Edith Millar smiled at him. ‘I’m not sure if I did. I thought I knew her fairly well at one time, but then …’ Her voice trailed off. The woman sat up and cocked her head to one side suddenly. ‘How much do you want to know about Karen’s teenage years?’
‘Everything you can tell us,’ Solly replied. ‘The more we know the better we are able to understand the victim. And perhaps that will assist us in finding her killer.’
And George’s, he expected her to reply, but curiously the words remained unspoken.
‘Very well,’ Edith Millar folded her hands on her lap and looked down at them as if bracing herself for something hard. ‘Karen came to George for lessons for about three years. She was a superb pupil, the best he ever had, but she had an attitude, you know. Karen was an only child and rather indulged. I haven’t been blessed with children, Doctor Brightman, but I know enough about them to tell a spoilt child from one that is loving and giving. Karen, I’m afraid, fell into the former category. She was never a giver. Except,’ she broke off and glanced at Solomon. ‘She did give herself to a boy. But it didn’t last.’
‘What happened?’
Edith Millar sighed heavily. ‘Oh, dear. I never thought I’d have to tell this story to anybody.’
‘Go on, please,’ Solly nodded his head encouragingly.
‘Karen left to go to Bristol. She was away for a year during which time she had a baby. It was adopted and she came home again. I don’t think anybody else knew outside the family.’
‘And the boy? The father of her child?’
Edith smiled serenely. ‘A lovely boy. He was far too good for her. Quiet and studious, but with real charm.’ She lifted her eyes to meet Solly’s. ‘He was one of my piano pupils, a gifted lad with a place in the Royal Scottish Academy for Music and Drama all ready and waiting. But he didn’t go. Karen’s betrayal finished him.’
‘Her betrayal? what exactly do you mean?’
‘Oh, he wanted to marry her, have the baby. He was that type of boy, Doctor. A giver. And besides, he was totally besotted. Not like Karen. She ended it all and left. The bitter irony was that she came back to Glasgow and waltzed straight into the Academy. Then of course she met Derek. And that was that.’
‘And the father? Is he still in the Glasgow area?’ Cameron asked.
‘Oh, yes, Detective Constable, very much so.’
Solly smiled at her. He’d expected that answer. There was more than a teacher’s warmth in her description of her piano pupil. This was someone who might still be close.
‘A name would be helpful,’ he nodded.
Solly watched as the woman’s dark eyes filled with tears.
‘Maurice Drummond,’ she whispered, then, covering her eyes with her hands, Edith Millar began to sob.
Chapter Twenty
Lorimer whistled as DC Cameron related Edith Millar’s story.
‘OK. Let’s see what Drummond’s got to say about all that. Not mentioning his relationship with the murder victim is worth a bit more probing, don’t you think?’ Lorimer had already reached for his jacket when he remembered his new status. An acting Superintendent couldn’t just waltz out of the building on a whim to interview somebody. He let the jacket slide onto the back of the chair.
‘D’you want Drummond brought in?’ Cameron asked, swiftly interpreting his boss’s action. Lorimer chewed his lip. Did he? Maybe a quick visit after office hours might be better.
‘No. Leave it with me. I want time to think about this first.’
Cameron’s face closed. He’d hoped for an immediate command to interview the Chorus Master himself, but evidently it was not to be. Catching sight of his officer’s expression, Lorimer reminded himself of just how far this young policeman had progressed since being transferred to CID.
‘Well done, by the way. We’d not have got this far if you hadn’t thought of Edith Millar’s reticence.’
After Cameron had left, Lorimer sat, chin propped into his fingertips, pondering his next move. Would it profit the case to rake up Karen’s past? Perhaps.
One question that certainly required an answer was what sort of relationship had existed between Maurice Drummond and Karen Quentin-Jones in their grown-up lives? Had that earlier animosity rankled between them? Casting his mind back, Lorimer could not recall anything adverse that Drummond had said about the dead woman. On the contrary, he’d been fulsome in his praise of her playing the night of George Millar’s murder. Had their affair resumed, then? And what, if anything, did the Surgeon know about his wife’s teenage pregnancy?
Lorimer looked at the clock. There were hours to go before he could leave, with meetings that he couldn’t duck out of. Blast Mitchison! For once the DCI heartily wished his senior colleague back in his own office, building his little empire. Then at least Lorimer could pursue this new information to his heart’s content. The telephone rang, intruding in his thoughts and signalling a resumption of his other, temporary duties.
Lorimer parked the car under the trees that lined the river Kelvin. Maurice Drummond had chosen a quiet area in which to live, yet it was only a short walk to the bustling activity of the West End.
‘Well, his light’s on anyway,’ he remarked to Solly, looking up at the bay windowed lounge. ‘Seems our Chorus Master is at home.’
As the two men stood waiting for a reply to the security buzzer, a cyclist wobbled to a halt below them then heaved his bicycle up the short flight of steps to the doorway.
‘Going in?’ the young man asked them, inserting his key into the lock.
‘Aye,’ Lorimer replied shortly. This was answered by a curious once up-and-down look from the cyclist.
Apparently deciding that the tall man and his bearded companion posed no threat, he pushed open the door and wheeled his cycle into the cavernous hallway.
‘Thanks,’ Lorimer said as he headed for the main stair that led to Maurice Drummond’s flat.
Solly’s nod and smile appeared to disquiet the young man more than Lorimer’s brusque manner, for he stood staring after them as they turned the angle of the stone staircase until their footsteps had faded away.
‘Mr Drummond. Good evening,’ Lorimer smiled as the Chorus Master opened his door.
Caught unawares, a flicker of something akin to fear crossed Maurice Drummond’s face as he saw the two men standing on his doorstep. Interesting, thought Solly. Does he think we’re here to arrest him? He watched carefully as Lorimer made the necessary introductions, smiling politely and extending his hand to the man whose evening they were about to interrupt so rudely. Drummond regained his composure quite quickly, but there was still that wariness that told Solly something: here was a man with secrets to hide.
‘What can I do for you, Chief Inspector?’ Drummond asked, waving them into the big sitting room with its grand piano. ‘Please sit down,’ he added.
‘Thanks,’ Lorimer replied, unbuttoning his coat and laying it across the piano stool. Solly followed the Chorus Master’s eyes, sensing his inner dismay at Lorimer’s small action. This was not merely a passing visit, then.
‘We’ve recently received some new information regarding the murder of Karen Quentin-Jones,’ Lorimer began. ‘Information that directly concerns you, Mr Drummond.’
Maurice Drummond’s face was suddenly drawn as he sat down facing his two visitors, yet he continued to look straight at Lorimer, caught by the policeman’s gaze almost like a rabbit trapped in the headlights of a car. He sat still and silent, moistening his lips with the edge of his tongue. Lorimer waited for a moment before continuing, increasing the man’s discomfiture.
‘We have been told that you and Mrs Quentin-Jones had an affair some time ago. Is that correct, sir?’
Maurice Drummond blinked as if he had been struck. ‘Yes. It’s true,’ he whispered. ‘How did you find out?’
‘Edith Millar told us.’
An expression of relief instantly transformed the Chorus Master’s face and he sank back into his chair. ‘Oh. That. But you can’t seriously consider one youthful indiscretion has any consequences so many years down the line?’ he scoffed.
Solly smiled. How much human behaviour revealed of itself, he thought.
‘But perhaps that wasn’t your only indiscretion, Mr Drummond?’ he suggested quietly. He could sense
