‘You’re probably much better at interviewing than I am these days, Kate,’ Dave Allen said, binning a crisp packet and the cling-film from a baguette, ‘because people in my position don’t get as much practice as those of you further down the pecking order. But if you think a change of bowler would be useful, then of course I’ll sit in. Tell you what, send young Jane off home. And the others. Neville wants overtime down and morale up. So long as I get my leave, I’m not arguing. Here – while you’re doing that, get me a KitKat or something, will you?’
Dave was still swallowing the last crumb when they went into the interview room where Max Cornfield was waiting. If he was surprised when Max stood up and offered a hand, he showed no signs of it, shaking hands and smiling cordially as he introduced himself. He even explained the tape recording system as if it were some tedious routine, rather than a vital means of preserving tamper-proof evidence.
When they were all seated, he began, ‘Well, Max – it is all right to call you Max, is it? We’re in the middle of a murder inquiry at the moment, as you know, and one lead we have to pursue is that of the missing Barr sister, Edna. Now, her brother – Michael, is it – seems delightfully vague about when and why she left Birmingham and has no idea, he says, where she might be now. Kate here reckons you know more about the family than he does, which is why we want you to look at a couple of photos and then tell us what you know. First of all (DCI Allen is showing Mr Cornfield a photograph from an album found at Mrs Duncton’s house), could you confirm who these people are?’
A smile of recognition and then a frown. ‘Oh, it’s the Barr children: Michael, Edna and Mavis-Maeve. That’s Mrs Barr. But look, someone’s cut off this edge.’ He showed them. ‘I should imagine it is Mr Barr who has been removed.’
‘You don’t sound surprised,’ Dave observed. He told the recorder, ‘Mr Cornfield is shaking his head.’
‘I’ve told Kate – Sergeant Power – that none of the family got on well with Mr Barr. He made a great deal of money but created enormous unhappiness with his bullying and overbearing ways.’
‘How did he get on with you, personally?’ Kate asked.
‘I kept largely out of his way. It wasn’t difficult. My work in the garden was done during the day. I retired to my quarters as soon as the evening meal was over if we ate without him. If by chance he was home, I kept out of the way till it was time for me to wash up. I’d reheat the leftovers then.’
‘Left-overs?’ Kate wrinkled her nose.
‘Oh, it was understood by the family that they would leave a portion for me. And we weren’t so fussy about food being fresh from the microwave as we are now,’ he added with an ironic smile. ‘You’d put everything on a plate, cover it with another plate, and put it in the oven or over a saucepan of boiling water.’
Dave clearly wanted to cut short the little history of domestic economy. ‘OK. Bullying and overbearing. Anything else?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘In what way did he bully? Verbally? Physically?’
‘Mostly verbally, Chief Inspector. Though I did end up on more than one occasion at the old Accident Hospital.’
Kate asked, ‘What about the others? Did they end up in Casualty?’
‘I’m sure the hospital records would show that Mrs Barr fell downstairs on more than one occasion. And that she and doors supposedly had a magnetic attraction for each other. Michael had tried to intervene on more than one occasion, I gather. That was why he went away to school – to be out of the way.’
‘And Maeve and Edna?’ she prompted.
For the first time he lowered his eyes. Then, breathing deeply, he straightened. ‘If either were alive, I would tell you to ask them. But since Maeve is no more, and I truly think Edna must be dead by now, I will tell you that I believe he – abused them.’
‘Sexually?’ Dave asked quietly. ‘Mr Cornfield is nodding,’ he added.
Aware she was heading towards difficult territory, Kate asked, ‘Did – did their mother know?’
‘There were some subjects upon which we never touched. Ever.’ He sliced his hands in a gesture of complete finality.
‘You lived there for nigh-on fifty years and you never discussed it?’ Dave demanded, but not unkindly. It seemed as if he too were falling under Cornfield’s gentle spell. But then he leaned forward, full of latent aggression. Kate was glad she’d turned to him. ‘Tell me, Max – you eat scraps from her table, you sleep in a garage, you don’t get any pay: why the hell did you stay? What was your relationship with the family? And especially, what was your relationship with Mrs Barr?’
Whatever reaction either of them might have expected, it wouldn’t have been the one they got. Cornfield leaned back in his chair, tipping it on to its back legs, and smiling, though his eyes were filmed with tears. ‘Is either of you a musician? Chief Inspector? Kate?’ He pulled the chair upright. ‘Kate, you have pianist’s hands. Have you ever played Brahms? And Schumann?’
She was about to nod when she remembered the tape recorder. ‘I’ve played both. Why do you ask?’
‘Did you study them, as well as play?’
‘Not in depth,’ she admitted cautiously.
‘Would you mind telling me what Sergeant Power’s musical habits have got to do with Mrs Barr?’ Dave asked, no longer sounding patient.
‘Brahms went to live as a young man in the Schumann household, when Schumann was still sane. He and Clara, who was nine years older than he, became lifelong friends. They influenced each other enormously. Schumann died insane, and Clara mourned him for ever. She and Brahms, despite many rumours that they were lovers, never married. Brahms loved other women: that’s well documented. But when Clara died, he lost his will to live, and survived her by only six months.’
‘Are you saying that you and Mrs Barr were the Brahms and Clara Schumann of Edgbaston?’
‘In some ways. Our relationship was deep and complex and enduring, Chief Inspector. Just like theirs. But like theirs, it will never be more than a matter of gossip and speculation. Were we employer and employee? Were we lovers? Were we purely friends? You won’t find out from me. I promised her that. I am a man who keeps his promises.’
Kate was moved and exasperated in equal measures. She heard Dave swallowing hard.
One of them had to break the silence. ‘What other promises did you make?’ she asked, her voice over-loud, almost harsh. ‘About the children and their father, for instance?’
He flinched. ‘What sort of promises?’
‘You tell me.’ She didn’t know what she was on to, but she was on to something.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Promises not to tell anyone anything about Edna’s sudden departure. Round about the time her father died.’
‘I wish I knew what you were talking about. Edna was – a very difficult young woman. She had certain – needs – which distressed her family.’
Dave frowned. ‘What sort of needs?’ He sounded genuinely curious.
‘Does it matter now? This is all in the past. She may be a respectable married woman, may be a grandmother living in Bognor.’
‘Do nymphomaniacs become respectable grandmothers living in Bognor?’ Kate asked.
His head jerked up. ‘Nymphomaniac?’
‘According to her brother,’ she said levelly. ‘He believes her mother found her in flagrante delicto with someone. Was that someone you?’
He stood up, eyes blazing. ‘How dare you? How dare you?’
‘Calm down, Max,’ Dave said. ‘It was a simple enough question, and you can choose whether or not to answer it. No? Shall I ask you another question: was the man in question her father? (Mr Cornfield is nodding.) So was that why she left home in such a hurry?’
Max took so long to reply she thought he might be preparing a lie. ‘Yes. It was clearly necessary to separate the two. She went abroad. I had friends, contacts. We pulled in some favours.’
‘Why did no one simply inform the police? Men aren’t allowed to abuse their daughters.’
‘Chief Inspector, you’re old enough to remember the mores of the time. There was Mr Barr, a respected member of the community, handing over dollops of his considerable wealth to all the best charities. And there was his far from respectable daughter. Who would accept her word over his? No, it was better as it was.’
‘But he died, Max. Why didn’t she come back then?’
‘Who can say? I can give you the address I took her to. I have nothing more recent.’
‘Address you took her to?’ Kate repeated.
‘Of course. Who else could Mrs Barr rely on to escort her, see her settled?’
‘Where did you escort her to?’
‘Berlin,’ he said. ‘I took her to Berlin.’
‘To your friend Steiner?’
‘No, no. And before you ask, he has tried to find her. Berlin, Kate, when it was occupied. How many soldiers would be able to resist a pretty girl? She may not be in Bognor, but in Nice or Miami. I hope she is.’
‘Hmm.’ Dave sounded as if he were reflecting on the frailty of mankind. Then lightly, casually, almost as if he were offering a cup of tea, he asked, ‘Why did you forge Mrs Barr’s will, Max?’
If Kate had seen it on TV, in a movie, she’d have gasped aloud in admiration. As it was, her eyes were glued on Max.
‘Forge it? I told your sergeant the circumstances. I wrote it down to Mrs Barr’s dictation. She insisted. Hasn’t Dr Steiner told you that? He told me you’d phoned him.’
‘Tell me the circumstances,’ Dave suggested. ‘Exactly what happened?’
‘Almost word for word what he told me, and very much what Steiner said. But no direct mention of Horowitz,’ Kate said, as she and Allen left the interview room to give Cornfield a breather. They sent a constable in with coffee, while they retired to the canteen.
‘And do you believe him?’
‘Not any more. I think I may know how to crack him, Gaffer, but I need to catch him unawares, even more than you did. Can you leave it to me?’
He stirred extra sugar into his drinking chocolate. ‘Don’t see why not.’ He looked at his watch. ‘What say we give him five more minutes – just long enough to go over his gardening alibi again – and then you pounce?’
She sipped her mineral water, wrinkling her nose as a bubble tickled. ‘No. I’ve got to do that when I run him home. But I’ll tell you what, Gaffer, I think we’re going to have to talk to him again anyway. That Edna business. And the death of her father. There’s something that adds up to more than four, if you see what I mean. A medical student. A brutal father. A heart attack. A sudden disappearance. What do you make that?’
‘Nearer five than four, that’s what I’d make it. Five being unnatural death. Shit! All I wanted was a nice, straightforward domestic so I could wrap it up and go on my hols in peace.’
Kate brought the car to a gentle halt in front of Mrs Barr’s house. To her alarm there were lights on in two of the upper rooms.
‘A timer device,’ Max said, laconically.
She turned to him. ‘I’m sorry to be putting you through all this grief about Edna. But she could be a suspect, you see.’
‘Even less likely than me,’ he said bitterly.
‘Quite. But don’t let my boss hear me say that.’ She got out of the car with him. ‘Another lovely evening.’
He peered at his watch under the streetlight. ‘I had hoped to see Mrs Hamilton.’ He left the implicit rebuke hanging in the air.
‘Tomorrow might be better – she’s still very poorly.’
‘She’d want to see me – to hear about Edward.’
‘Of course.’ She set off up his drive, just like a young man seeing his date home. ‘What are your plans for this weekend?’ All very calm, comradely even. And she banked on his returning too to their easier conversations.
‘If I can’t start on my world tour,’ he said, managing a smile, ‘I shall stay in the garden. Time enough when the autumn comes to work on clearing the house. And you? Will you be seeing a young man?’
‘Oh no,’ she said, feeling a complete louse, ‘I’m off to Portugal this weekend.’
‘Portugal?’
‘Yes. To the Algarve. Any messages for your old friend Mr Horowitz? It’s him I’m going to see.’
Lying had never been Kate’s favourite technique, but she hoped it would be justified on this occasion. Ideally, Max would have pre-empted her next sentence with a swift confession. As it was, she thought she might have to wait till the following morning. Perhaps even a last minute call as she was about to board a plane. That is, of course, if a plane journey materialised. All he had done, however, was to wish her a pleasant journey.
Nearly home now. Chaos outside Edgbaston cricket ground: God, not an accident! No. Supporters pouring from the ground after a day-night game. From their faces, the local team – what did they call themselves? The Bears? – might have won. She’d never quite got the hang of cricket, perhaps because it was supposed to be a three-dimensional game of chess, another game she’d never mastered. She wondered idly if Max would pass Lord Tebbit’s cricket test for immigrants, who, according to the Noble Lord, could only be considered truly integrated when they supported England, not their country of origin, in test matches. Certainly Lizzie’s fancy pretence of a commission rogatoire wouldn’t pass any test; there was something inherently displeasing about using a spoof to catch a forgery, not to mention the probable fall-out when the ploy was discovered. Not, of course, that it would be Lizzie who carried the can, not if what Dave Allen said were true.
Despite her horror of grassing, she was deeply tempted to phone Rod and lay the whole thing before him. He wouldn’t mind being phoned even at this time of night; nearly eleven. Her stomach sank: that was more than could be said of Graham. Had he tried to reach her tonight? Not on her mobile, that was for sure. And no, not on her answerphone either. Damn him, didn’t he know how much she needed to hear his voice? Three words – I love you – would be enough. She’d make them enough. Would have to make them enough.
Just as she’d have to make the sad contents of her fridge enough. Bread sandwich seemed to be top of the menu. What about turning out for a last minute take-away balti or fish and chips?
Altogether too much effort.
Sardines on toast: that was a possibility, if only there were sardines, which there were not. The heel of cheese was no better worth than a trip to the wormery. Heavens, there was a woman in her eighties out in Selly Oak Hospital who cared enough for herself to make not just biscuits but langue de chat biscuits for herself. And here she was, hale and hearty and not capable of knocking the most elementary snack together. Kate reached for the whisky.
And put it back again. Popping bread into the toaster, she reached for a pencil and paper. Tomorrow’s shopping list would be a revelation.