Lorimer’s eyes turning his way, and knew without looking that the policeman was frowning at him. But it was Maurice Drummond’s eyes he wanted to see and they were once more full of anxiety. Then, dropping his gaze, he shook his head.
‘No, it wasn’t’ he replied, his voice hoarse with emotion.
‘Tell us how it all began again, would you, sir?’ Solly asked politely.
Drummond’s mouth tightened as he sought to regain his composure.
‘I hadn’t seen Karen for years,’ he began. ‘Not since, well you know about her trip down south. Oh, she had our child, right enough. He was given up for adoption. But you’ll have had all the details from dear Edith,’ he said bitterly. ‘Anyhow, I met Karen again by chance. She was married to that prat, Quentin-Jones, and had just begun to play with the City of Glasgow. I was accompanying a soloist who was doing a one-off concert with them. We got talking afterwards and, well, one thing led to another,’ he finished lamely.
‘So you resumed your relationship?’ Lorimer asked.
‘Yes. But it didn’t last all that long. A year at the most,
I’d say.’
‘Who broke it off?’
‘She did. I expect the novelty of cheating on her husband had worn off. She became the dutiful little wife again and settled down to family life.’ Drummond passed a hand across his brow, ‘Look, that was nearly twenty years ago. We didn’t remain lovers, in fact we didn’t even remain friends. But I had no reason to kill her, you have to believe me!’
‘Nobody has accused you of her murder, Mr Drummond, but any new information that comes to light has to be taken into consideration. Surely you realise that?’ Lorimer said.
‘Did Mr Quentin-Jones ever know of your relationship with his wife?’ Solly asked.
Drummond frowned. ‘Not so far as I’m aware. I doubt very much if Karen ever admitted her infidelity. That wouldn’t have been her style at all.’
‘And the earlier affair? When you were younger?’ Lorimer continued.
‘No. I’m certain she never told a soul. It was something she seemed to be thoroughly ashamed of. Karen was a person who liked to be in control, Chief Inspector. That youthful lapse was not something she’d have liked to acknowledge to anyone.’
‘Even her husband?’
‘Especially her husband. The man thought the sun rose and set on his wife. There was no way Karen was going to spoil that illusion.’
‘But Edith Millar knew so presumably George Millar also knew about it?’
Maurice Drummond gave a shrug. ‘If he did know he never referred to it. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but George could be a nasty old queen when he wanted to. He’d have enjoyed tormenting Karen with a juicy titbit like that. So, no, I’m sure Edith never told him about us.’
Lorimer’s head was spinning with possibilities. Could Karen Quentin-Jones have murdered her lead violin to shut him up? Was this a case of blackmail rearing its ugly head? He could quite easily imagine the late Leader of the Orchestra adding that to his list of misdeeds. And what of Derek Quentin-Jones? Was the man really unaware of Karen’s past? A doting husband had been known to strangle his cheating wife often enough.
‘Where were you on the night of Karen’s death, sir?’ Solly asked quietly. He knew the answer already but needed to see the man’s reaction.
‘I’ve already told your colleague,’ Drummond said testily, ‘I was at the Concert Hall with the Chorus for their rehearsal. We have to fit them in around the Orchestra’s schedule. I was out front the whole time then I went home.’
‘You weren’t backstage at all, then?’
‘No. I even had my coat and bag with me. I’d come straight from work, like most of my singers. You said that could be confirmed, didn’t you?’ he turned to Lorimer.
‘Yes, the CCTV footage seems to corroborate what you say. As it does for most of the Chorus and members of the Orchestra,’ Lorimer replied slowly.
‘Very well then.’ Drummond stared at each of them in turn. ‘I think that’s about enough, gentlemen. If poking around in my dim and distant past has any bearing at all on Karen’s murder, which I very much doubt, then I’ll be only too pleased to have been of assistance, but now I’d like you both to leave.’
Maurice Drummond had risen to his feet and was positively glaring at them both. Why this sudden volte- face? Solly was curious. The man’s irritation had no clear focus whatsoever. Lorimer had complied with the Chorus Master’s request, however, and was gathering up his coat.
‘We’ll keep you informed of any progress, sir,’ he remarked pleasantly as Drummond pulled open the door and held it wide. Solly thought about offering his hand in a polite gesture but one glance at the man’s face changed his mind. His smile and nod were rewarded with a scowl as the door was shut firmly behind them.
‘Well,’ remarked Lorimer as they stepped into the night once more, ‘we certainly rattled his cage and no mistake.’
‘I think we did rather more than that,’ Solly replied.
‘Aye. You fairly picked up on his vibes, didn’t you? So he’d had another fling with the victim. Says it only lasted a year. Says they were never on great terms again. How are we to know he’s speaking the truth?’
‘Are you going to ask her husband?’ Solly looked at Lorimer questioningly.
‘Oh, God!’ Lorimer groaned, running his fingers through his hair. ‘That’s not a prospect I relish, believe me. Quentin-Jones is beside himself with grief. Am I supposed to add to that by telling him Maurice Drummond had his wife in the sack twenty years ago?’
They had stopped by the car and were standing under a street lamp. Weeks of sleepless nights had taken their toll on this man, too, thought Solly as he regarded the lines etched cruelly around Lorimer’s eyes. Not for the first time he realised that Lorimer was a man on a crusade. He’d not rest until he’d found out who had committed these murders, and if they never came to light, then that would only add to his inner turmoil. He’s lonely, too, Solomon thought, seeing the bleakness in the other man’s face. And the pity of it was that the one person who could ease Lorimer’s strain was Maggie.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rosie Fergusson knelt down in front of the living flame fire, her knees tickled by the white furry rug that Solly had placed there.
‘Heavens!’ she gasped, ‘Is there never any end to this cold! I can’t remember when we’ve had such bitter weather so early in the year.’
‘Our just rewards for a terrific summer,’ Solly reminded her.
‘Hmph! Maybe Maggie Lorimer had the right idea after all. Bet she’s not freezing her socks off in Sarasota. What d’you think?’ Rosie twisted round to catch sight of Solly’s expression. ‘Would you up-sticks for a warmer climate?’
Solly regarded her thoughtfully through his horn-rimmed spectacles. Rosie’s moans about the Scottish weather were nothing new, but he hesitated to share her feelings. Winter in Scotland had produced some of his best days out, the air clear and crisp giving views over the icy hills for miles and miles.
‘That’s a no then, I take it?’ she grinned impishly up at him. ‘You wouldn’t fancy trailing across the world with me to find some sunshine, eh?’
Solly tilted his head thoughtfully. She was teasing him, he knew, but there was an underlying question there. Would he go with Rosie if she were to leave Scotland?
‘Would you stay here with me if I asked you to?’ he replied gently, hunkering down by her side so that their two heads were inches apart.
Suddenly Rosie’s face reddened and Solly watched with interest as she blinked rapidly. He put one finger against the bloom of her cheek and stroked gently, watching her eyes all the time.
‘I didn’t mean …’
‘Oh, but I did,’ he interrupted her smoothly. ‘I really did.’
