‘Do you wish to see the Great Hall?’
Quinn answered Inspector Pool’s question with a quizzical frown.
‘It’s where the choir was rehearsing before it happened. We’re holding everyone there for now.’
‘Naturally.’
‘I have explained to them the importance of our taking statements while everything is fresh in their minds. Quite a few members of the choir are somewhat on the elderly side and their memories may grow more unreliable with the passage of time. Normally, I would release people once my men have taken statements from them, but when I found out that SCD was to be called in, I thought it better to hold on to as many people as we could in case you wanted to speak to them yourselves.’
Quinn gave a small bow.
‘This way, if you will then,’ said Pool. ‘Unfortunately, some of the people who were here have already slipped away. We are dependent on people’s goodwill, you see.’
‘Do you know who we are missing?’
‘Some members of the orchestra,’ replied Pool. ‘And those what you might call celebrities. Dame Elsie Tatton, for example. They all scarpered PDQ.’
Pool opened a door to release a rising clamour of discontent. Multiple overlapping conversations competed in a constantly increasing volume of noise. As the detectives entered, an expectant hush descended.
The uneasy calm lasted only a few seconds before an even louder din erupted. Quinn knew only one way to get the room’s attention. He reached inside his ulster and removed his Webley service revolver, holding it above his head. A loud collective gasp gave way quickly to an enthralled silence.
‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.’ Quinn returned the revolver to its hidden holster. ‘My name is Chief Inspector Quinn.’
There was a murmur of excitement. A thrilling whisper crackled along the seated rows: Quickfire Quinn!
Quinn walked slowly down the aisle dividing the auditorium seats, his boot tips clicking on the polished floor. The room was so quiet now you could hear a pin drop – or two hundred necks swivel. ‘I have no doubt that you all wish to go home as soon as possible. Believe me, I don’t want to detain you any longer than is necessary. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but as I am sure you are aware by now, a man has been murdered here today. The murderer may well be here among us.’
The response to this admittedly melodramatic pronouncement was a second gasp, gratifyingly louder than the first.
‘It is possible – more than possible, likely – that some of you saw something today that could help us in our investigations, perhaps without even realizing it. That’s why we must take statements from you all and why we cannot let you go until we have spoken to everyone. In some cases, you will be interviewed by more than one officer. This is nothing to be concerned about. It simply means we are anxious not to overlook a single detail that may prove crucial to the case. We, the police, see it as our duty to investigate this horrible crime with meticulous and methodical care. I believe we owe that to the deceased, and to all of you who knew him. To that end, I crave your cooperation for a while longer.’
Having reached the front of the hall, Quinn turned and nodded to Inspector Pool, who strode with long, easy steps to join him. ‘What was the name of that chap Seddon spoke to about the piano tuner?’
‘Cavendish. Charles Cavendish. He’s the treasurer of the choir. An accountant by profession.’
‘I shall talk to Mr Cavendish first. And isn’t there a wife? Ursula, wasn’t it?’
‘You want them both together?’
He answered Pool’s question with a quick nod. ‘And could you find me a room. Somewhere without a corpse would be preferable.’
Quinn sat behind the teacher’s desk in a classroom on the ground floor. On the wall was a large map of the world with the territories of the British Empire shown in pink.
The itch of chalk dust took him back to his own school days. He had been a hardworking student, bright enough, he supposed, but not especially brilliant. He could remember certain subjects being a struggle, mathematics in particular. But he had been eager to impress his teachers and live up to his father’s expectations, and so he had never been willing to give up on a problem. At the root of his approach was the belief that there always was a solution, and that his teachers would not have set the problem if they did not expect him to be able to solve it. It struck him now that it was a surprisingly mature approach for a boy to take.
Was it to please his father, he wondered, that he had in particular applied himself to the scientific subjects? Certainly, for as long as he could remember he had wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a doctor. That was not to be, of course. Events had conspired against him, the most significant of them being his father’s suicide when he was a medical student.
He looked across the desk at the couple seated in front of him. Ursula and Charles Cavendish held their bodies turned slightly away from one another. If he had not been told that Cavendish was an accountant, he would have guessed it. Ursula, it was clear, had been crying. That was understandable, given the circumstances, and did not necessarily imply any untoward relationship with the dead man. And yet, Quinn couldn’t help wondering. Perhaps Anna Seddon wasn’t the only female member of the choir whom Fonthill had seduced. If so, he noted, Ursula Cavendish was neither as young nor as pretty as Anna, which suggested that perhaps Fonthill had been rather indiscriminate in his affections.
It seemed odd that Charles Cavendish was making no effort to comfort his wife.
‘Do you have children?’ Quinn had not expected this would be his first question. But sometimes, as an investigator, it was as important to surprise one’s self as it was the people one was interviewing.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Ursula Cavendish flushed deep red.
‘What has that got to do with anything?’ demanded her husband.
Quinn gestured around at the classroom. ‘I was just thinking, it’s a terrible place for a murder to happen. A school. Who can say what the effect on the children will be?’
‘Is there any good place for a thing like this to happen?’ Ursula’s voice was indignant, her expression appalled.
It was a fair point, as Quinn conceded with a nod. ‘What was your relationship with the deceased?’
‘Relationship?’ She clearly balked at the word.
Interestingly, it was her husband who answered for her. ‘We are members of the choir. Sir Aidan was our choirmaster.’
‘That is the only relationship you have with him?’
‘I am the treasurer of the choir too. From time to time I have met with Sir Aidan to discuss choir business.’
‘What do you mean, choir business? Did Sir Aidan take an interest in the choir’s finances?’
‘He was naturally interested to know how ticket sales were going.’
‘And how were they going?’
‘Well. The concert was practically sold out. There were, in addition, a number of donations made.’
‘Sir Aidan must have been pleased.’
‘Yes. He was most gratified. So far we have raised more or less two hundred pounds for the refugees, though what will happen now, I don’t know.’
‘More or less?’
‘I do not have the exact figures in front of me.’
‘That’s a lot of money. Where is it kept?’
‘The choir has its own bank account. Any cash I keep in a secure box at home until I have the opportunity to pay it into the account.’
‘Did Sir Aidan have access to the account?’
Cavendish’s eyes widened. ‘Why do you ask that?’
The man’s barely contained panic convinced Quinn that he was on to something. ‘I’m merely trying to establish if the money could have provided a motive for Sir Aidan’s murder.’
‘No, he was not authorized to access the money. However …’
‘Yes?’
‘He asked me to make over some pre-signed cheques to him.’
‘And did you?’
‘No. I refused.’
‘What did Sir Aidan want the money for?’
‘I don’t really know. He said something about incurring expenses.’
‘Was it a normal request?’
‘No. It was most extraordinary.’
‘You have never made out blank cheques in his favour before?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘What expenses was he referring to, do you know?’
Cavendish shook his head blankly. ‘I cannot say.’
Quinn squeezed his lips between his thumb and forefinger as he took this in. ‘And you, Mrs Cavendish? How would you describe your relationship with Sir Aidan?’
She stared at him for a long moment before shaking her head with vehement force. Whether she was refusing to answer the question or denying that there was any relationship between them, Quinn could not be sure.
‘Now, Mr Seddon says that he saw a blind piano tuner – or a man who was disguised as a blind piano tuner – and that he spoke to you about this man. Is that correct?’
‘Yes, I do remember Seddon mentioning it. As I said to the other policeman, I thought it was odd because normally I am the one who books the piano tuner and I knew nothing about this. It’s not our piano anyhow, so naturally I would not presume to have it tuned without the agreement of the school. The harpsichord is supplied by a rental company who take responsibility for the tuning of the instrument.’
‘Are these the kind of expenses that Sir Aidan had in mind?’
‘I don’t know. Now that you mention it, I do remember Seddon saying that it was Sir Aidan who had organized the piano tuner. Or that’s what the man told him.’
‘Did you see this man?’
‘No,’ said Cavendish emphatically.
‘How about you, Mrs Cavendish?’
Ursula Cavendish appeared to be half in a daze, staring in deep fascination at Quinn’s face.
‘My wife is in shock.’
‘Yes.’
‘She … we all … Sir Aidan … was a huge part of all our lives.’
‘Naturally.’ Quinn allowed a beat before asking: ‘Did you know Sir Aidan was the father of Anna Seddon’s baby?’
A strange noise, a kind of animal yelp, escaped from Ursula Cavendish’s throat.
‘Yes,’ said Charles Cavendish simply.
‘Did he have affairs with many of the women in the choir?’ Quinn was watching Ursula closely. She closed her eyes and shuddered as the colour drained from her face.
‘What kind of an investigation are you conducting here?’ demanded Cavendish.
‘A murder investigation.’
‘I do not see why it is necessary to engage in scurrilous, and quite frankly offensive, speculation of this nature.’
‘Did he have an affair with you, Mrs Cavendish?’
‘How dare you!’ cried Cavendish on his wife’s behalf.
But Ursula Cavendish ignored her husband’s objection and merely shook her head with that same curious half-dazed, half-fascinated automatism.
Perhaps it was unrealistic to expect her to admit to an affair in front of her husband. But Quinn somehow believed her and indeed read more into her response than simple denial.
‘What an extraordinary man he must have been,’ mused Quinn.
Quinn turned to look at Cavendish. His mouth was pinched tightly as he stared unhappily at a knot on the teak surface of the desk. ‘It must have been difficult to bear, to see your wife in love with another man.’
Cavendish gave a barely perceptible shake of the head. ‘You don’t know anything about it.’
‘You went to have it out with him. Lost your temper – and in a fit of jealousy …’
Ursula emerged from her daze enough to let out an incredulous, ‘Ha!’
Quinn and Cavendish turned to her in astonishment.
‘Charles? Jealous?’ She produced a sound as dry and cold as falling stones. It took Quinn a moment to process it as laughter.
Charles Cavendish’s face flooded pink as he wrinkled his brows. ‘The honest truth is I did go to talk to Sir Aidan about Ursula. I told him that if the two of them were in love and wished to be together, I would not stand in their way. My only wish was for Ursula to be happy.’
Quinn felt his eyebrows shoot up at that. ‘And what did he say?’
Ursula Cavendish seemed to stiffen in her seat. Quinn noticed her hands ball into tight fists and her jaw clench.
‘He practically laughed in my face.’
Quinn winced on Cavendish’s behalf.
‘The whole thing was very unpleasant.’
‘Why did you do it? I mean, it seems a rather odd thing to do, to go to a man and offer him your wife.’
‘I don’t see why we should not be able to settle these things in a civilized way. We’re all adults, after all. I wanted things settled before … well, I have made the decision to fight, you see. And I wanted to make sure that Ursula would be all right.’
‘You are an extraordinarily selfless man,’ said Quinn. ‘If we are to believe you.’
‘Why shouldn’t you believe me?’
Quinn left the question unanswered.
‘I’d had enough,’ said Cavendish simply. ‘I couldn’t stop her falling in love with him. No more than I could stop the world turning. And so, what could I do? According to the conventional way of doing things, they would have conducted a secret affair, which perhaps I would have discovered, or at least suspected. And I should have been expected to play the part of the wronged husband. Should I have got jealous? Should I have raged and stormed and wept and begged? What a waste of time and energy that would have been. It wore me out just thinking about it. How much more civilized it would be to talk it over like adults.’
‘Still, not many men would react the way you did.’
‘I’m not so sure. Mankind is evolving, I believe. I have read of certain experimental modes of living in Russia. Socialist communes, where all is held in common, and free love is practised. If a man and a woman wish to engage in sexual intercourse – regardless of whether they are married, either to one another or anyone else – then not merely is that condoned, it is positively encouraged. The frustration of the sexual urge is seen as a great evil.’
‘It’s all very well in Russia,’ said Quinn. ‘Between some hypothetical man and woman. But here in Hampstead, with your own wife and Sir Aidan Fonthill? That surely is a different proposition?’
‘It shouldn’t be. It is, in fact, the ultimate test of one’s principles.’
‘And after all that, after you had girded yourself up to make this fantastically selfless offer, he laughed in your face.’ For Cavendish to have his serious principles ridiculed must have been provoking, to say the least. ‘I wonder, did you tell Mrs Cavendish how he reacted?’
‘Well, naturally, Ursula was interested to know the outcome of my conversation. Weren’t you?’
Ursula did not respond, except to pucker her lips distastefully.
‘It’s regrettable that these details must come out,’ Cavendish continued. ‘But in the light of Sir Aidan’s death, I feel that I have no choice but to be completely open with you. I had no motive to kill Sir Aidan. You must believe me.’
‘What about you, Mrs Cavendish? Sir Aidan rejected you. That must have been humiliating. Especially as your husband was playing the role of matchmaker.’
‘Aidan was a gentleman. What else could he say to Charles? Naturally he would deny his true feelings.’
‘Why?’
‘To avoid a scene, of course. There was nothing Aidan hated more than a scene.’
‘He did enough to cause them,’ commented Cavendish in a muttered aside.
Ursula Cavendish was warming to her theme. ‘He probably thought that Charles was trying to trick him into some kind of confession, and then … who knows what might have happened? He might have turned violent.’
Quinn tapped seven times on the desk with the nail of his left middle finger while he tried to gather his thoughts. ‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted Sir Aidan dead?’
The estranged couple exchanged a meaning glance.
Then, at precisely the same moment, they each said a different name.