Her thoughts were racing now. Caroline obviously didn’t need money from her work. She had plenty to live on. She’d be paid something for her contributions, of course, but the money didn’t have to be great — and Alex still hadn’t worked out how she received it. That could come later. If Caroline was compiling crosswords for a freebie, then it was the work that kept her mind stimulated, and maybe that was all she needed. After all, she had M to stimulate another part of her...
Alex was elated. She was on to something at last. She was sure of it. For the moment, she could overlook the fact that there were probably dozens of free newspapers and magazines in central London alone.
Everyone was in on it, making a buck where they could. Smaller ones probably wouldn’t even be registered as newspapers, just supplying a small area and keeping their publishing heads above water, small press stuff, even desk-top publishing at home. Church magazines and club magazines of every description, stuff like that.
Who was to say that Caroline’s outlet was in London, anyway? Even as the elation hit her, Alex was fast realizing that there was a huge downside to the freebie idea, but she was determined to ignore the downside for now. The important thing was that she had something to work on.
But even as the excitement of the chase grew bigger in hermind, Alex was struck by something she should have thought of before. Something that sent her spirits plummeting again.
Whoever said she was cut out for this? she thought dismally. Did the big boys ever go through such backtracking and self-deprecation? Just when she thought she was on the right road she remembered something to put her right back at the beginning again.
Wouldn’t anyone doing such intricate and exacting work keep copies of their published work? Maybe Caroline wasn’t in it for the ego trip of seeing her work in print, but Alex couldn’t imagine that she wouldn’t keep a single published copy. She had seen nothing at all at the cottage, and until this moment it hadn’t occurred to her to look for any special type of publications.
In any case, the cottage had been bereft of any kind of magazine or newspaper except for those used for research purposes, but any private eye worth their salt would surely have checked out such a thing. What an idiot she was!
Did Caroline even submit her crosswords anywhere at all? That was the next thing to occur. Maybe she didn’t. But if not, what a waste of a logical brain, and Alex couldn’t credit that one at all. The crosswords had to go somewhere, and were presumably mailed to the freebie or whatever. Simply slipped through a village letterbox, perhaps, as anonymously as they were compiled.
‘Caroline, you’re not exactly helping,’ Alex muttered aggressively. ‘Don’t you want to be found?’
She stared at the file in front of her. That could be it, of course. Maybe Caroline didn’t want to be found, either before or after her birthday. She was a mature woman, and she could go where she pleased, especially with M. Her diary indicated the importance of the special birthday, with that one word FREEDOM written so prominently. But with no indication of its real meaning.
It was so bloody frustrating. For all Alex knew, there was no mystery at all. Caroline had simply gone off somewhere without telling her father. She clearly felt no obligation to inform him of what she did. She wasn’t friendly enough with anyone in the village for them to know her movements. And even the break-in at the cottage could have been simply the work of vandals, finding the place empty.
There was always the possibility that all these things had a perfectly simple explanation and not a sinister one. Except that vandals would surely have stolen the valuable computer and printer items, and not merely ransacked a desk. Unless they had been looking for money, and had been scared off before they could finish their work, hearing cars in the distance, or a dog barking. There were just too many possibilities.
But, determined as ever, she spent the next week trailing round every possible small freebie newspaper and magazine in a wide area until her feet throbbed and her brain buzzed, and she drew continual blanks.
With her fingers crossed, she made her weekly report to Norman Price that she was hoping to have news for him soon, and then had to hold the phone away from her head while he ranted on at her for not producing results.
And for all his professed wish to find his daughter, she hated him all over again for his uncaring attitude. Whatever his true reasons for finding her, there was no paternal feeling for Caroline in him at all. No love. He was a pig.
***
‘I keep trying to get inside Caroline’s mind, and getting nowhere,’ she said to Gary by the time they were finally en route to Jeremy Laver’s concert. ‘As soon as I think I’m on to something, I think of something else to counter it. I mean, we know her birthday has to be important, but why? Why was the word FREEDOM written so big?’
‘Wouldn’t you think it important if you were going to inherit a fortune on that day?’ Gary asked, allowing her to drive for once, since he’d got all togged up, as he called it. Which simply meant he had left off his bike helmet.
‘Yes, but is she interested in money? I hardly think so from the way she lives. She’s not into material things at all, except for the necessary equipment for her work, and the expensive underwear in the bedroom. And that’s only for M’s benefit. If he wasn’t on the scene, I bet she’d be perfectly content to be the plain Jane that she is.’
‘So where does she buy them?’ Gary said lazily. ‘Have you checked that out?’
‘No, because I get the feeling that it wouldn’t help. There were no recognizable labels on anything. They were just sexy garments. Thanks for the suggestion, anyway.’
‘All part of the service, honey,’ Gary said, letting his hand slide over her thigh in her black silk evening skirt.
She slapped his hand away. ‘Leave it, Gary, unless you want us to be another statistic in the London traffic.’
‘All right,’ he sulked. ‘But remember that you owe me, Alex. I’m doing this concert as a favour to you, and you promised I could stay the night.’
‘So I did.’
She clamped her lips together, manoeuvring her way between the evening glut of taxis, and mouthing back a matching obscenity to the guy on her right as she slid smoothly into the inside lane in front of him.
‘Asshole,’ Gary supplied for her.
When they reached the theatre, parking was predictably difficult even this far out of town, but Alex finally found a space in the road and squeezed the car into it.
It was obvious that it wasn’t a theatre of any importance. It was small and tucked away in a side street, and the dour frontage was in need of care and attention. But Alex let out her breath with a sigh of relief at finding it at all, and the certainty in her mind that whatever else Jeremy Laver was about, he was probably in need of money.
She turned to Gary. ‘Now remember the story. I’m an American journalist with a small arts magazine based in Ohio, and we’re interested in doing features on up-and-coming British musicians. You’re just a friend. Oh — and my name is Audrey Barnes.’
‘Christ, couldn’t you have thought of something snazzier than that?’ he hooted.
She looked at him coldly. ‘It happens to be my real name. But if you can’t handle it—’
‘I can handle anything,’ he said with a smirk, and she gave another sigh, wondering why the hell she had let him into her life at all. Sometimes he irritated her so much. And sometimes she wondered if she was getting too tunnel-visioned about this case to even joke any more. But tonight wasn’t for joking. Tonight she was on business and Gary had better believe it.
‘Let’s go inside,’ she said.
‘Is there a bar where we can have a drink first? If I’ve got to sit through an evening of caterwauling, the least you can do is buy me a drink. We are on expenses, aren’t we — Miss Barnes?’
‘Of course,’ Alex said.
A drink might help to stop her jitters too. She admitted that she had some. She didn’t forget for a moment that she was here to obs
erve and talk with Jeremy Laver, and to try to assess his character. There was a close family relationship with the Prices and he was the one who stood to gain by Caroline’s disappearance. It didn’t always follow that he was going to be the villain. But she also knew well enough that anyone could resort to crime if the right incentive was there.
Money was a very strong incentive. The cousin could be a potential kidnapper, even murderer. There was always the possibility that Caroline Price might even now be mouldering somewhere in a murky makeshift grave, on his account.
Her eyes glazed for a moment. Suddenly, her earlier calming thoughts that Caroline had merely gone away without telling anyone, seemed childish in the extreme. Surely there was too much at stake. The coincidence of the timing was too great. The inheritance was too large. And Norman Price’s need for cash, if her instincts were right, was too desperate. What could be easier than a plan for the two men to share it, if Caroline wasn’t around to claim it on the due date? But if those suspicions were to be proved right, then what the hell had they done with her?
‘Come on, before the crush at the bar gets too much,’ she heard Gary say, while her thoughts raced on haphazardly.
His voice was brash and arrogant now, and Alex could see it was because he was perfectly aware of the withering glances he was attracting in his leather gear. Despite the undoubted seediness of the place, most of the men were in lounge suits, their female companions generally wearing long skirts or dark dresses. There were also a number of bohemian long-hairs who looked as if they were hard put to find the price of a ticket.
It didn’t bother Alex to be seen with Gary. Having an eccentric companion at her side only added to her persona of crazy American journalist. She moved towards the bar with him now, ignoring her last few traumatic thoughts.
As she did so, she caught sight of someone at the back of the bar area. Someone who caused her to draw in her breath in fury as he raised his glass to her slightly, and then turned away, as if to acknowledge the fact that neither of them would wish to greet the other in public.
‘What’s up?’ Gary said, hearing her indrawn breath. ‘Is there someone you know who’s going to blow your cover?’
She forced a smile, giving herself time to think... to breathe.
‘Sometimes, Gary,’ she said, ‘I think you should be the one in this game, not me. You’ve got all the lingo, and you obviously watch too many American cop shows on television.’
The barman asked him for his order then, and she could cool down while she praised herself for neatly fending off his question, while still fuming at the thought that not six feet away from her was DI Nick Frobisher.
What the hell was he doing here, and on this particular evening? He was supposed to be at the cinema with two free tickets and somebody to replace herself or WPC Mary... and even as she remembered his invitation, she knew it had been just a ploy.
Everything clicked into place as she recalled his visit to her office. He must have seen the concert tickets on her desk, and even if he didn’t know why she was here, he knew she didn’t care for classical music — and neither did he. So he must have known there was something in it. She could follow his reasoning, because it would have been hers too.
***
‘Is that your man?’ Gary said, nodding towards the large publicity blow-ups of a slender, long-haired musician in evening dress, his image all over the walls of the bar.
Where the pictures were of the whole ensemble, he always dominated them, and the other musicians were always in the background. Jeremy Laver was clearly the most important.
‘I imagine so.’
She studied the face. It was darkly attractive, with a kind of haunted, Romany look in the eyes. And, oh God, she was in danger of succumbing to the stereotypical image of a serious musician... but he fitted it so perfectly it was difficult to do anything else. Jeremy Laver was handsome in the gaunt, hollow-faced way that made younger women lust for him, and older women want to mother him.
But was it the face of a kidnapper — or a murderer? Alex chided herself for the thought, well aware that criminals didn’t come ready-stamped like something in Sainsbury’s. There was no way anybody could tell by appearances, and it was a complete fallacy to think that they could.
The five-minute bell sounded, and people started moving towards the inner door of the theatre. She glimpsed Nick Frobisher with a glamorous female companion who wasn’t his WPC Mary, and told herself it was nothing to do with her. But she hoped he was going to hate the concert more than she did. She hoped he would really hate it, then it would serve him right for following her.
As it turned out, the music wasn’t too heavy after all. If it had been solemn chamber music, she was sure Gary would have walked out, but he merely fidgeted from time to time, and caused the people behind to tut-tut at such ill manners.
But a couple of hours later it was all over, and people began filing out of the auditorium. She was relieved to see the back of Nick and his companion moving towards the street exit, while she and Gary had to socialize.
‘Here we go,’ she murmured, as they presented themselves to a flunkey and said they were to be guests of Mr Laver in the green-room.
‘I’m Audrey Barnes from the Ohio arts magazine; Mr Laver is expecting me,’ she said, in her drawling American Midwest accent.
‘Oh, that’s right. Miss Barnes,’ the man said, giving Gary a dubious look until Alex tucked her arm inside his and included him in the invitation. ‘Follow me, please.’
Alex felt a sliver of shame about what she was about to do to Jeremy Laver. The theatre was so obviously on its last legs unless it got a real injection of money, and it was wrong to boost the guy’s hopes in this way. But it was all in the interests of finding Caroline, she reminded herself, and it had to be done. All was fair in love and detection.
They weren’t the only guests. The green-room was buzzing with noise, the musicians obviously hyped up to the eyeballs now that the concert was over, and there were plenty of sycophants at their metaphorical feet. Wine was flowing freely, and glasses were being filled as soon as they were emptied. At this rate, she’d have to be careful how much she drank, thought Alex, or she’d lapse into her plummy voice or even her native Yorkshirese and give herself away.
Someone murmured her name to Jeremy and he came forward at once, his hand outstretched to shake hers. She was prepared not to be impressed by the effusiveness of the greeting. She could see the green light behind the eyes at this appearance of an American arts feature writer, wondering just what was in it for him. And why wouldn’t he?
But he had charisma, she thought. He most definitely did. She could see how the photographer of the publicity shots had seen him. All the others faded into the background once Jeremy got you in his sights; it was as if you could only focus on him. It was reciprocal, Alex realized. He fixed his gaze on you as if there was no one else in the room. It might be a practised affectation, but it was an instant aphrodisiac. She swallowed, and moved swiftly into journalist mode.
‘I’m delighted to meet you, Mr Laver—’
‘Jeremy. Please call me Jeremy, Audrey. Everyone’s quite informal here.’
‘Jeremy it is then,’ she murmured. ‘And this is Gary, a friend of mine—’
She looked around for him, but he had already moved away from her side, and was surrounded by a small bevy of women. ‘Shall we find a quiet corner?’ Jeremy said.
She laughed. ‘Is there such a thing here?’
‘Oh, we’ll find a seat somewhere, and I’m quite sure you’re used to working in difficult situations in your job. Do you want to take notes?’
‘Of course,’ she said quickly. She got out her notebook and followed him to a small sofa at the back of the room. Seating was sparse, but when Jeremy needed to sit down, the way was made for him. Besides, she guessed that the other musicians knew very well why she was here.
‘Would you like some nibbles?’ he asked, and her heart leapt at the look in his eyes. But
she shook her head at the plates of crisps and miniscule sandwiches that were being passed around now. She didn’t want to eat, and she had better not drink too much since she needed to keep her head clear. She dredged up the usual journalistic questions.
‘So tell me something about yourself, Mr— Jeremy. How long have you been working in this theatre?’
‘Eighteen months, give or take a concert,’ he said. ‘We like it here, although it’s not in the best area of London as I’m sure you realize. But we have a loyal following, and we can get into more adventurous musical outlets than the norm. We’re progressive, though that’s a word more usually applied to jazz than classical music.’
‘And you obviously love the work that you do.’
‘Of course. Don’t you? You have to love your work in order to be a success at it.’
His mesmeric gaze held hers for a moment. Starry success wouldn’t seem to be a very high rating here, she thought. Although she agreed that success in a small pond was preferable to struggling to survive in a large one. And the theatre had certainly been full of devotees tonight.
‘Have you never wanted to move into better premises then? Forgive me. I don’t mean to be rude, but certainly in America image is everything these days—’
‘Have you any idea of the cost of property in London, Audrey? Unfortunately the lease here will soon be up, and we’ll have to look for other premises. We don’t want to split up and take gigs around the country. That’s not what classical music is all about. If I could find the money to buy it and revamp it, I would rename it the Jeremy Laver Theatre, and hopefully get a publicity package going that would allow it to receive more attention. We all love this place, and we want to keep it if it’s humanly possible.’
He wasn’t lacking in ego, Alex thought, busily scribbling in her notebook as he rambled on. And he had the motive for needing money, and needing it quickly. Caroline’s money would make all his dreams come true.
‘And you obviously love the violin. You really made it sing tonight, and I must compliment you on your performance, by the way. I’ve been neglectful in not doing so already—’
Thicker Than Water (Alexandra Best Investigations Book 1) Page 11