Dead Certain

He was referring to a case currently before the courts. A university lecturer, diagnosed with early Alzheimer’s disease, had used a suicide method detailed in the handbook-tranquilizers and a plastic bag over the head-to successfully kill herself. The Handford family were in the process of suing both the publisher and the author for substantial damages, holding The Euthanasia Handbook wholly responsible for the death of their beloved family member.

For the first time Raeburn broke eye contact. He glanced at the constable, who was studiously writing, then said jerkily, “Inspector, you haven’t mentioned murder. I don’t for one moment believe that Collis was murdered, but are you considering it?”

Intrigued by his agitation, she said evenly, “It’s one possibility.”

“I can’t imagine anyone would want to kill Collis. He was respected, loved. His death is a grievous blow, not only to Nicole and myself, but to everyone who treasured his voice.”

That sounds like a set piece you’ve carefully rehearsed. “Nevertheless, there are some people who seemed to have grudges against your son.”

“Indeed?” His voice was suddenly louder. “I imagine, if that’s so, that Welton and Livingston are the two you have in mind.”

“Why do you say that?”

He frowned impatiently. “I presume you do your job competently, Inspector. Then you would know that Graeme Welton has written an opera that is set to be an unmitigated disaster.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “Dingo, I believe it’s called,” he said scathingly. “It was specifically written for Collis and Alanna Brooks, and the two of them were incautious enough to sign undertakings to take part in the premiere. I can assure you that when they realized the quality, or lack of it, they both were reluctant to be involved.”

Carol decided that this was a good time to use some interesting items Anne Newsome had turned up in her investigation of the complicated web of Raeburn family finances. She said, “And you were involved, as well.”

“What?”

“I’ve been advised you invested in the forthcoming opera. Was it on your own behalf?”

His eyes narrowed at her question. “I was Collis’s manager,” he ground out. “I handled all the financial aspects-investments, property purchases, and the like. It was perfectly normal to put money into a project he’d be singing in.”

It was almost a pleasure to needle him. “You said yourself you thought it likely to be a disaster. Did you mean artistically, or financially?”

He moved impatiently. “Both. I’m not trying to hide the fact I had poor judgment in this case, but I put the money in before I realized what a turkey Dingo was going to be.”

“You expect to lose your entire investment?”

“Very possibly. I can’t get it out, as Welton had his accountants tie it up.”

“Did your son resent that?”

Raeburn ducked his head, and suddenly his softer voice was almost inaudible. “Doubt if he even knew we had money invested there. Collis wasn’t interested in the financial side of things. Details bored him. That’s why I handled the money, and Nicole looked after all the bookings, the tour arrangements, etcetera.”

“Did he agree with you that the opera was unlikely to be a success?”

This question elicited an unexpected response. Raeburn became animated, his voice becoming louder as he said, “Agree? He was the one who told me. Said he’d seen the libretto and the music, and it was amateurish, embarrassingly bad. Collis had it out with Welton. Said he wouldn’t ruin his reputation singing such rubbish. They fought over it, because Collis had signed a contract to sing the premiere, and Welton was holding him to it.”

He paused, seeming to realize he was talking too loudly, and brought his voice back to its customary softness. “I’d decided we had to break the contract. I had the lawyers working on it when Collis died.”

There’s something here… “Graeme Welton says he had a meeting with your son on Friday, and everything was smoothed over. You didn’t know anything about this?”

He glared at her. “Collis would have told me if that had happened, and he didn’t. That makes Welton a liar.” He added quickly, “Don’t misunderstand, Inspector. I should have said that Graeme Welton’s made a mistake. He’s a friend of my daughter’s, and I suppose he wanted to have the conflict resolved for her sake, so he saw this discussion with Collis in a much rosier light than it deserved.”

In the silence the faint sound of Anne’s pen seemed to remind him that his words were being recorded. He looked over at her, then back to Carol. She delayed until he fidgeted uncomfortably, then she said, “And Edward Livingston? You mentioned him as having a grudge against your son…”

“Livingston’s impossible. Sooner or later everyone finds that out. Collis didn’t like him. Livingston has no idea how to handle artists. Big, splashy productions are his style. No aesthetic taste, but he gets to the masses.”

“This makes Mr. Livingston an asset to Eureka Opera?”

He frowned impatiently. “If you’re talking dollars, Inspector, then yes, he is valuable to the Company. If you’re referring to aesthetics, to artistic direction… well…”

“Was there some specific conflict between your son and Mr. Livingston?”

Again he clicked his tongue irritably. “It was Welton’s bloody opera again. It was bad enough that it was unsingable, but on top of that, Livingston’s planning to stage it in his usual ludicrous way. Ayers Rock on stage, trained dingoes and kangaroos…” His face was twisted with bitter amusement. “Can you imagine it, Inspector? An artist like Collis singing arias in the middle of a zoo? The whole idea was ridiculous, farcical.” He stood up and began to stride around the room. “I would not permit Collis to be associated with such a production.”

“But,” said Carol mildly, “he would have had to sing in it, if his contract couldn’t be broken. Isn’t that so?”

Raeburn was checking his watch. “Inspector, I’m so sorry,” he said smoothly, his agitation abruptly under control. “I have an urgent appointment. My daughter, however, is very keen to see you. I’ll have to leave, I’m afraid, but Martha will look after you.”

“There is one important matter…”

He said curtly, “Yes? What?”

Carol said with deliberate bluntness, “Your son was HIV-positive.”

“I don’t have time to discuss this now.”

You don’t have time to discuss that your son had the AIDS virus? “I’m sorry, but we do need to talk about it.”

He was already at the door. He turned back to say harshly, “First, I don’t accept that Collis had… the virus. It was a mistake with the blood test, or whatever. Second, I’ll take legal action against anyone…” He paused for emphasis, “… anyone mentioning HIV-positive and my son’s name in the same sentence.” Again he reminded Carol of a bantam rooster swollen with arrogant authority. “I’ll instruct Martha to get Nicole for you.”

Carol stood. “Before you go, Mr. Raeburn, would you mind if we took a look at your son’s room?”

“Your people have already been through his papers.”

Carol nodded, but remained silent. You like calling the shots and you don’t want to accede to any request I make.

After a moment he said impatiently, “All right. I can’t see any harm in it.”

The heavy tick of the grandfather clock seemed much louder after he had gone. Carol was able only to exchange a glance with Anne Newsome before Martha appeared with a tray which she set down at the central coffee table. “Thought you’d want refreshments. He’s so upset. Did you realize that? The funeral, too, it’ll be a dreadful ordeal. They say there’ll be thousands there. Will you be going?‘’

Before Carol could respond, a woman came into the room. “Thanks, Martha. I’ll look after everything.”

As Carol stood, she noticed Nicole Raeburn’s extreme slimness. Her wrists and ankles seemed to be fragile, breakable joints, her neck too thin to support her head with its abundance of chestnut hair.

Carol shook hands, the bony fingers barely brushing hers before being withdrawn. Anorexic? she thought, considering the narrow shoulders and concave chest. Or sick? Asthma, maybe?

When it became obvious that Nicole Raeburn was going to sit beside Carol on the sofa, Anne Newsome rose unobtrusively and went to a chair. Carol waited until she was settled, then said, “Of course you’ve been interviewed before, and I’m afraid I’ll be asking the same questions you’ve already answered.”

“It’s no trouble. Besides, I was the one who suggested to Daddy that he get you put in charge.”