Past Reason Hated

‘He was a very talented pianist, you know. He could have gone a long way, but those years of dreary teaching broke his spirit.’

Susan felt embarrassed. ‘How are you getting on without Caroline?’ she asked, to change the subject.

James paused for a few seconds, as if deep in thought, before answering. ‘Fine, I suppose. It wasn’t a difficult part, it was just that, well, Caroline was special, that’s all. Are you any closer?’

Susan shook her head. Not that she would have said even if they were closer to finding Caroline’s killer. She frowned. ‘Do you think anyone in the production could have been involved in her death?’

He cupped his chin in his hand and thought for a moment. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘No, I can’t see it. Nobody knew her that well.’

‘Her killer didn’t need to know her well. She let him or her in, but he or she could have been merely an acquaintance, someone come to talk to her about something.’

‘I still can’t see it.’

‘There must have been friction with the other women, the leads.’

‘Why?’

‘Competition.’

‘Over what?’

‘Anything. Men. Lines. Parts.’

‘There wasn’t. I’m not saying we were a totally happy family, we had our ups and downs, our off days, but you’re grasping at straws. Remember, it’s the amateur dramatic society. People join for pleasure, not profit. I’d like to think, though, that we’re far from amateur in quality.’

Susan smiled. ‘I’m sure you are. Tell me, what was Caroline Hartley really like?’

‘I’m sorry, Susan, it’s still very upsetting for me, such a loss. I just don’t want to – ah, look, here’s our food.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Delightful. And another half litre of your best Barolo, please, Enzo.’

‘Do you think we should?’ Susan asked. ‘I’ve still got half a glass left. I’m not certain I can drink any more.’

‘Well if you can’t, I can. I know I should be drinking white with the linguine, but what the hell, I prefer Barolo. Worry not, not a drop will be wasted. What did you do for Christmas?’

‘I – I…’

‘Well, what? Did you visit your parents?’ He gathered a forkful of food and lifted it to his mouth, his eyes probing her face for an answer all the time.

Susan looked down at her plate. ‘I… not really, no, I didn’t. I was busy with the case.’

‘You don’t get on with them, do you?’ he said, still looking directly at her, with just a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. She found his gaze disconcerting and looked down at her plate again to cut off a bit of cannelloni.

‘I don’t suppose I do,’ she admitted when she’d finished chewing. She shrugged. ‘It’s nothing serious. Just that holidays at home can be awfully depressing.’

‘I suppose so,’ James said. ‘I’m an orphan myself and I always find Christmas terribly gloomy. It brings back memories of those awful orphanage dinners and enforced festivities. But you have a family. You shouldn’t neglect them, you know. One day, it’ll be too late.’

‘Look,’ Susan said, reaching for her glass, ‘when I want a lecture on a daughter’s responsibility, I’ll ask for one.’

James stood up. ‘I’m sorry, really I am.’ He patted her arm. ‘Excuse me for a moment.’

Susan held her anger in check and tossed back the last of her wine. The second half litre arrived. She refilled her glass and took a long swig. To hell with caution; she could get as pissed as the next person if she wanted to. Why couldn’t she talk about her parents without getting so damned emotional? she asked herself. She picked away at her cannelloni, which was very good, until James came back. Then she took a deep breath and put down her knife and fork.

‘I’m the one that should apologise,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to blow up like that. It’s just that it’s my problem, all right?’

‘Fine,’ James said. ‘Fine. So what did you do?’

She sighed. ‘I stayed at home. I had quite a nice day actually. I’d dashed out and bought a small tree and a few decorations the night before, so the place looked quite seasonal. I watched the Queen’s message and a variety show and read a book on homicide investigation.’

James laughed, a forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth. ‘You read a textbook on homicide on Christmas Day?’

Susan blushed. At that moment the manager walked by. He nodded at James as he passed.

‘I don’t believe it,’ James said. ‘You sitting there by the Christmas tree listening to carols, reading about dead bodies and poisons and ballistics.’

‘Well it’s true,’ Susan said, managing a smile. ‘Anyway, if my job dis-’

But she had no time to finish. Before she could even get the word out, a man appeared beside her and began singing into her ear. She didn’t know the song, but she could make out words like bella and amore. She wished she could shrink to nothing and disappear down a crack in the floor. James sat opposite, hands folded on his lap, watching with cool amusement in his eyes. When the singer had gone and Susan had grudgingly thanked him, she turned to James with fury in her eyes.

‘You set that up, didn’t you, when you went to the gents’? You talked to the manager. Go on, admit it.’

‘Very well.’ James turned his hands palms up. ‘Mea culpa. I just thought you might enjoy it, that’s all.’

‘I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. I’ve a good mind-’ Susan dropped her napkin on the table and pushed back her chair, but James leaned forward and put his hand gently on her arm. She could see the mild amusement in his eyes turn to concern.

‘Don’t go, Susan. I just meant I thought it might cheer you up, after a Christmas spent alone. Honestly, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I never thought you wouldn’t like it. How could I know?’

Looking at his eyes again, she could see he was sincere. Not so much that, but it hadn’t even occurred to him that the singer might embarrass her. She eased the chair towards the table again and relaxed.

‘All right,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘I’ll let you off just this once. But don’t you ever-’

‘I won’t,’ James said. ‘I promise. Scout’s honour. Cross my heart and hope to die. Come on, eat your cannelloni and drink your wine. Enjoy.’ And he let his hand rest on hers on the checked tablecloth for a long moment before taking it away.

FIVE

Banks switched off Milhaud’s ‘Creation’ as he pulled up outside Faith Green’s block of flats. It was a small unit, only three stories high, with six flats on each floor. He looked at his watch: 8.50. Plenty of time for Faith to have come home from the Crooked Billet, if she hadn’t gone out on a date.

Luckily, she was in. When he knocked, he heard someone cross the room and saw the tiny peephole in the door darken.

‘Inspector Banks!’ Faith said as she pulled the door open with a dramatic flourish. ‘What a surprise. Do come in. Let me take your coat.’ She hung up his coat, then took his arm and led him into the spacious living room. A number of framed posters from old movies hung on the pastel-green walls: Bogart in Casablanca, Garbo in Camille, John Garfield and Lana Turner in The Postman Always Rings Twice. Faith gestured towards the modular sofa that covered almost two walls, and Banks sat down.

‘Drink?’

‘Maybe just a small Scotch, if you have it.’

‘Of course.’ Faith opened up a glass-fronted cocktail cabinet and poured them both drinks. Banks’s was about two fingers taller than he would have liked.

‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ Faith asked in her husky voice. ‘If only you’d told me you were coming, I could have at least put my face on. I must look terrible.’

She didn’t. With her beautiful eyes and silvery, pageboy hair, it would have been difficult for Faith Green to look terrible. She wore no make-up, but that didn’t matter. Her high cheekbones needed no highlights, her full, pink lips no colouring. In skin-tight black slacks and a dark-green silk blouse, her figure, slim at the waist, nicely curved at the hips and well-rounded at the bust, looked terrific. The perfume she wore was the same one Banks remembered from their brief chat at the Crooked Billet – very subtle, with a hint of jasmine.

She settled close to Banks on the sofa and cradled a glass of white wine in her hands. ‘You should have phoned first,’ she said. ‘I gave you my number.’

‘Maybe you didn’t know I was married.’

She laughed. ‘I’ve never known that to make very much difference to men.’ Given the way she was sitting and looking at him, he could well believe her. He fiddled for his cigarettes.

‘Oh, you’re not going to smoke, are you?’ She pouted. ‘Please don’t. It’s not that I’m so anti, but I just can’t bear my flat smelling of smoke. Please?’

Banks removed his hand from his jacket pocket and took a long swig of Scotch. He waited until the pleasant burning sensation had subsided, then said, ‘Remember the last time we talked? About how things were going between the people in the play?’

‘Of course I do.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘I told you I liked my men dark and handsome, and not necessarily tall.’

If Banks had been wearing a tie, he would have loosened it at this point. ‘Miss Green-’

‘Faith, please. It’s not such a bad name, is it? There are three of us, sisters, but my parents never were that well up on the Bible. The youngest’s called Chastity.’

Banks laughed. ‘Faith it is, then. You told me you had no idea that Caroline Hartley was a lesbian. Are you sure you didn’t?’

Faith frowned. ‘Of course not. What an odd question. She didn’t walk around with it written on her forehead. Besides, it’s not as obvious in a woman as it sometimes is in a man, is it? I mean, I’ve known a few homosexuals, and most of them don’t mince around and lisp, but you have to admit that some conform to the stereotype. How could you possibly tell with a woman unless she went about dressed like a man or something?’

‘Perhaps you would just sense it?’

‘Well, I didn’t. Not with Caroline. And she certainly didn’t walk around dressed like a man.’

‘So she told no one?’

‘Not as far as I know, she didn’t. She certainly didn’t tell me. I can’t vouch for the others. Another drink?’