leather surface.
It was time to stop deluding himself. Of course she had known! And she’d been laughing at him every time she’d looked at Tina and seen something of her lover in the girl’s face.
Beyond the telephone was a portrait of Karen in evening dress, the Vincenzo Panormo clasped across her bosom. Her smile was confident as she looked at the photographer. Here is a woman who knows what success tastes like, she seemed to be saying with her eyes, her smile, the arch of her neck.
Suddenly Derek caught up the picture and threw it with all his force against the wall. It smashed with an unsatisfying tinkle of glass making him spring up and stride across the room to where it lay in fragments. Looking down at the shattered face he saw that her smile was still intact. With a cry of anguish he stamped his foot again and again over the splintered frame finally grinding it into the wooden floor below his heel.
His hands flew to his face, covering his eyes. She wouldn’t make him weep. Not now and not ever again.
‘I think someone’s been following me,’ Tina said, putting down her coffee cup and looking across at Chris.
‘Oh, Tina. You’re just imagining things. It’s the strain of everything, your term exams and your mum’s funeral,’ Chris Hunter placed his hand over the girl’s but she snatched it away angrily.
‘No I’m not! I know there was somebody following me last night after I’d left Dad at home,’ she insisted.
‘Where were you going?’
‘Och, I know it was mean, but I just couldn’t stand being on my own with him in the house any longer. He’s been so odd lately, giving me strange looks all he time.’
‘Come on, Tina, think how he’s feeling. Until they find someone for these murders he’ll not be able to rest easy. I can’t begin to imagine what the pair of you have been going through these past weeks.’
Tina sighed, ‘OK, I know he’s under a massive strain. So’m I. But I’m not imagining things, Chris. That’s the second time I’ve felt someone following me along the road. I was just going down to the underground. I wanted to be over here,’ she swept her hand from the coffee shop’s glass fronted window towards Byres Road.
‘Studentsville,’ the young violinist smiled at her. ‘Why don’t you ask your dad if you can move into a flat after Christmas? Surely you can find some pals to share with?’
Tina shook her head. ‘I can’t leave him on his own just yet; maybe next year when I start Junior Honours.’
‘Anyway, back to your secret admirer,’ Chris teased, in an attempt to lift the girl’s spirits. ‘Did you get a look at him?’
‘No. He was wearing one of these hooded tops. I couldn’t see his face.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘Och, it was probably some ned wanting to nick my mobile phone.’
‘So you won’t be going to tell the police?’ he asked.
Tina looked up sharply. ‘Should I?’
Chris shrugged. ‘It’s up to you, but they’ve got a lot on their plate right now, haven’t they?’
‘I suppose so,’ she said slowly, stirring the froth on her latte.
‘Well, if you ask me, it’s about time you passed your driving test then you wouldn’t be wandering about Pollokshields at all hours.’
‘Aye, you’re right,’ she sighed. ‘After failure number three I just couldn’t be bothered. Mum had promised me a wee runabout for my birthday if I passed,’ Tina swallowed suddenly and reached out to grip her friend’s hand.
Chris watched as she bit her lip and held back the tears. She’d been so brave, coping with all these weeks of horror. He’d have cracked up if it had been his mum, he thought, suddenly remembering the face of the woman who’d raised him and given him such unconditional love and affection. But Karen hadn’t been like that, had she? The impression he’d had of Tina’s mother was of a different character altogether, one for whom success and a wealthy lifestyle were paramount. Still, she’d been Tina’s mum and the girl was obviously missing her. And it was extra hard at this time of year, Chris thought as strains of ‘White Christmas’ floated over the crowded cafe, as if to remind them of the retail countdown to 25th December.
‘Anyway, how is life with Simon?’ Tina asked, her lip curling in a way that startled Chris, it reminded him so much of Karen.
‘Fine. Oh, I know you don’t approve, my pet, but we get along just fine. He had the room all ready for me to move back in. Did I tell you? Even had an ioniser.’
‘You and your allergies!’ Tina mocked. ‘Anyway, I’m just being selfish. Simon Corrigan doesn’t like me so I know I’m not that welcome up at his place.’
‘Don’t be daft. Anyway, it’s my place too. I pay half the rent. Don’t see why I can’t have my friends over when I want.’
‘Maybe he thinks I’m trying to lure you away from him!’ she teased.
Chris laughed, ‘I’ve told him you’re my coffee-mate!’
‘And what’s that supposed to be? The gay equivalent of tea and sympathy?’
‘Of course,’ Chris replied lightly. ‘Everyone knows a girl’s best friend is her gay man. Right?’
‘Mum thought you’d be a lovely friend for me. She told me that the night she introduced you. Did I ever tell you?’
Chris pulled a face. ‘Me? Your boyfriend? I can’t see that happening, can you?’
Tina smiled up at him suddenly. ‘Well maybe you’re right. I will try to get a flat over here next year. And pass my driving test. Then all the nice boys will come flocking!’
Chris Hunter smiled back at her. It was probably true. With her mane of glossy dark hair and these elfin features Tina Quentin-Jones was a real babe. He was happy with Si, and surely he wanted her to have that same, settled feeling. So why did the idea of her having a host of male admirers fill him with a sense of dismay?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sunday dawned clear and cold, the sky filled with the sort of pearly brightness that foretold the threat of a storm to come. Lorimer stretched under the duvet, remembering the previous day’s events. That Austrian policewoman had been thoroughly efficient, bringing the old violin to them. It had been taken to Rosie Fergusson and the forensic pathologist had gone to work immediately. Weekend or no weekend, Rosie was ready and willing to drop whatever plans she might have made. Calling him late last night she’d told Lorimer that her first impression was that they might be in luck. There did appear to be traces on the violin case and the instrument itself that could provide fresh evidence.
Lorimer’s thoughts turned to the orchestra. Tonight the whole lot of them would be undergoing DNA testing, a procedure that might nail someone for the two murders at last. Today they’d all be up at Glasgow Royal Concert Hall for the Christmas performance. Harps and angels, Brendan Phillips had said. Well, if everything went according to plan, there could be one less angel in the firmament before Christmas.
Lorimer turned onto his side, dragging the cover tightly over his nose. There were so many threads to this case. George Millar’s involvement in drugs might have been no more than a recreational sideline for the violinist.
Carl Bekaert had provided no leads there, unfortunately. Nor had Flynn. Despite the occasional hint, Lorimer had been unable to worm the names of the boy’s drug dealing cronies out of him. It had disquieted the policeman to think the boy might be contacting them from this house and he’d been careful to monitor any outgoing telephone calls. But it appeared that Flynn really had dropped these low life friends of his for good. They’d got on well these past weeks, even Maggie’s mum had called round to see the boy and fuss over him. As Flynn’s injuries had healed so too had something within the boy, some chip on his shoulder that had formed over years of neglect and mistrust. But still he hadn’t opened up to Lorimer about his links with George Millar’s dealers.
At least Millar’s stolen instrument scam seemed to be coming more to light now that the Panormo was back. The link with the Czech Orchestra was being investigated and the Austrian police officer had hinted that there was sufficient evidence from loss adjustors in various parts of Europe to obtain some kind of pattern. Computers, he
