Chapter 16

London, July 25, 2005

Jonathan was getting worried. He should, at the very least, have had a phone call from Alina so he could find out where she had gone after leaving him the previous day. He had left her several messages.

Just as he was getting ready for bed after the second day in a row not leaving his house, there was a loud knock at his door. He considered ignoring it, but at the third repetition of the knocking, and a shout of “Mr. Langhorne, please open up. It’s the police,” he looked through the peephole, determined it was indeed the police, and opened the door.

“May I help you?” he asked. He was wearing a dressing gown.

“May we come in, sir? It’s important that we speak with you. Very important,” said one of the two officers, flashing a badge. “I’m Detective Sergeant Roberts and this is Detective Constable Halsey.”

“Yes, of course, I’m not very presentable, but do come in,” Jonathan said, turning on two of the lamps he had just turned off on his way to the bedroom.

“I’m afraid we have some bad news, sir,” the other officer, speaking for the first time, said to him.

“Is it my father? What has happened to him?”

“No, sir. It’s not Sir Gregory. I’m afraid we have found the body of Miss Alina Harrison. It appears that she was murdered.”

“Oh my God. No. No. It’s impossible. Please tell me it’s a mistake. Are you sure it’s Alina? Does my father know?” Jonathan was frantic. “No, it could not be true. I saw her yesterday afternoon.” He was shaking. He felt the room starting to move, to spin. He began to fall. One of the officers caught him and helped him to a chair. The other officer was speaking, but the sound of his voice was far away, in a wind tunnel.

“No, sir. You are the first to be told. We know that you were the last person to see her alive, apart from her driver, and her killer.” Jonathan only heard the last words, “her driver, and her killer.”

“Her driver - did he do this?” Jonathan whispered. “How do you know it’s Alina?” he persisted.

“Well, sir. She is...was...quite well known to most people,” said Roberts. “She also had identification in her purse. A DVD of one of her movies, Elegy, was found on the seat beside her. The killer arranged her hair the same way as in the photo on the cover of the DVD.”

“What does her driver say?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Langhorne. He was also murdered. Both their throats were slit, and the car was found in a public car park near Shepherd’s Bush Green--found by a young woman who had parked next to Miss Harrison’s car.”

The Grieg Sonata they had played together was in his head, drowning out the voices of the officers. Jonathan was back in his father’s study, playing the opening passage of the sonata, with Alina playing the piano part so beautifully. She was looking into his eyes. The music stopped and she said, “I’m okay, Jonathan. I’m fine, fine, fine.” Her voice became softer and softer, a diminuendo, and her vision faded.

The officer had been speaking the entire time.

“Mr. Langhorne, do you need some water? Sir?” Jonathan had not been responding to their questions, but staring into space, listening to the music. He jumped up abruptly.

“I must go and speak with my father,” Jonathan said.

“I’m afraid we cannot let you do that,” Roberts said. “We must ask you to come to the station with us for a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Well I do mind. You’ve just given me shocking news. I need to be by myself. Please leave me. I’ll come to the station tomorrow,” Jonathan shouted. “Please go!”

“Mr. Langhorne, we are not giving you a choice. As we said, you were the last person to see Miss Harrison alive. And we do have some evidence. We understand there was a dispute between you and your father. We have a number of questions for you, and it’s best where we can record your answers.”

“What sort of evidence? And who told you about our argument? Are you saying I’m under suspicion? No, you can’t possibly be saying that.”

“Mr. Langhorne,” Roberts said, “perhaps you should ask your solicitor to meet us at the station, just to avoid any possible misunderstandings.”

“I’ll put my clothes on,” Jonathan said.

“I’ll come with you,” Roberts said.

“I don’t need help dressing.”

“Just in case there’s a back door to your house,” Roberts added wryly.

Jonathan picked up the phone and called Alec, an old friend who doubled as his solicitor. He assumed he would be questioned for an hour or two, and would be released as soon as they understood that he could not have committed any crime. But he would have to explain the circumstances of Alina’s visit. He thought it through and wondered whether he would see his father at the station.

By the time Jonathan reached the station, and his solicitor arrived, Gregory was also there. Jonathan passed by a room where his father was being questioned, and had never seen his father in such a bad state. He knew the press would have a field day with this story, and that ultimately the whole truth would have to come out.

“Let me speak to my father, please,” Jonathan asked.

Roberts opened the door and walked in with Jonathan.

“Father, I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved her.”

Gregory growled, “Get out. You murdered her, you bastard. How could you!?”

“No, I never touched her. I only talked to her. I loved her too in my own way. I’m so sorry. Who could have done this?”

“Leave me alone,” Gregory said. “I don’t need your sympathy.”

Jonathan did not think he could really be a suspect in his own father’s eyes. He was just beginning to grasp the idea that Alina was gone. It was an unbearable thought, and he had never felt such pain. He knew it was the same for his father, probably worse, and he felt great sadness for him. He was sorry he had ever let Alina come and speak with him. If it hadn’t been for their meeting, she would probably still be alive. In a way, his father was right. He had murdered her. Their fight had murdered her. He was sure it was not a random act - that somebody had been following her, targeting her.

Jonathan went through one intrusive question after another, and finally told the police every detail of their meeting, the conversation they had exchanged, his feelings for her, and the way things had been left between them. He knew it was best not to lie, and his solicitor said he had nothing to worry about. He also told the police about seeing someone he couldn’t identify in the back of the car, and trying to phone Alina. They could confirm this by checking his phone records. But Jonathan was concerned because he had made the call from his cell phone. It would not prove he was at home. He mentioned that photographers remained outside his home, but Roberts said that would need to be confirmed with the papers, assuming they were legitimate newspaper photographers, rather than hacks with no affiliations trying to sell celebrity photos.

The worst bit of evidence was a blood-covered cufflink head with an engraved “J” on it. The small gold piece had presumably popped off in the struggle. Jonathan hoped there would be prints on it proving it was not his. He didn’t own any engraved cufflinks.

At the end of the interrogation, Roberts quietly informed Jonathan that he would be held pending an autopsy of both victims, and further questioning. Jonathan felt that his father would not help in determining his innocence. Jonathan knew the laws. He could be held for 36 hours, possibly longer with a warrant from a magistrate. Then he would have to be charged or released.

Gregory was barely under suspicion, particularly after recounting the already-publicized middle of the night visit by Alina’s husband half a year earlier, and his argument with Jonathan. Jonathan’s confession of his love for Alina was a bad idea, but without it there would be big holes in the story, and greater suspicion.

As Jonathan was led to a holding cell, he was terrified that he really would be accused of Alina’s murder. He was treated respectfully, like the celebrity he was, but lately juries had been more eager to convict those in the public eye than the average citizen. There was no guarantee that Jonathan’s innocence would help to acquit him. He slumped onto an uncomfortable bed, knowing there would be no sleep that night.

There was nothing Jonathan could do to get his mind off his circumstances, or Alina’s death. At about five a.m. he finally fell asleep, only to be awakened at seven a.m. by a tray with breakfast on it. Eggs, sausages, toast, a carton of milk and lukewarm coffee. The guard who handed it to him was not unpleasant, but didn’t stay for any conversation. Ten minutes later he returned to say, “You have a visitor.” Jonathan was surprised to see his friend Ellen, looking like she hadn’t slept either. “This has been on every station, in every paper. I had to see you, talk to you. How are you? I assume you did not murder anyone,” she said dryly, embracing him. “Oh, I’m so sorry you’re going through all of this. You don’t deserve this torture.”

“At the moment, I’m their biggest suspect, even though they should know I was trapped in my house by photographers,” Jonathan said. “Do they really think I slipped out through a window, murdered two people, and slipped back in? It’s insane.”

“I’m sure you are not really a suspect,” Ellen said. “They’re holding you until something else develops.”

Half an hour later, Ellen left and Jonathan’s solicitor arrived. “Well, apparently the coroner found that their wounds matched no standard weapons, no knife.”

“What was it, then?” Jonathan asked.

“The DVD that was left in the car. No prints at all, but traces of blood on the case, and more on the inside of the case, where the DVD sits. Upon examination, they discovered that the DVD was the weapon.”

“That’s bizarre. How could that be?” Jonathan asked.

“More bizarre than you would think. One side of the DVD had been ground down and was razor thin - half of the disc was indeed the weapon used on both Alina and her driver. But there’s no indication as to how or when the killer got into the car, and how the car ended up in a car park miles away from your home. And with you having no actual alibi, it’s a bit tricky. The cufflink with your initial on it doesn’t help matters. Did you see anyone, speak with anyone?”

“Only Ellen,” Jonathan said, “at about five or six p.m. She would probably know how long we spoke.

“Good, good. We may need her to speak with the police,” Alec said.

Jonathan’s head was pounding, and he felt nauseated. The breakfast tray was still sitting on the table, untouched. The smell of the sausages permeated the small cell. Jonathan could not recall the last time he had anything to eat or drink, and couldn’t face either. He wondered how his father was doing. His solicitor left and Jonathan trusted him to get him out.

It was Jonathan’s phone call with Ellen that got him released, along with the lack of a motive or any evidence showing he could have committed the murders. Fortunately, one of the photographers stationed outside Jonathan’s home was legitimate, and was able to confirm that Jonathan had remained at home. The cufflink had been contaminated when it was picked up from the floor of the car, and no clear prints or partials could be identified. The engraved “J” could just as easily have belonged to Jeffrey, Alina’s husband, as Jonathan had pointed out to the police.

The stamped time card from the car park -the card was found under the driver’s foot - also made it quite apparent that Jonathan could not have been the murderer.

As soon as he got home, he called his father. Gregory answered in a whisper, and when he heard Jonathan’s voice, he hung up. Jonathan tried two more times, Gregory hanging up each time. One final call, and Gregory said, “As I told you, we are finished. I no longer have a son. Do not call me again.” Jonathan hung up and wept. He wanted this day to end. He wanted his life to be over. He couldn’t imagine continuing.

He paced the rooms of his home for a while, not knowing what to do next. There were concerts coming up, although his time in police custody had caused him to miss one that his manager considered very important. There were no excuses to be made - the news was all over England, all over Europe, and he thought it had probably reached the rest of the world as well.

He phoned Ellen, and was relieved to hear her voicemail. “Ellen, it’s me. I’m home, thanks to you and our phone conversation. You’ve saved my life, once again. I’ll call you later.”

Next, he phoned Sandra, his manager. He figured she would be furious at having to cancel his concerts in Italy. But if she was, her voice didn’t show it. “Oh, dear. I know you have been through the ringer,” she said after confirming that he had been released. “The phone hasn’t stopped. Requests for interviews. I don’t suppose you want to be on the BBC’s morning show.”

“Right. That’s all I need,” he said.

“Well, what are you doing today? Should I come by and cheer you up?”

“No thanks, Sandy. I need to practice. Alina’s funeral is on Thursday. I have no idea how I’ll get through this, or whether my father will try to prevent me from attending.”

“Let me know if I can help. In the meantime, I’ll confirm arrangements for the tour next week, and take you to the airport. In fact, I’m coming with you on the trip. I’ve canceled everything for the week.”

Jonathan was glad to hear that. He hoped to pick himself up and go on with life, but felt like there was nothing left to live for. He needed Sandra’s protection from the intrusion he would face, and welcomed her decision to travel with him.

Later that day, Jonathan received a phone call from the Detective Chief Inspector in charge of the case, telling him that Alina’s husband had been arrested for her murder. Apparently he had been a strong suspect from the start, and he had been picked up on the security cameras in the parking garage getting out of the car in which the bodies were found. They had no other proof - no fingerprints, no confession, no blood on him, and although the film was a bit fuzzy and his head was lowered so that his face would not be seen, the police were convinced that he was the only one with a real motive. Following her to Jonathan’s house, they theorized, was the final straw pushing him over the edge. They assumed he must have been planning the murder for a while, had followed her on other occasions, and possibly carried the razor-sharpened DVD with him waiting for the right opportunity. If the reporter had managed to follow her, it was equally likely that Jeffrey Harrison could also have followed her. It did not help Jeffrey Harrison’s case that the papers a few months earlier had misquoted him as threatening to kill Alina.

The Detective Chief Inspector, Stephen Browning, told Jonathan more than he normally would. He was a great fan of the violinist, and felt upset that he had been picked up and held in the first place. Jeffrey Harrison, he said, had appeared distraught and denied killing Alina and her driver. He had been hysterical upon learning of her murder, and acted very convincingly as the grief-stricken estranged husband. He’d said that he despised Gregory for stealing Alina, and if he would have murdered anyone it would have been Sir Gregory and not his beloved wife. And until it was all over the papers, he claimed, he had no idea that Alina was also involved with Jonathan. Despite his protestations of innocence, he was the only real suspect, and the only one who had supposedly threatened her. He was in prison, with bail denied, in a stern and accusatory tirade by the judge.

Jonathan thanked DCI Browning, who ended the conversation by offering his apology and condolences. “If there’s anything we can do to help, please do not hesitate to let me know. A couple of officers will attend the funeral, Mr. Langhorne.” He gave Jonathan his personal phone number.

“As I’m sure you know by now, my father and I are not on good terms, and he may try to prevent me from attending the funeral, which he has arranged. My God,” he said, saying more than he intended, “I never thought I would need protection from my own father.”

“We’ll make sure there’s no incident, sir. You have been through enough.”

Jonathan thanked him, and got off the phone, wondering what to do with himself for the next two days until it was time to go to the funeral. He looked at the clock. It was 2 p.m. His rational mind told him he should not have a drink before 5 p.m. He was trying to cut down, not to depend on alcohol to soothe his pain. But wasn’t this a different situation? If ever there were ‘extenuating circumstances,’ this was the moment. He opened his best bottle of Scotch and poured a small amount into a glass. At the first sip, he felt better - more relaxed and nearly able to cope. The second sip helped even more. Quickly, he downed what was left and refilled the glass. His phone rang twice, but he barely heard it and never reached for it. He heard nothing more until 5 a.m., when a barking dog disturbed his deathly sleep. He had dreamt of Alina, and was holding her in his arms. When he awoke, his head was pounding and the shock of remembering her death was unbearable. He grabbed some pills from a bottle on the end table, swallowed them with a few sips of Scotch, and fell asleep again on the sofa where he had fallen asleep the previous afternoon.

***

Early on Thursday morning, Jonathan went into the bathroom, and groaned when he looked in the mirror. His dark brown hair, always perfectly in place, was a mess, and he had a three-day beard growth. His eyes were sunken and he barely recognized himself. Jonathan had always taken great pride in his appearance. Most reporters had described him as “dashing” or “handsome.” He was unhappy to think that reporters hovering around the funeral would comment on the decline in his appearance, and equally upset that he even had such a thought at this time.

He stepped into the shower, running hot water through his hair and on his face. He began to sob and finally to face the reality of what had happened.

A couple of hours later, he had pulled himself together enough to go to the funeral. He had arranged for a car service and was glad when he stepped outside and found no reporters in sight. He knew they would all be at the funeral. It took half an hour driving through heavy traffic to get to the funeral home. The media’s access had been severely restricted, with no cameras allowed inside, although there were plenty taking photos from across the road.

Jonathan hoped to slip in unnoticed, but he recognized the familiar whisper of his name passing like a quiet wave through the assembled mourners. He had no idea who they were, apart from his father, and Alina’s mother and sister, whom he recognized from photos he had seen. There were about 150 people quietly assembled in rows of chairs. The others were outside, hundreds of them, with the police doing their utmost to keep the crowd far from the doors. Two officers in uniform were inside. A string quartet was playing Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings.

Jonathan desperately wanted to speak to his father, but as he entered the funeral home someone Jonathan did not recognize gave him a hand-written note from his father. “Jonathan, please do not attempt to speak with me at Alina’s funeral. I shall not agree to meet with you, speak with you, or interact in any way. I am writing to you so that we may avoid any sort of public scene. G.L.” The signature hurt Jonathan more than the note. It was the way his father signed notes to people who worked for him - people he did not respect. Jonathan still could not believe it had come to this.

He was relieved to find that Alina’s mother and sister knew who he was and accepted his condolences. Her sister, Sophia, resembled Alina, and looked at Jonathan in a sympathetic way when he spoke to her. “I know that Alina was fond of you,” she said. “I spoke to her that morning while she was on her way to see you. She was very upset about your fight with your father.”

“Thank you,” Jonathan said. “It means a lot to me that you don’t blame me for what happened.”

“Jeffrey ruled her life. He controlled her. He couldn’t let her go, even though their marriage was over - before she ever met Gregory. I saw his temper when I was with them. I knew immediately that it was Jeffrey who did this, and I was shocked they even brought you in for questioning. I cannot believe he’s denying it. I, for one, will be there to testify at his trial about how he treated my sister.” She had been controlled at the beginning, but was now crying. Her mother stood up and put her arm around her, leading her back to their seats. Jonathan said to both of them, “I’m so sorry.” and returned to his seat two rows behind theirs.

The funeral was a blur to Jonathan. People who had known Alina for many years spoke about their relationship to her, how she treated them, how brilliant she was, and what a loss her death was. Although it wasn’t a religious service, there were prayers by two members of the clergy. And music was played by the quartet before, during, and after the funeral. At the end, her closed casket was carried out by six pallbearers. Many people wept softly. Jonathan could see that his father was devastated, and had to be helped up in order to walk out to his car. A young man Jonathan did not recognize - the same man who had delivered the note - held onto Gregory as he walked.

Jonathan knew that the burial would be another ordeal. He got into the car and his driver maneuvered the car into its place in the funeral procession. Jonathan had experienced so many alternating and conflicting emotions that he was no longer sure how he felt. He couldn’t tell if he was feeling grief or anger and wondered if he was numb. He touched his eyes to see if there were tears. Nothing. He placed his hand over his heart to check if it was still beating. He wanted to be wherever Alina had gone.

He said nothing as the cars began moving slowly. The cemetery was in North London, a slow ride in London traffic. Jonathan closed his eyes and was surprised when the car stopped and they were inside the gates of Highgate Cemetery on Swain’s Lane. The gates were then closed to keep out anyone not invited to be there for the burial. Reporters stood outside, keeping a respectful distance, with the exception of one tabloid reporter who tried to squeeze his way in by walking next to one of the cars. He was quickly evicted.

Jonathan watched as Alina’s casket was removed from the hearse, and four muscular men from the cemetery placed it next to the grave. There was a short prayer by one of the clergy who had spoken at the funeral. Alina might have quietly believed in God, but she thought organized religion created more problems than it solved. “Alina would not object to a few prayers,” Sophia said to the Minister, requesting the same psalm that Alina had read at their father’s funeral six years earlier.

The casket was lowered into the ground, to sobs, and Jonathan felt weak. He looked over at his father, one of few seated in chairs that had been placed near the grave. His head was down and he did not see Jonathan looking at him. Once again Jonathan felt sorry for Gregory, and sorry for himself. It was one of the few moments when he could say he truly understood how his father felt, although acknowledging that his father’s intimate relationship with Alina would have made Gregory’s grief much more intense than his own.

A few family members put flowers and small shovels full of earth onto the casket. A small girl of about five or six, probably a family member, Jonathan thought, had brought a teddy bear and insisted on placing it on top of the casket. Her mother quietly asked if she understood the bear would be in there forever. The girl nodded her head. “It’s for Alina. I want her to have it in Heaven,” the child replied. Jonathan wondered who the little girl was, and how a child could cope with all this sadness.

It was over and people were beginning to leave. Jonathan did not attempt to speak to Gregory, although he saw that many other people were surrounding him, offering condolences. Jonathan was surprised that nobody came over to him, except for Alina’s sister, Sophia, who took his hand gently and said, “I don’t know how we will get through this, but Alina would want us to keep going.” Then she got into the car that had brought her.

Jonathan was driven back to his home. He had not been invited to the luncheon that followed, arranged by his father. The only person he could turn to was Ellen, who would be waiting for his call, offering to help if he needed it. But there was nothing that could help, really. Jonathan thought for a moment and needed to blot out the world. He didn’t care about his pledge to cut down on his beloved Scotch, even though his headache was returning, threatening to be worse than it had been in the morning.

He stripped off his clothes, put on jeans and a sweatshirt, slumped into the corner of his sofa, and saw that the bottle and glass were still on the table. It took all the effort he could muster to twist off the cap, lift the bottle, and pour. His arm felt heavy and hurt just from lifting the bottle, which was less than half full. If he had more energy, he believed, he would have grabbed his sleeping pills and taken a few, maybe more than a few. His irrational thought ended as he passed into an unconscious state, a heavy sleep that overtook him until he heard banging on the door and a female voice he recognized as Ellen’s.

He staggered to the door, noting that it was pitch black in his house. “What time is it?” he asked, as Ellen stepped inside. “Eleven thirty - at night in case you were wondering. I’ve been trying to phone you for hours. The funeral ended at one-thirty and you said you would call. I’ve been very worried.”

“I’m okay. No, I’m not okay. I loved her, Ellen. I want to be with her.”

“Jonathan, you can’t. She wasn’t yours to have. She’s gone now, and you have to live.”

She gave him a hug and sent him to take a shower while she prepared some food.

Why couldn’t I have loved someone like Ellen? Jonathan idly thought to himself while in the shower. Why did this happen to me?

Ellen poured the rest of his bottle down the drain and stayed with him for three days, until he was stronger. She slept in the guest room and Jonathan knew that, although she loved him, she would never tell him. For any other woman, this would have been the perfect opportunity. Turn up to console him, and end up in his bed. But that wasn’t Ellen. She would take care of him, and wait for him to realize he could not live without her. In a way, it was true. She was his only real friend. He needed her.

***

Jonathan wondered if Alina’s husband really had murdered her. From everything he knew, Jeffrey could be loud and angry but was not a violent man. Jonathan had listened to Sophia’s words, but he still wasn’t sure. Jeffrey had been distraught over losing Alina to Gregory, but Browning’s words now echoed in Jonathan’s head - that Jeffrey would have been more likely to kill Gregory. Jonathan wondered how thoroughly the police had really investigated the case, and thought that anyone with a grudge against Gregory, or himself, might have been the killer. Not that Jonathan believed he had any enemies with enough cause to frame him for murder. But Gregory certainly did.

Any number of estranged husbands previously married to Gregory’s string of lovers might have been angry enough to kill Alina and hope that Gregory would be blamed. Or every bit as likely, the lovers themselves. It was a significant list, and not all of them had been sane, Jonathan recalled. He knew of at least one who had made what Gregory believed to be an idle threat. Jonathan wanted to contact the police again, to ask for the investigation to be continued, and he would make his own list of likely suspects.

Ellen had left that morning, kissing him lightly on the cheek and saying, “You need to practice, get back to the real world. I’ll check in with you later in the day.” But Jonathan had no desire to pick up the violin. He had cancelled everything for the week and had a couple of days before he needed to practice again.