

‘Just slightly?’

‘Do you want to come along as well and see the sparks fly? That’s if you aren’t already booked this evening?’ There was a pause. ‘Bring Gwen as well. It’s a long time since I last saw her, and you weren’t a couple then. The more the merrier, though I’ll only be doing a fish pasta bake.’

‘Thanks, ma’am. I’m sure Gwen will enjoy watching.’

‘Could you collect Ed Wilton on your way? We can give the duty man the evening off.’

Chapter 17: Round Midnight

Friday evening

Barry Marsh hurried his two passengers across the pathway. They huddled together in the porch of the old cottage, trying to shelter from a sudden downpour. Jade Allen opened the front door and welcomed them into the warm interior. Jade seemed to have grown another inch or two since Marsh had last seen her. She was now an attractive young woman, taller and slimmer. She was dressed in deep red and black. She smiled at Marsh.

‘I remember you, Barry. So this must be Gwen, and you,’ she wagged her finger, ‘must be Ed Wilton, the composer. I’ve heard of you from your music. Come in out of the rain, and I’ll take your coats. Mum’s in the kitchen burning the dinner. Dad’s in the lounge chatting up a blonde.’ She ushered them into the hallway and hung their coats up. ‘I get so fed up with blondes, don’t you, Gwen? Acting as if they own the world, simpering over any man who happens to be around? Doesn’t it make you want to weep? Really!’

Gwen Davis laughed. ‘My feelings exactly. I think that we brunettes should unite, don’t you? Once women get full equality and the feminist movement isn’t needed any more, we should start a pro-brunette campaign.’

‘I’m glad you came,’ Jade added. ‘I was feeling outnumbered, being the only brunette. Not that I can’t hold my own against them, you understand. They’re a bit of a lightweight species really. But I’d have had to hold back out of common courtesy and that’s quite hard for me to do.’

‘Sorry, but who are we talking about here?’ asked Marsh. ‘Men or blondes?’

‘Blondes of course,’ Jade replied. ‘Men don’t even count. Though I suppose they must have their uses.’

‘Hmm. What does your father say to that?’

‘He’s a supporter of feminism, so we get along. Anyway, dear guests, follow me into the lounge. I will endeavour to make you comfortable while Mum continues to ruin the fish I carefully chose for this evening’s meal. Please ignore the smell of charred food that permeates the air. She does try, really.’

Marsh smiled. He had always avoided talking to Jade because she made him feel so uneasy. He couldn’t quite keep up. No change there, he thought. He took Gwen’s hand and Ed Wilton followed them into the lounge. He didn’t follow for long. As soon as he saw Rosemary Corrigan sitting on a couch he stepped towards her. At the same moment she rose, her hand to her mouth.

‘Ed! I didn’t know.’ She fell into his arms, nearly knocking him over.

‘Young love,’ said Jade, sardonically.

Gwen tried to suppress a giggle and choked, at which point Martin Allen appeared with a tray of drinks. ‘Looks like these are needed,’ he said. ‘Chilled bubbly. One for you, too, Jade.’ He stopped and looked at the newly arrived guests in surprise, Rosemary was sobbing into Ed’s shoulder, and Gwen was coughing into Barry’s. ‘What on earth has Jade been saying now?’

‘Oh, right. Blame it all on me, Dad. As if my mere presence can set off hysteria and oxygen starvation. Even my personality isn’t that powerful.’

‘Jade, just cut out the theatricals and help pass the drinks round, will you?’

By now Gwen had stopped coughing. ‘She gave us all a lovely welcome, Mr Allen. I love your home, by the way.’ She looked around at the low-ceilinged room and its slightly uneven walls and timbers.

‘Thanks, I’ll take you all on a tour in a minute. And please call me Martin. I have enough of being called Mr Allen at work every day.’

He and Jade handed round the drinks. Rosemary and Ed peeled themselves apart. They held hands and Martin ushered them all into the hallway.

The visitors greeted a rather flustered-looking Sophie as they passed through the kitchen. Marsh had visited before, but he’d never seen the rest of the house. It consisted of two adjoining cottages converted into a single spacious home, and had a very welcoming feel. Despite the dark brown timbers, the house was open and airy. The group ended up in a large study, which contained a baby grand piano. Ed sat down at once and tinkered on the keys.

‘Who plays?’ he asked.

‘Dad,’ Jade answered. ‘He’s pretty good. And me too.’

Ed leafed through the sheet music in front of him.

‘Challenging stuff,’ he said. ‘Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin. Not for the faint-hearted. Who plays Chopin?’

‘Both of us,’ Martin replied. ‘But Jade is better. When I play, it all sounds a bit mechanical, but she has a much more fluid technique.’

‘How about a tune?’ Ed asked, looking up at Jade.

Jade stood still for a moment, looking at Ed. She moved to the piano, extracted a sheet of music from a folder and began to play. It was a jazz piece, and the notes tumbled through the air like a waterfall. The music lasted for about three minutes, then ended abruptly. The group applauded but Jade was looking at Ed Wilton.

‘Well?’ she asked.

‘Thelonious Monk.
Round Midnight
,’ he answered. ‘And perfect.’

She broke into a broad smile. ‘Oh yes. You’re my man.’

‘I hope you’ve considered turning pro. It would be a waste not to.’

She shook her head, and her long, shiny hair swayed. ‘No. I want to be a doctor. But I’ll always play. It won’t go to waste. I’m in a small band at the moment, but it’s not serious.’

‘What kind of music?’

‘A sort of mishmash of jazz, blues and funk. We’ve done a couple of gigs in the local pubs and earned peanuts. But we all enjoy it. Clouds on Venus, that’s what we call ourselves.’

‘What subjects do you take at school?’ Marsh asked.

‘Chemistry, physics, maths, biology. And music, of course.’

‘That’s a pretty heavy load,’ Gwen added. ‘Five A levels?’

‘That’s what people keep telling me. But it’s all okay. I think I’ve inherited my parents’ brains, so they’ve been of some use.’ She smiled tentatively at her father. ‘Sorry, Dad. Only joking.’

‘I know.’ In the light from the table lamps it was easy to see that the two of them were father and daughter. But Jade has inherited the colour and shape of her eyes from her mother, thought Marsh. Sophie walked into the room.

‘I think that’s the food ready, so please come through to the dining room. I’m afraid the only music there comes from the hi-fi, but we’ll let Jade choose.’

‘Chopin,’ she answered without hesitation. She stood up and walked away from the piano. She was tall, striking, and clearly fashion-conscious.

Marsh couldn’t help feeling overawed. Was the entire Allen family like this? He remembered being deeply moved by the poems that Jade and her elder sister, Hannah, had read at their grandfather’s funeral the previous winter. How many sixteen-year-olds could have carried that off? No wonder she seemed so mature. She’d found out all those things about her family background and then had to nurse her mother through a nervous breakdown. Marsh suddenly realised that Jade was watching him and he smiled nervously. She took his arm and whispered in his ear.

‘You’ll look after Mum for us, won’t you? We’re all trusting you with her. She’s still a bit fragile, you know.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

Had she been reading his mind?

* * *

The visitors soon realised that Jade’s comments about her mother’s cooking had been entirely mischievous. Sophie served up a simple yet delicious meal. The conversation flowed freely. Jade and Ed talked about the process of composition.

‘I’m not much of a pianist,’ he said. ‘I’m competent, but that’s all. I’m nowhere near as good as you. And I don’t write classical music or even complex jazz, just songs. It’s only a matter of creating a melody and matching it up with some lyrics. I suppose it’s a mood thing. It depends on the state I’m in. I was a bit nervous about the song suite I told your mother about. It was the first time I’d ever composed anything outside of my comfort zone, and I knew I had to get it right. With jazz, there’s more expectation and the audience is more discerning, though I might have imagined that.’

‘You said that you’re writing at the moment, Ed. Did you get anywhere after I left? What have you started on?’ Sophie asked.

‘It’s a short song cycle called “Songs for Rosemary.”’ He stroked Rosemary’s fingers. ‘It’s just a few ideas at the moment, but I’ll start to flesh them out over the weekend. The sequence at Bath is the only jazz I’ve ever had performed. The problem is that jazz doesn’t bring in the kind of money that mainstream music does, so it’s a sideline really. I have to rely on the ordinary stuff for my income, both writing and producing.’

‘How did you first get into the music business?’ Jade asked.

‘In my younger days I was in a band, playing keyboard. We had a few hits and did some touring, but I could see that it wasn’t going to last. I started writing songs for the band, then tried my hand at studio work, production stuff. And I liked doing it, better than the touring and performing. That was all a bit wild.’

‘Sex and Drugs and Rock ‘n’ Roll?’ Jade suggested.

Ed laughed. ‘That just about sums it up.’

‘Wow. Now I’ve actually met someone who did all that. You’ve made my day. Well, nearly.’

Ed raised his eyebrows.

‘The day’s not over yet. I’m going out clubbing tonight,’ she said. ‘Not that I’ve got any plans to indulge in those three unmentionables. Not tonight, anyway.’ She looked at her mother. ‘So . . . Rosemary, Mum says that you’re a woman of style. I need some advice on my outfit. What do you think? Okay for clubbing?’ She stood up and twirled round.

Rosemary nodded. ‘I should think so. Yes, I think I’d let you out of the house. But I’m not sure I’m the right person to ask, Jade. I’m a bit old and I don’t have any daughters, so I’m really out of touch. I think you should wear what you’re comfortable with. What do you think, Gwen? You probably see lots of young women out and about in a university city like Southampton.’

‘Black and red. Good colours for a brunette, Jade. What more can I say? Seriously, I approve. It’s much better than the skimpy outfits some girls wear out on the town . . . Oh. I think I may have said the wrong thing. I can guess what you’re thinking,’ Gwen said to Jade.

‘That we should be able to wear whatever we like? Absolutely. That no dress, however flimsy or short, is an invitation to assault or rape? Yes, totally. That men should stop seeing a woman’s appearance as an invitation to animal behaviour? Dead right. And I think that the police and the courts should change their attitude.’

‘I totally agree with you. I’ve been fighting the system from the inside for a long time now, as I’m sure your mother has. But it all takes time, and my advice to you is the same as I’d give to any young woman friend or family member. And it isn’t that different from my advice to young men, either. Out on the town at weekends, be cautious. Be sensitive to social dangers. Statistics show that you’re in less danger of being attacked than young men of your age, although it’s a different kind of assault. Find ways of deflecting possible dangers and, for a young woman, choice of clothing is one of those ways. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is.’

‘Jade is her own person and we let her make her own decisions,’ said Sophie. ‘And we respect them. To be fair to our guests, Jade, you did ask for an opinion, so you can’t complain if they tell you what they think. Anyway, who am I to advise anyone? When I was a schoolgirl I used to make myself up and sneak into university dances and my mother hit the roof when she found out. At least you don’t lie to me, and I hope you never do. Now, maybe we should move through to the lounge? I’ll get the coffee ready.’

Jade, Ed and Rosemary returned to the piano and Jade asked to hear some of Ed’s compositions. She stood enthralled as he played and sang some of his songs.

‘I had no idea you wrote those,’ Rosemary said. ‘They’re so well known.’

‘The glory always goes to the singers and performers and to be fair, many of my songs are a joint effort with someone else. But I’ve had a great career. The music business has been very good to me. It would be nice if I could play the piano as well as Jade, though. I’m envious.’

‘I’ve got a brilliant idea,’ Jade said. ‘Let’s do some duets. Have you ever done duets? Dad and I often do. It’s great fun. Just give me a moment and I’ll get some music.’ From a folder by the piano she took a booklet of Lennon and McCartney songs.

‘I’ll play, we’ll both sing,’ she said.

As the sounds drifted through the house, the others came in. At first they listened and then they joined in. As they sang, one of Ed’s musical ideas began to crystallise: a jazz ballad for piano and solo alto voice.

When they returned to the living room, Rosemary asked, ‘Do we still have to stay separate?’

‘Yes,’ was Sophie’s immediate response. ‘And it will stay that way until I can rule Ed out of the running entirely, and with enough verification to convince a court of law. It doesn’t matter what I think or don’t think. It’s a matter of adhering to standard procedures. I hope you understand that. That’s why I wanted to have you both here this evening. Barry and I agree, and I’ve checked it with my boss at HQ. I’m not doing this out of some weird sadistic streak . . . At least I don’t think so.’ She laughed. ‘We never really know what’s going on in our subconscious minds, do we?’

‘You’re the psychologist, sweetheart,’ said Martin. He looked around at the others.

‘Okay, I’ll shut up. But if you get bored, Rosemary, let me or Barry know. We might be able to arrange an outing occasionally, if it fits in with what one of us is doing. Otherwise I’m afraid that it’s just a question of watching TV, reading, listening to music or whatever you can find to keep yourself amused. Feel free to borrow any of our books if you want to. I have something here for you, although I’m sure it’s highly illegal.’