‘George Millar used you and O’Hagan as his heavies?’ Lorimer’s eyes widened in disbelief.
‘Aye, well no’ very often. Word gets round fast when someone won’t tolerate bein’ messed around.’
‘And who exactly were the recipients of your persuasive techniques?’ asked Lorimer.
‘Eh?’
‘Who did you duff up?’ DS Wilson explained, seeing the blank look appear in the dealer’s eyes.
Seaton nodded in sudden comprehension. ‘A wee nyaff called Ruskin and another yin called Karger. They’re no’ in the Orchestra onymair, by the way,’ he added. ‘Anyway, this wid be a coupla’ years ago.’
Lorimer saw in his mind’s eye a younger Joseph Alexander Flynn. He couldn’t have been much more than fifteen when he’d first met George Millar. The streets with their characters like Seaton had shaped the boy into becoming the dealer’s go-between. Yet something had happened to the boy these past few weeks. It was a strange sort of Providence that had thrust him into the path of that van in Mitchell Street. Lorimer would swear that Flynn would never end up now like the man across the interview desk.
Seaton’s statement had made interesting reading. Not only had Bekaert and Millar been supplied cocaine by the Glasgow dealer, George Millar had been one small part of an international ring, using the Orchestra’s tour programmes as a cover. Lorimer hoped that the Austrian Police would benefit from another known link in what was undoubtedly a complex chain. The question now was, Lorimer told himself as he approached the Royal Concert Hall, whether he wanted to bring Carl Bekaert in for questioning just yet.
The Orchestra were at that moment rehearsing for the evening’s performance. Lorimer had to remind himself that this was a murder investigation he was conducting. Taking him away to the station now might alert the killer. Solly was convinced that the Dane was not their man and somehow Lorimer’s instinct told him to trust Solly’s judgement. No irony in his soul, the psychologist had said.
Well, somebody’s dark soul was full of irony and it was up to him to find out who that somebody was. The DNA testing would be undertaken straight after the concert, each member of the Orchestra and Chorus being given little warning of the impending tests. He didn’t want anyone slipping through that particular net.
Lorimer nodded to Neville, the security man, as he entered the stage door and made his way through the now familiar corridors.
‘Doctor Brightman here yet?’ he asked one of the stage crew.
‘Just arrived two minutes before you, sir. He’s in with Mr Phillips, I believe.’
Lorimer strode along the passageway that led to the Orchestra Manager’s room. It was barely three o’clock and yet so much had already taken place on this, the last Sunday before Christmas. He glanced at the television monitor set at an angle inside Brendan’s room. The rehearsal was already under way. He could hear the strains of Prokofiev’s ‘Troika’ from the
Protocol demanded that even the administration staff were properly attired and men in full evening dress would drift in and out of Brendan’s room several times before the Christmas concert began.
‘Chief Inspector, or should I be addressing you as Superintendent?’ Brendan smiled quizzically but the smile failed to reach his eyes. There was something bothering the man, Lorimer realised. Just what had the two men had been discussing before his arrival?
‘Oh, that’s only a temporary designation,’ Lorimer replied smoothly.
‘I was explaining to Mr Phillips about what Dr Fergusson would require for her visit later on,’ Solomon glanced at Brendan as he spoke.
‘I still can’t believe that you are really going to test everyone for DNA. I mean, it’s as if we are all suddenly under suspicion,’ Brendan protested.
‘Look at it this way,’ Lorimer replied as he leant casually against the door. ‘It’ll help to eliminate an awful lot of people from our inquiries. That should give your players peace of mind, surely?’ he smiled encouragingly.
‘I suppose so,’ Brendan muttered. ‘It’s gone on for so long now, we all just want things to go back to normal.’
‘They’ll never be back to normal for Edith Millar or Derek Quentin-Jones,’ Lorimer reminded him quietly.
Brendan had the grace to look ashamed. ‘No, of course. And I’m sure the players will appreciate that more than anybody.’
‘We are grateful for your cooperation, sir. I know it’s meant a lot of extra work for you, contacting so many people.’
He pushed himself off the door and nodded towards the television monitor.
‘We’ll be starting with the musicians directly after the performance but perhaps the backroom staff would oblige Dr Fergusson by making themselves available from five o’clock onwards.’ Lorimer nodded at Brendan who instantly recognised his words as a command rather than a polite request. The whole procedure was going to take some time unless they got their proverbial skates on.
‘I believe you’ve been asked to make rooms one and two available for Dr Fergusson and her staff,’ Lorimer continued.
‘And you have given my officers a list of all the participants. You’re quite sure the same people are here, including those who were augmenters on the previous occasions?’
The Orchestra Manager looked up swiftly, but nodded.
‘Yes. Rooms one and two are normally used as a place to relax and have their meals. You know I’ll have a small mutiny on my hands when I tell them they’ll have to restrict themselves to their own dressing rooms for the rest of the day? Chloe Redpath was a bit cross about having to come into the Concert Hall. Said she’d be rushing straight from a church recital,’ Brendan explained. A swift glance at the two men told Brendan that his attempt at pique seemed to be falling on deaf ears yet the Orchestra Manager struggled on, ‘It’s not awfully convenient to cart a harp about all over the city, you know. And she’s not going to be the only one who’ll be put out.’
‘I’d appreciate it if you could make it clear that nobody is to leave the building from now until after tonight’s performance. It just makes things a little easier,’ Lorimer told him, ignoring the vexation on the man’s face. Any news that DNA testing was to take place could easily spook their killer; the unspoken words hung there as Lorimer watched the Orchestra Manager flick his gaze from the Chief Inspector to the psychologist.
Brendan rose to his feet. ‘In that case, I’d better make a start, hadn’t I?’ He smoothed down his dress trousers as Lorimer opened the door for him.
The door closed behind him with a click.
‘Our Mr Phillips isn’t a happy bunny, is he?’ Lorimer said wryly when he was certain the man would be out of earshot.
‘Can’t say I blame him,’ Solly said. ‘Did you know he had applied for a post with the Birmingham Symphony Orchestra?’ he added.
Lorimer’s eyebrows rose. ‘Trying to escape from it all, is he?’
‘Put yourself in his position. wouldn’t you want a fresh start? It can’t be easy going in there all the time,’ Solly jerked his thumb in the direction of the dressing room along the corridor where George Millar had been murdered. ‘He strikes me as a rather sensitive man, you know. And he did find the body.’
‘No irony in his soul, then?’
‘If he has, then he’s doing a remarkably good job of hiding it,’ Solly answered slowly.
Lorimer was suddenly reminded of Brendan’s uncharacteristic, probing question to the Chorus Master after Karen’s funeral. He had seemed almost a different man, then. Was that a mask slipping? Or did Maurice Drummond simply bring out a less savoury side to Brendan’s nature?
‘You’re going to be attending every test?’ he asked Solly.
‘Most of them, hopefully. I still think that the behaviour displayed by each person could provide something tangible.’
Lorimer nodded. ‘Especially if anyone tried to refuse being tested.’
‘Hence the warrant?’
Lorimer patted his jacket pocket. ‘Right here. Full authorisation. Signed and dated.’
The possibility that DNA material could match the traces found on Karen’s violin had given him new hope. Perhaps the events of the coming evening would prove extremely fruitful.
