‘Ivan is a chess player. I got that from Cat. She respects him. In fact, she spoke well of all of them. Sees herself as the mother hen. She wants the quartet to succeed.’
‘They all want that,’ Ingeborg said. ‘They’ve got a name, a reputation, a cosy little number here in Bath. It’s in their interest to stay together now they’ve got a good viola player. They’ll cover up for each other, I’m sure of that.’
‘The question is,’ Diamond said, plucking at the lobe of his ear, ‘do they have anything to cover up?’
The practice went on for almost two hours before the quartet took a break. When the door of the rehearsal room opened, Diamond was waiting outside. The rest of the CID team had already left for the police station.
Cat emerged at speed and made a beeline for the ladies’ room. Her reaction to Diamond was to raise both hands. ‘Not now.’ Over her shoulder, she added, ‘Talk about groupies. You’re one of them.’
Diamond stepped into the rehearsal room.
Ivan looked up, but not to welcome the visitor. ‘You people have a damn nerve. What is it now? We’re in the middle of a practice.’
‘A few words with Anthony during your break won’t hold you up.’
‘Anthony’s already answered questions.’
‘Not from me.’
‘He’s within his rights to refuse.’
‘If you want to talk about rights, we can take up all of the break before I even start to question him.’
‘Intolerable.’ Ivan looked across the room to where Anthony was studying the score, apparently oblivious of what was being discussed. ‘This policeman wants more time with you. Can you spare him a couple of minutes?’
Diamond said, ‘He’ll spare me as long as it takes.’ He curled his finger at Anthony, turned and left the room, confident that he would follow.
And he did, entering the percussion room and seating himself on the stool behind the drum set.
Diamond looked the young man up and down and understood Ingeborg’s remark about the dark good looks. The high, narrow cheekbones and finely shaped mouth were likely to appeal to any woman, however stone-faced Anthony appeared. The unattainable has a strong sexual attraction. A confident woman would expect him to respond to the right signals.
A burly male detective had no such optimism. Getting any kind of response would be a challenge. But there was one thing that might work in Diamond’s favour. People with autism generally speak the truth if they say anything at all. They are honest to the point of rudeness.
Start on safe ground, he decided. Get the man talking about what he knows best. ‘How’s the practice going?’
‘Okay.’
Better than no answer at all. ‘Preparing for tomorrow’s concert, are you?’
This time Anthony settled for a nod.
‘Beethoven, wasn’t it?’ Diamond ventured.
Anthony was supposed to get the idea that Diamond was a fellow lover of music. He didn’t show a glimmer of appreciation.
‘I couldn’t place the piece,’ Diamond added, which was true. He was about as capable of placing a piece of Beethoven as he was of riding a Derby winner. ‘Do you mind telling me what it was?’
‘Opus 59, Number 3,’ Anthony said.
‘Silly me. I’m a duffer with numbers.’
‘In C major.’
‘C major.’ Diamond raised his thumb as if all had been made clear. ‘Any particular part?’
‘The fugue.’
‘And to me it sounded just as a fugue should.’
‘It was too fast.’
‘A shade quick, I’ll give you.’
Hearing this, Anthony with his care for the truth must have assumed he was in the company of a connoisseur. ‘You’re right about that. Beethoven’s tempo instruction is just about impossible.’ Now he wanted to discuss the playing of the fugue, which would be a minefield for Diamond.
‘I didn’t appreciate that,’ Diamond said, ‘about the tempo instruction.’
‘It’s a metronome mark.’
‘Does that make a difference?’
‘The metronome wasn’t invented when the piece was written.’
This was information any self-respecting detective could work on. ‘Beethoven added his note at some later date?’
Anthony nodded. ‘Much later, when he was stone deaf.’
‘So you think he got it wrong?’
‘It’s meant to be quick and energetic, but – ’
‘Not so quick as you played it?’
Anthony made a fist and held it up in solidarity with Diamond. ‘You’re right. Something is lost at the tempo he gives. I keep telling Ivan to slow up a touch. The music is without fault. It can take it. He won’t listen. He’s implacable. He treats the score as gospel.’
‘Don’t the others have something to say about it?’
Anthony shook his head.
‘Maybe they don’t want to make an issue of it,’ Diamond suggested. ‘Cat is all for peace and harmony and Mel is too new to the quartet to take a stand.’
From Anthony’s wide-eyed look this was an insight he had missed. ‘Do you play?’
Diamond shook his head. ‘Too busy with other things, unfortunately.’
‘But you know Beethoven.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far.’
‘You can speak to Ivan, tell him you were listening to us and it was too quick.’
‘Me? He wouldn’t take advice from me.’
‘For all he knows, you could be one of our audience.’
‘With luck, I will be tomorrow night, but I’m in no position to tell a man of his experience how to play.’ He was fast running out of musical conversation, but he knew it was the only way to make progress with Anthony. ‘Is there an interval?’
Anthony frowned. ‘It’s full of intervals.’
‘Not the music. I mean a break during the concert for people to walk about.’
‘That will be too late.’
‘I’m not planning to speak to Ivan. I was wondering what comes after.’
‘After the interval? Some solo pieces.’
‘From you?’
Anthony shook his head. ‘The others.’
‘All three?’
‘All three instruments. Violin, viola and cello.’
‘Nice. I can’t wait. But what about you? I heard you’re a brilliant violinist. Don’t you give solos?’
The lips tightened.
‘Sorry I asked,’ Diamond said. ‘You’re more of a team player?’
No response. After going so well, this had hit the buffers.
‘Do you happen to remember what music you played in the first few concerts the quartet gave?’
‘Yes.’
Anthony’s precise responses came with the mental condition. They could be a barrier to progress when you expected more. ‘I’d like to be told,’ Diamond said.
‘Beethoven Opus 131, Quartet Number 14 in C sharp minor. Schubert Number 14 in D minor. Haydn Opus 74, Number 3 in G minor. Shall I continue?’
‘Wonderful, but no need. And do you also recall where you played?’
Anthony frowned. ‘No.’
‘I heard you go to some splendid houses, perfect for chamber music.’
‘I’ve forgotten.’ The gracious drawing rooms of Somerset and Avon, their Baroque splendour enhanced by candlelight, had already been deleted from this young man’s discriminating memory. Only the music counted for anything.
‘They don’t make an impression?’
‘I’m not there for the architecture. You can ask one of the others.’
‘But you remember every note of the music? Am I right?’
‘Not every note. We have the score in front of us.’
‘And how was your playing received?’
‘All right.’
‘Would you happen to remember if one of the audience spoke to you afterwards about your playing?’
‘Depends.’
‘On what?’
‘What they ha
d to say. If it was only praise I wouldn’t bother. We get a lot of that.’
‘I’m sure it’s all well meant,’ Diamond said. ‘Is there anything you would remember?’
‘Intelligent remarks.’
‘Intelligent remarks about what?’
‘The music.’
One relentless track.
Diamond took a deep breath and tried again. ‘Such as?’
‘Such as the stress we give to the fourth note in the opening of the Beethoven Opus 131, Number 14. Ivan is the player, not me, and it’s a signature moment that sets the tone for all that follows. It can sound disruptive, the transition from G sharp to A. They’re separated by a full bar. He draws it upwards a fraction on the G and then slips back to the same pitch after leaving the A.’
It was about as clear to Diamond as the second law of thermodynamics. ‘Thank you for explaining. Did one of the audience raise this with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘A woman?’
‘A man.’
Another hope dashed.
‘Can you think of a comment a woman made after one of those early concerts?’
Anthony frowned, as if deciding whether the question came within his span of attention. ‘One told me our performance of the Schubert was superior to the recording she has of the original Staccati. Since then I’ve listened to the piece myself, and she was right.’
‘Do you remember who she was, this woman who spoke to you?’
‘The wife of the man who owned the house.’
In his long career, Diamond couldn’t remember an interview as tough as this. Each door slammed shut before he could get inside. ‘Wasn’t there another woman who approached you, a younger woman, Japanese?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘You would if she had something of interest to say about the music.’
Anthony shrugged as if to say, ‘You tell me.’
Now it was Diamond’s turn to be logical. ‘I can’t tell you because I wasn’t there. Have you played with the quartet in Japan?’
‘Yes.’
‘The Japanese like classical music, don’t they? I expect some of them are very knowledgeable.’
‘Yes.’
‘You see, I’m wondering if a certain young woman who heard you play in Tokyo, or wherever it was, loved your playing, came to England this summer and got herself into one of the soirées the quartet gave. She could have introduced herself after the concert and told you she was a fan.’
‘Plenty do,’ Anthony said.
‘Plenty of Japanese women?’
‘All sorts. I don’t pay attention to fans.’
‘But you would pay attention if she made an intelligent comment about the music?’
‘I told you that already.’
Diamond decided the only way forward was an appeal to Anthony’s better nature. ‘Help me, Anthony. Try and remember. Whatever she said may not have seemed worth listening to at the time, but it could be important. She was Japanese and her name was Mari Hitomi and you’ve seen her picture before.’ He took the photo from his pocket.
There wasn’t a glimmer of recognition.
‘If she didn’t have anything to say about the concert, she may have asked a question about your violin, how old it is, how valuable, who made it, whether you have other violins.’
A shrug and a shake of the head.
‘She could have asked you to autograph her programme.’
‘I wouldn’t remember that.’ Anthony looked at his watch. ‘I must get back. The others will be ready to start again.’
‘She had a musical note tattooed on one of her upper teeth.’
‘A quaver,’ Anthony said at once, ‘on the lateral incisor, right hand side. Right to me, left for her.’ He didn’t add, ‘Why didn’t you ask?’ but Diamond felt as if he had. Even so, it was the breakthrough he’d been working for.
‘Did she say anything to you?’
‘She must have, for me to notice the tooth.’
‘Do you remember what was said?’
‘It couldn’t have been important.’
‘Take another look at the photo. Is this the woman?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t see her teeth.’
‘But is the face familiar?’
‘I told you I don’t remember faces.’
He got no further with Anthony.
Before allowing the quartet to resume their rehearsal, he addressed them as a group. ‘You’ve all been shown a photo of a Japanese woman called Mari Hitomi who was found dead in the River Avon a few days ago. We happen to know she was a fan of the Staccati Quartet visiting Bath about the time you began your residency here. Earlier, each of you claimed you hadn’t seen her before, but I have since learned from Anthony that he was approached by a woman of her description after one of the concerts you gave. He spotted the tattoo of a music note on one of her front teeth and this leads me to believe this was Miss Hitomi. Obviously this is significant. We’ll need to ask more questions of each of you and I’m advising you as individuals to contact me if you have any more information about her.’
Nobody spoke for several seconds. Then Ivan said, ‘Are you telling us we’re under suspicion?’
‘I was careful with my words,’ Diamond said. ‘I’m seeking information.’
Cat said, ‘You want to be careful about what Anthony tells you. He’s a sweetie, but his memory isn’t the sharpest when it comes to anything other than music.’
‘Thanks, but we’ll treat everything we learn from any of you with the same respect.’
‘I didn’t say he isn’t honest. He’s the most honest guy you could hope to meet.’
‘I’ll second that,’ Ivan said. ‘We trust him totally.’
17
After Diamond had said his piece and left, Ivan stated in a few trenchant words that he wanted to get straight back to work on the Beethoven without any more being said about the Japanese woman. Nobody objected. A surge of energy in the second part of the rehearsal reflected the tension among the quartet. They played Opus 59, No. 3 from the beginning. This time when they reached the fugue they attacked it with a pulsating tempo that almost did justice to Beethoven’s impossible metronome mark. The intensity of the task galvanised them all, yet the bowing was crisp and always under control. It was as if they were resolving their own anger through the playing – anger at Diamond, the police and the suspicion hanging over them.
‘I think we’re in shape,’ Cat said after they lifted bows from strings and sat back.
‘It was a better rendition, without question,’ Ivan said in a rare expression of satisfaction. ‘And this new viola of Mel’s has a richness in tone that I, for one, welcome.’
‘You should,’ Cat said. ‘We all should. That’s a Cremona fiddle if ever I heard one. ‘Fess up, Mel. Where did you nick it from?’
Mel had a powerful urge to put the precious instrument out of sight in its case. He had a lingering disquiet about the way it had come into his possession. ‘It’s an Amati, from 1625.’
‘Then it must be the work of the last and greatest of the family, Nicolò Amati,’ Ivan said. ‘About that time there was a famine and plague that killed every other violin maker in the city. May I?’ He held out both hands.
The request to handle the antique viola was understandable. For Mel, the act of passing it across was a wrench. A mother with her newborn child couldn’t have felt more protective. Of course it would be safe in the hands of another musician, he told himself. If you can’t trust the members of your own quartet, you shouldn’t be one of them.
He steeled himself and placed the Amati in Ivan’s hands.
Ivan turned it over and stroked the maple surface, tracing the grain with his fingertips. ‘Exquisite. A thing of wood, hair and gut that can touch the soul and lift the spirit.’ One-handed, he raised it by the neck. ‘Nice weight.’ He tucked it under his chin. ‘Good length.’
‘Watch out, boys,’ Cat said. ‘Our first violin is about to change into
a violist.’
Mel decided he had better explain how he came to possess such a treasure. ‘I was approached by a collector who wants it played.’
‘Nothing unusual in that,’ Ivan said. ‘It would be difficult to name a soloist who didn’t at some stage play with an instrument loaned to him.’
‘Or her,’ Cat said.
‘He made me promise not to reveal his name.’
‘The super-rich have their reasons, which is why they stay super-rich. Don’t be so anxious, Mel,’ Cat added. ‘You look like the stick insect who found himself in the middle of a rave-up.’
‘I can’t help it,’ Mel said. ‘Some years back, when I was starting out as a professional musician, taking any work that came my way, I was mugged outside the Royal Festival Hall and had my viola snatched. They were clever. A girl looking like a student, pretty, East Asian, asked me for my autograph. I had my fiddle in its case under my arm and while I was distracted by this girl some guy on a bike pulled the thing from me and rode off with it. I gave chase all the way down to the river and I thought at first he’d slung it in, but there was a speedboat nearby and they may have collected it and got clean away. I never saw my viola again and I’ve never forgotten the feeling of loss.’
‘You’re afraid of someone stealing this?’
He nodded. ‘My old fiddle had sentimental value and I was deeply affected, but as a responsibility it doesn’t compare with this.’
‘A salutary tale,’ Cat said, ‘but you’re safe with us, kiddo.’
Ivan was still holding the Amati. ‘I can’t resist.’ He picked up his bow and played the C string from heel to point, pianissimo, long and slow.
‘You’ve kissed goodbye to it now,’ Cat told Mel. ‘Is anyone else going to get a try? Anthony is practically wetting himself.’
In the end, they all took a turn at handling the Amati, although no one else played on it. Mel was deeply relieved when Cat handed back the object of so much admiration, if not envy. He stowed it in its case. This should have been the cue to leave, but there was unfinished business.
‘So what are we to make of that policeman?’ Cat said before they left their seats.
‘Nothing,’ Ivan said at once. ‘We make nothing of him. He’s a distraction. He has his job to do and we have ours. The fact that the unfortunate young woman was an admirer of ours is a trivial coincidence. Life is full of chance events.’
The Tooth Tattoo Page 19