Chapter 35

THE MEDIEVAL CATHEDRAL was full to the proverbial rafters with mourners. How many were there out of true sympathy and how many were there from a morbid curiosity about the circumstances surrounding Richard Ramsey’s death, Reid couldn’t tell.

He hated funerals. The last one he’d attended was for Andrew Grainger’s murdered child. The mourners there had been cloaked with a deep, devastating sadness. The mood here was different. More formal, less personal. Richard Ramsey had been respected, but Reid did not get the feeling that there were many here who would actually mourn his death.

The Ramseys were Church of Scotland, and were apparently members in good standing of the Glasgow Cathedral where the services were being held. The family was all there, dressed in appropriately somber clothing. Even Moira was in mourning, her black dress reaching halfway down her calves and suitably subdued. Glynnis Taylor sat with her sister and her niece and nephew. Glynnis’s own black dress was a more sophisticated version of what Moira wore. Terrence needed to talk to Glynnis again, now that he knew her relationship with Henry, though he doubted he’d get much information out of her.

The minister’s voice filled the church with his recitation of the services, the congregation participating when required. Although heads were bowed in respect and sympathy, there was the usual furtive glancing around to see who else was there. Reid could almost feel the speculation of the putative mourners about the cause of the wealthy man’s death.

He spotted the Von Zandt family and, taking the opportunity, studied them. Elisa Von Zandt may have been attractive when she was younger, but now what had probably been a generous figure when she was young, had spread. She was squeezed into a dress that was at least two sizes too small for her girth. He saw her pull surreptitiously at her waistband. Her hair was a yellow blonde, her dark lipstick harsh against her almost white skin.

Elisa spent most of her time living in Germany, apart from her husband. A marriage of convenience at this point, Reid suspected, considering Von Zandt’s relationship with Moira Ramsey. Awkward for the wife, he mused, to be at the mistress’s father’s funeral. No wonder she looked detached. Von Zandt had to have more than a streak of cruelty in him to take his wife here, forcing her to pretend either not to know or not to care.

On Elisa’s right was the youngest son, Frederick, while to her husband’s left stood the elder son, Henry. Coincidental, Reid wondered, or was this alignment significant? He stored the observation away for possible later use. When the congregation sat down at the minister’s instruction, Reid slipped out the back.

At the obligatory reception held afterwards at the Ramsey home, Reid spotted Elisa Von Zandt standing alone by a long window and worked his way over to her. Her face was turned to watch whatever was outside. Reid glanced quickly in the direction she was looking, but saw nothing. To get her attention, Reid cleared his throat.

“Mrs. Von Zandt?”

When she turned, he saw she had a plate of food from the buffet in her hand and was shoving a cracker heavily frosted with pink salmon spread into her mouth. She sputtered in surprise and bits of cracker fell from her mouth. She covered her mouth with her hand, embarrassed. “Lord Reid, I’m so sorry.”

“My fault, Mrs. Von Zandt, I startled you.” Realizing she appeared to recognize him, he asked, “Have we met?”

She gave a rueful smile, brushing crumbs from her chest. “No, but I’ve seen your photograph in the news.” The woman’s German accent was thick, but her English was good if a bit stilted.

“Ah, yes.” Who hadn’t? Damned tabloids.

“It was so sad about that little girl. The one in California, I mean.”

“Yes, it was terribly sad.” He motioned to the window seat and they both sat down. “Did you know Mr. Ramsey well?”

She shook her head. “He was a business colleague of my husband’s.”

“Are you friends with Mrs. Ramsey?”

“No.” Elisa put her plate in her lap. “I live in Germany most of the time.” She took a drink of her wine. “Besides, her daughter, Moira Ramsey, is my husband’s mistress. I don’t think it would be comfortable for either of us.”

He wasn’t sure what to say, so just nodded.

“Walter always has someone. I’m used to it.” She shrugged as if she didn’t care. “You know how it is. You go on. I have my own life. I have my sons, and my grandchildren.” She picked up a cracker loaded thickly with brown liver paste. “I don’t have my own lover, of course. Walter would never tolerate that.” She blushed, stricken with sudden embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

Reid realized she must be thinking of his own wife and Andrew Grainger. If Grainger had slept with Von Zandt’s wife, Reid had no doubt the man would have killed him, and probably her as well. And definitely if she’d gotten pregnant.

He forced a small smile. “No need to apologize. I’m sure he wouldn’t. You’re not in Scotland often, I understand?”

Elisa washed her cracker down with a drink of wine, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand self-consciously before speaking. “I haven’t been, but I think with our new house I will be here more. The garden is extraordinary, as I’m sure you’ve heard.” She looked at him and he thought she was going to say something else, but they were interrupted by a large bald man Reid recognized as one of Von Zandt’s bodyguards.

“Mrs. Von Zandt, your husband says it is time to leave.”

“Yes, of course, Simon.” She stood up and put her plate down. “It was nice talking to you, Lord Reid. Good luck.”

He stood up. “You as well.”

After she left, he sat down on the window seat, gazing absently toward the garden beyond. How had his father managed, he wondered? How long did it take before people forgot? He felt a hand on his arm, and looked up.

Glynnis Taylor sat next down next to him. “I had a feeling you’d want to talk to me, but I thought I’d wait until Elisa was gone.”

“Aye.” Reid felt fatigue overtake him, a product of his sleepless night, and wished he could just go back to his flat and sleep until next year. But he knew he needed to keep going. One day at a time. That was the only way to get through this hell on earth. “You didn’t mention you worked for Henry Von Zandt when we talked the other day.”

She smiled. “Or that I was sleeping with him?”

“That, either.” He debated whether to ask her if she’d been the woman Richard Ramsey had been seeing, remembering Harry’s report of the meeting with Patty Cady, and Patty’s remark that if Ramsey had been interested in any woman, it would have been Glynnis. But if she’d been with Ramsey that night, she’d doubtless been involved in his murder, and she wasn’t likely to admit it.

“You should have asked where I worked.”

“Apparently.”

“If you had, I would have told you.”

“My fault, then.” His heart wasn’t in the exchange, but he forced himself to go through the motions.

“Actually, though, it wouldn’t have changed anything I said.”

“Does Henry’s wife know about you?”

She shrugged. “You’d have to ask her. Why does it matter?”

“In general or in specific?” Breaking marriage bonds almost always caused someone pain, and not always just the betrayed spouse. As a child, he’d endured the ribald jibes about his mother, and although he’d not quite understood them, he’d known enough to know she’d done something very bad, something dirty. Now, of course, with his mother as well as with Anne, he knew things were more complicated than that, but that didn’t stop the pain.

Glynnis frowned, clearly confused at his answer, but apparently decided to ignore it. “You look tired, Superintendent. Is it the investigation about Richard’s death? I told you he wasn’t worth it.”

He tried to assess what she knew and what she would take back to her lover or her sister, then decided it did not matter; he would be making a press statement on this soon.

“Richard Ramsey had just agreed to turn informant to help us find the people responsible for the Heidelberg University bombing.”

She jerked her head back and stared at him. “You think Richard was involved with that? He was many things, but I’m sure he wasn’t a terrorist.”

“Not directly. But he had information on a money laundering scheme that funded the terrorists for that attack, and for additional attacks the terrorists are planning for this spring.” Reid considered, then asked, “Were you involved with Richard Ramsey?”

Glynnis gaped. “Absolutely not. He was my sister’s husband.”

“Right.” He didn’t know whether to believe her or not. Undoubtedly she was a good liar.

Glynnis’s mouth formed a tight line. “You think Walter’s involved in this terrorist thing, don’t you?”

Reid splayed his hands out and studied them as he considered his response. He should tell her no, in keeping with his plan to try to get Von Zandt to lower his guard, but he couldn’t bring himself to lose the possible chance of getting another informant on his side.

Before he could decide what to say, Glynnis went on, “So Richard was going to help you and he was killed. You think Walter’s behind that, as well, I suppose?”

Still Reid didn’t speak.

Glynnis leaned forward, and spoke in almost a whisper. “Why would Walter get involved in that?”

Reid raised his eyebrows, but still didn’t speak. She’d figure it out on her own, he knew.

And she did. “For money, that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? That they get the money from the people supporting these terrorist groups and funnel through channels so it can’t be traced back to them, and get it to the terrorists to help them do these awful things.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. And now you’ve lost your informant and you need someone else.”

He looked at her, but didn’t speak, feeling remote from her but interested in where she’d go with this.

“I can’t.” Her voice was a hiss, but her eyes were floating in unshed tears.

“I didn’t ask you.”

“Because you don’t think you can trust me.”

Reid thought about Glynnis’s situation, Barbara Ramsey’s ruin of a marriage, and Moira’s situation with Von Zandt. These three women were alike in more than looks. But in his mind, Glynnis Taylor had had more of a choice. Moira had been a teenager when she’d gotten sucked into Von Zandt’s world, and Barbara Ramsey’s life had driven her into living in an alcoholic haze, but Glynnis was where she was by choice.

No, he couldn’t trust her.

She touched his arm. “I feel like you’re disappointed in me and I don’t even know you.”

He stood up. “Nor I you, Glynnis. Nor I you.”

“We could change that.” Her voice was wistful.

“No, we couldn’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some other people I need to speak to.”