but that she was born in Yugoslavia, that her parents had migrated to the UK and that she had become a naturalised British subject at the same time as them. She had a very slight accent, assimilated from her home surroundings, I suppose, just as Harry’s accent had a touch of American in it from the time we spent in Georgia. I knew what she did, of course; she was a very talented young artist. The second time she came, about three weeks ago, she gave us a picture. It’s over there, in fact.’ He pointed towards the wall, beside the door, at a water-colour that hung there. It was bright and vivid and showed the scene that the two police officers had been admiring a few minutes before.
McGuire rose from his chair, walked round, and examined it closely. ‘That’s the first time I’ve seen Zrinka’s work,’ he said, as he returned. ‘I’ve a bit of a personal interest,’ he explained. ‘My mother paints, now that she’s retired to Italy. You’re right: the poor kid was damn good. My boss has one of her pictures, as a matter of fact.’
Martin glanced at him. ‘Bob? Is that right?’
‘Yes. Stevie Steele told me.’
‘How did he find that out?’
‘One of his DCs lives next door to Alex. She told him, and he told Stevie. Bizarrely enough he has one of Stacey’s too.’
‘Bob always was a bit of a closet art lover. He gave Karen and me a picture as a wedding present. It’s by a Catalan artist he discovered in L’Escala, called Nada Sebastian. You should check her out; she has a website. Her name, that’s all it is.’ The deputy chief constable looked back at Paul. ‘I’m sorry, sir, we’re sidetracking here.’
‘That’s all right, Mr Martin, I started it off.’
‘Did you know anything else about her parents, other than that they were originally from Bosnia?’
‘I didn’t even know that. She used the term Yugoslavia when she spoke about it, as it would have been when they left, I suppose.’
‘How long had Zrinka’s relationship with Harry been going on?’ McGuire asked.
‘Not long. About three months, as far as I can recall. He told us not to read anything into it, that they were friends as much as anything else, but they were very relaxed in each other’s company, very affectionate, and they had that way of looking at each other that suggested it might be more serious than either of them was letting on, or even appreciated. Zrinka talked to Marietta about it, though. She told her that she liked Harry very much, but that she was careful, and was taking her time, because of family circumstances, she said, but most of all because she had been badly let down by someone in the past.’
‘Did she mention a name?’
‘No, she didn’t. Although Marietta said that she was very frank about it. She told her that meeting us had confirmed her good feelings about Harry. She said that he was helping her get over her earlier experience.’
‘How did she and Harry meet?’
‘In a bar, where his band was playing. You’ll know that he was a full-time musician; I told the officer who called to ask me about him for your press conference. That’s happened now, I suppose, from the evidence of the reptiles turning up to gawp and film the house.’
‘You didn’t watch it on television?’ said Martin.
‘No, we couldn’t bring ourselves to. I gather that Zrinka’s father was there. At least, that’s what your colleague told me.’
‘Oh, yes,’ McGuire grunted. ‘He was there all right. He’s offered a reward for information leading to the arrest of the killer.’
‘Good for him. I might just pitch in myself. How much has he put up?’
‘A million.’
‘A mi—! Good heavens! Out of my league, I’m afraid. I’ll contribute if he asks, of course, but . . .’
‘He won’t. He was making a point to the murderer.’
‘The point being?’
‘The same one I made to him: that he has nowhere to hide that’ll keep us away from him for long. Davor Boras made it more dramatically, that’s all.’
‘Davor Boras? Ah, but I’ve heard of him. What
‘You could say that. But let’s go back to Harry, sir. He and Zrinka met in a bar, you said.’
‘It was more of a dancehall, from the way he described it. He was playing and she was there for a drink, with a friend.’
‘I don’t suppose you know the friend’s name?’
‘Zrinka called her Amy, but that’s all.’
‘That’s fine; we should be able to find her. Harry’s band: they’re full-time?’
‘More or less. They’re called Upload, a three-piece, but he was very much the leader. He was the lead guitarist, and singer, and composer, and arranger, and programmer of their various machines. He was beginning to get excited about them. They’ve made one album, so far, on their own initiative, but their manager told them she’d arranged a distribution deal with a major record company. They were going back into the studio next week, to re- record one of the tracks as a single, to break them into the national market.’
Paul looked at the police officers. ‘Are you surprised that I’m up with the technology?’ he asked sheepishly. ‘I suppose it’s a case of once a businessman always a businessman. It was the career my son wanted and so I took an interest in it, and had him explain to me what it was all about. Harry wasn’t just a dreamer, you know. He graduated from Heriot-Watt University last year with a first in computer science, and did some lecturing there, part-time, to supplement his band earnings. He was a very bright young man, and music was a legitimate way of putting his skills to work.’
‘Who managed them?’
‘An agency called High-end Talent, but from what Harry said that was just a trading name for a woman called Hope Dell.’
‘Where’s she based?’
‘Edinburgh. She has an office on King George IV Bridge. I’ve been there; went with Harry and his chums when they were thinking of signing on with her. He asked me to sit in on their meeting, to see if it felt right.’
‘Obviously it did.’
Paul nodded. ‘Yes. I was very impressed by her. She interviewed them rather than the other way around. She told them about all the pitfalls, and she left them in no doubt, to borrow a phrase she used on the day, that for every Oasis there are thousands of mirages with the metaphorical bones of the deluded scattered all around. When she was finished, Harry and the boys looked at me, I nodded and they shook hands on it.’
‘The other band members?’ McGuire asked. ‘What are their names and where can we find them?’
‘Buddy and A-Frame; that’s all I ever knew them as. You’ll be able to contact them through Hope. They won’t be suspects, I’m sure. All their dreams of riches have gone up in smoke.’
‘A-Frame?’ Martin exclaimed. ‘As in initial and surname?’
Colonel Travers Paul smiled, sadly. ‘No, as in a fat boy with sloping shoulders and a pointy head; that’s what Harry christened him. Among his other fine qualities, my son had quite a sense of humour.’
Thirty-five
‘This comes out of a throwaway remark made during our conversation with Harry Paul’s dad,’ said Mario McGuire, ‘but let’s check it out anyway. I seem to remember from the file that Stacey Gavin had a website. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘Then let’s check out whether Zrinka had as well.’
‘Will do,’ Stevie Steele replied. ‘I take it your thinking is that maybe the killer sourced them as targets at random, through a search engine.’
‘Something along those lines, yes.’
