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.’
She took a small mp3 player from a shelf and handed it to Rosemary, who looked a little bemused.
‘It’s a pirated copy of the performance of Ed’s song suite from the Bath jazz festival two years ago. I got it from the organiser, who recorded most of the performances without telling anyone. I had to swear solemnly that I’d never drop a hint to the composer that I’d been given this copy. I had to convince him that it was necessary for the investigation.’ She looked at Ed. ‘So you don’t know about it, okay, Ed?’
‘Hmm. Right. Aren’t you meant to uphold the law in all its forms, including copyright?’ he said.
‘Oh yes. I take it very seriously. I can advise you who to contact should you wish to pursue the matter further and make out a complaint against me. Would you like a brandy, by the way? You’re not driving tonight, remember.’
‘Very neat sidestep. And yes, please.’
‘So how long have you two been together?’ Rosemary asked Barry Marsh and Gwen.
‘About a month, I suppose,’ said Marsh.
‘A bit longer, actually,’ Gwen added. ‘And it would have started a lot earlier if he’d taken any of my hints. I really started worrying that I’d lost my touch, because I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I ended up asking him out, and a lot of men think that’s going a step too far. Though I don’t see why.’ She laughed.
‘I did understand,’ replied Marsh. ‘I just didn’t know what I wanted. I was still a bit shaken by what my last girlfriend did, and I wasn’t sure I was ready.’
‘What was that? Can you tell us?’ Rosemary asked.
‘She went abroad for a month, for her job. I found out that she’d had a series of one-night stands while she was away. She told me that she couldn’t cope for any length of time without a relationship, so she found a couple of short-term substitutes. I saw it as cheating on me, because that’s what it was. But to be honest I also realised that I hadn’t missed her as much as I should have done. So maybe we just weren’t meant for each other.’
‘Isn’t absence meant to make or break a relationship?’ Rosemary said.
‘Well, it certainly broke ours.’
Gwen was squeezing his hand. He glanced at his boss, realising that he’d never talked about his private life this way before. But Sophie seemed to be miles away, deep in thought. Then her mobile rang.
‘Hello? Hello? Who’s speaking? Is that you, Rae? Are you there?’ A pause. ‘Where are you?’ she asked. ‘Okay. Stay there. Put a security chain across the door if there is one. If not, wedge a chair under the handle. I’ll call the local station and get a squad across to you, and we’ll be with you as soon as we can. Stay on the phone if possible.’
Her look at Marsh was full of concern. ‘That’s Rae. She’s at Paul Derek’s flat in Portsmouth. There’s been an intruder and she thinks he’s still around somewhere. I’m afraid we have to go. There’s something terribly wrong.’
Chapter 18: Vomit and Blood
Friday night
Rae slid out of her car and looked up at the misty drizzle. She took an umbrella and started to walk over to the block of flats that she and Jimmy had visited the previous afternoon.
Earlier that evening she’d suddenly realised what had been niggling away in the back of her mind. She’d been putting up a framed family portrait in her new home when it occurred to her that one of the portraits hanging in Paul Derek’s lounge might have been in the wrong place. She remembered that it hadn’t quite filled the shadowy mark on the wall behind it. It was probably not important, but to make sure she checked the photos that she’d taken inside the flat. There it was, just as she remembered. A mismatch. And neither she nor Jimmy had thought to check the picture. It was probably nothing, but still. Rae sat thinking for a few moments. Had that picture been a portrait of Sarah Sheldon? Sarah, in a colourful silk camisole, with a smile on her lips. Rae looked again at the photo on her camera and zoomed in, trying to make out the detail on the wall portrait. It looked like a dark-haired woman but was too fuzzy to make out clearly. She searched for her mobile phone in order to call DCI Allen but realised with alarm that she’d left it on her desk in the incident room in Swanage. She was stil
l waiting for a landline to be connected in her flat. She made a quick decision, got into her car and drove out to the dead man’s flat.
Now, an hour and a half later, she was in Portsmouth. Rae was surprised at how quiet the area was. She recalled that many of the occupants were elderly people. Maybe most were securely locked inside their homes this late in the evening, watching television, or perhaps already tucked up in bed. She had begun to shiver. A fine layer of tiny droplets of rain covered her hair and clothes because, in the end, she hadn’t bothered to raise the umbrella. The outer door had been left unlocked, despite the notice in the lobby requesting that it should always be kept secured. How careless people were.
She pressed the button for the lift and waited. Was that cigarette smoke? A bit strange, she thought. Surely it would be banned inside the apartment block? The lift door slid open and she entered and pressed the button for the first floor. Why hadn’t she just taken the stairs? They were right beside Paul Derek’s flat, so she’d probably have been there by now. But it was late on a Friday evening, and she was exhausted from the long hours she’d been working all week. She had wondered about paying a quick visit to the local pub, but in the end had decided against it. And, of course, there was the other factor. Her body still hadn’t entirely adapted to the hormones that she was taking each day. Maybe in another year she’d feel less tired. The lift slowed and the door opened. Expecting silence, she just caught the sound of a door slamming shut ahead of her followed by running feet. A figure was just turning into the stairwell. She broke into a trot and reached the door in a few seconds. It was closed but not locked. She quickly locked the door then headed for the stairs in pursuit.
‘Stop,’ she called. ‘Police! Stop!’
The footsteps ahead of her indicated that her quarry had increased his pace. She tried to run faster, hampered only slightly by the skirt she was wearing. It was short, though the heels on her ankle boots were a hindrance. She soon realised that she was gaining on whoever was ahead. She turned at the bottom of the stairs and caught sight of a jacketed, hooded figure turning a corner which led towards the entrance. Rae ran faster. With luck she’d catch up with the figure in the car park. There it was again, a faint hint of cigarette smoke in the air. She slowed as she approached the entrance, and was about to shout again when a second figure ran out of the lift recess and cannoned into her. She went down headfirst and rolled several times, trying to control her slide across the floor. Her head and left upper body struck the wall with a force that knocked the breath out of her. She was trying to manoeuvre into an upright position when the figure ran past her. She just had time to push her umbrella forward and catch him at ankle level. He tripped, collided with the wall but remained upright. He staggered through the door and disappeared into the darkness outside.
SECRET CRIMES a gripping crime thriller full of suspense Page 18