The Tooth Tattoo

18

The only member of CID claiming to know anything about classical music was John Leaman, so next morning he got the job of listing all the Staccati tours and concerts he could trace from the internet. The quartet’s website was unhelpful. It had obviously been relaunched recently with all the emphasis on the current players. Whoever had designed it was under instructions to gloss over the problems of the past four years, so there was no detailed log of past performances. A summary of the cities they had visited and concert halls they had played in was provided, but without dates. He had to look for the information elsewhere. By degrees he got there. In their prime they had toured widely and earned rave reviews, but it became obvious that they had done little as an ensemble since 2008.

‘When exactly was it formed?’ Diamond asked.

‘Sixteen years ago,’ Leaman said. ‘Ivan Bogdanov and Cat Kinsella were founder members. The others are replacements for people who left.’

‘And who was Staccati?’

There was some sniggering behind the computer screens.

Leaman studied his boss’s face, uncertain if he was being led into a trap. ‘It’s a musical term for short notes sharply separated from each other, from the Italian, staccato, meaning “detached”.’

‘Strange choice,’ Diamond said with an effort to cover up his ignorance. ‘It’s the opposite of what you want for a team of people. They ought to be called Unison. That’s what they should be projecting.’

‘It hasn’t held them back. They were very successful, up there with the best, doing concerts across the world and making recordings — until the viola player dropped out.’

‘Dropped out or dropped dead?’

‘He went missing on one of the foreign tours and wasn’t heard of again.’

‘Ah, yes. Harry...?’

‘Cornell.’

‘Cat told me about him.’

‘It threw them right off course. Big efforts were made to find him. Interpol were notified. The theory seems to be that he gambled heavily.’

‘On what?’

‘Casino stuff. They think he got on the wrong side of some bad people and was taken out.’

‘Gambling doesn’t fit my idea of a classical musician.’

‘It comes with the territory. Quartets, in particular. Four is the right number for card games. The Budapest were well known for playing bridge, and for high stakes. I think the Amadeus preferred poker.’

‘But that’s in-house. You’re telling me Harry Cornell played with professionals.’

‘And rather badly. It’s the best guess, that’s all.’

‘I still can’t see it, a serious musician wasting his time gambling.’

‘Plenty have, from Mozart to Elgar. It could be to do with calculating the odds. There’s a well-known link between music and maths.’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Diamond said. ‘So when Harry went missing, why didn’t they get a quick replacement? They were famous. They could take their pick.’

‘It’s not so simple. For a long time they expected he would turn up again so they couldn’t offer anyone regular work. They performed with stand-ins who didn’t cut it for one reason or another. The mix has to be right. Everyone has to blend in. You may find a brilliant soloist who can’t work with others. It’s as much about temperament and team-building as musical ability. They were unlucky or unwise in their choices and for a time they went their own ways.’

‘Broke up?’

‘In all but name. Some time last spring they found this new man Mel Farran and he seems to be doing okay. It clinched the residency at Bath for them and soon they’ll be touring again.’

‘If they aren’t involved in a murder trial.’ Diamond picked up the printout of Leaman’s list. ‘Is this their itinerary? They certainly travelled. I heard about the Japan trip from Cat.’

‘They’ve been there a few times.’

‘Was this with Anthony on board?’

‘The last couple of visits.’

‘When Mari was probably in the audience. I’m assuming Anthony was the main attraction.’

‘Why him in particular?’ Leaman asked.

‘Obvious, isn’t it? Good-looking, intense and a brilliant violinist. I expect she wasn’t the only young girl who lay awake thinking about him.’ Diamond continued to study the list. ‘Budapest was where Harry went missing. Before that they were touring other European cities. Paris, Rome, Vienna.’ He stopped. ‘They performed in Vienna in October 2008?’

‘A city noted for its music,’ Leaman said.

‘I know. I was there this summer.’ A tingling sensation crept over his face. He called across the room to Ingeborg. ‘Remember the Japanese woman you researched for me who drowned in the Danube canal?’

‘Miss Kojima.’

‘I don’t recall the name. I doubt if I even asked you. This was something I didn’t want to get involved in for personal reasons.’

‘She took her own life.’

‘So they reckoned. They found the little ivory thingummy representing suicide.’

‘The netsuke.’

‘Didn’t you tell me this happened as much as four years before I was there?’

‘That’s right, guv. She wasn’t a student, like Mari. She was in her mid-twenties, from Tokyo, and she’d come to Europe as a tourist, apparently alone. Do you think there’s a link?’

‘I don’t know, but I intend to compare dates. If this happened while the Staccati were performing in Vienna, we could be on to something.’

‘I’ll check right away.’

Images that pained him coursed through his brain. The embankment beside the Danube canal. Paloma spotting the bunch of lilies on the ground and then seeing the other flowers, dead and brittle, forced between the lattice struts of the stone wall. He’d insisted on moving on and she’d refused to treat it as an unknown tragedy that didn’t concern them. She’d seemed to think discovering the lilies in their path and replacing them in the pathetic little shrine was significant, a symbolic call to find out the true facts about whoever had died.

Against all his instincts he’d pandered to her superstition, getting Ingeborg to check the story on the internet. The way he’d dealt with it, trying to steer Paloma away from the depressing story once he had related it to her, had led directly to another unhappy waterside encounter, this time beside the Avon, their argument and break-up. In her eyes he was a lost cause, a stony-hearted professional unwilling to open up to sympathy for others or even for himself.

The whole episode still pained him deeply. In an effort to move on, he’d been trying to put it out of his mind, but without much success.

And now it might touch on the case he was investigating.

Ingeborg looked up from her computer screen, ‘Found it, guv. The body in Vienna was discovered on the tenth of November, 2008.’

‘Yes, but when was she reported missing?’

‘I’m not sure if she was.’

‘Nobody noticed she’d gone?’

‘She wasn’t travelling with friends or family. When they found the body, they estimated she’d been in the water three to four weeks, which would make it October.’

Trying to sound calm, he checked the list in his hand. ‘When the Staccati were giving a series of concerts in Vienna. A Japanese girl. A canal. The quartet in town. I should have been on to this before now. Was there any evidence that the dead girl, Miss...’

‘Kojima.’

‘... was into classical music?’

Ingeborg shrugged. ‘I don’t recall anything like that. I can access the report again.’

‘Where did you find it?’

‘In one of the Vienna papers. It wasn’t a huge story. I had to read it in translation.’

‘Get it on screen again, everything you can. I’m going to call the Viennese police. And the Japanese embassy. They were helpful over Mari, but it always takes longer than you expect to get anything out of these government agencies.’ He’d written the name of the Vienna victim and the estimated date of her disappearance on a notepad he’d picked up from one of the desks and he now saw that the top sheet was smeared with black ink. It was all over his hand as well. In his fury with himself he’d squeezed the pen so hard that it had splintered and leaked. ‘Okay,’ he said, addressing the entire room. ‘I want the full life histories of each of the Staccati people — everything we know about them — on my desk before the end of the afternoon. And when I say Staccati I’m including previous members and the manager. What’s his name? Christmas.’

‘Douglas Christmas,’ Halliwell said.

‘Yes, he’s part of it. He may have an office in London, but he makes the key decisions and I wouldn’t mind betting he turns up for the foreign gigs.’

From across the room someone had started humming a tune.

‘Who’s that?’ Diamond said.

Silence shut everything down like a power cut.

‘Come on,’ Diamond said. ‘Share it with us.’

Everyone in the team knew it was best to come clean when the boss was in this sort of mood. The junior member, Paul Gilbert, cleared his throat and started up again with a halfhearted rendering of the old Band Aid number, ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?’

‘That’s more than enough,’ Diamond said, flapping his hand. ‘You must be older than you look. I was a mere youth when that came out. If that’s your take on my comments, DC Gilbert, you’d better investigate Mr. Christmas. Make him your specialist study. Get his background, how he took on the quartet and where he was at the time of these two murders. With your investigative skills we can look forward to finding out if it really is Christmas.’

Gilbert had got off lightly. Humour can be the saving grace of something as grim as a murder investigation, but it has to be well timed. He’d picked the wrong moment.

The evening soirée at Corsham Court had taken on an added importance, a chance to see the four main suspects in performance. Ingeborg collected Diamond from his home in Weston and watched him wedge himself into her Ka.

‘You’re looking different, Sergeant Smith,’ he said when he’d got the belt across his middle.

‘Is that meant as a compliment?’ She’d fastened the blonde hair high on her head with two glittery combs and was in a burgundy-coloured suit.

‘Statement of fact.’

‘Now come on,’ she said, laughing. ‘If we’re supposed to appear like a couple enjoying an evening of culture, you’d better start acting the full gent. It’s a posh do, this one.’

‘Okay, you look like the Queen of Sheba. How’s that?’

‘Better.’

‘Better? It’s spot on. It’s a musical reference, in case you didn’t know. What do you think of my get-up?’ he asked.

‘Not very different.’

‘It’s the best I’ve got. Will it pass?’

‘It passed a good ten years ago. If you want a musical equivalent, it’s the “Dead March” from Saul. Are we quits?’

‘But this is my best tie.’

‘I’d call that the Pathétique.’

‘You win,’ he said. ‘Don’t know enough to compete. Seriously, am I dressed right for a soirée?’

‘You’ll get by, guv — just about.’

‘Good enough.’

‘If we sit at the back.’

‘I didn’t get a lot of time for thinking about my wardrobe. I was still at the office at six, on the line to Vienna.’

‘Any joy?’

‘They promised full cooperation. This was the police I’m speaking of. They regarded the case as closed, but they’re willing to send over everything they have on file. And the Austrian embassy are going to look at their records.’

‘It’s worth pursuing,’ Ingeborg said. ‘Too close to our case to be a coincidence.’

‘I just wish I’d cottoned on before this.’ He checked for the crease in his trousers and found two. Should have been more careful before hanging the suit last time he put it away. ‘Is there much socialising at these things?’

‘I couldn’t tell you. I haven’t been to one.’

‘There’s got to be some. You do the chat and I’ll drink the bubbly and watch the action.’

Corsham Court, off the A4 to Chippenham, is a grandiose hotchpotch of English architecture, originally Elizabethan and home over the centuries to the elite of Wiltshire families, the Hungerfords, the Thynnes and the Methuens. They all brought in builders, with mixed results. Even the illustrious Capability Brown had a go. As well as landscaping the grounds and extending the building he converted the East Wing into a magnificent picture gallery, and this was the setting for the Staccati concert.

The guests were assembling in the anteroom, where it soon became obvious that most of them knew each other. Diamond spotted several who could be numbered among the great and the good of Bath society.

‘Forgot to wear my chain of office,’ he muttered to Ingeborg as they faced each other on the fringe of the gathering.

‘What’s that, linked handcuffs?’

‘Where are the musicians?’

‘They’ll be tuning up. Can’t expect them to circulate.’ She froze.

‘What’s up?’

‘Don’t look round. Someone you know just came in. Keep talking to me.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Your friend Paloma.’

His voice went up an octave. ‘Paloma? Here?’

‘She’s with someone. I don’t think she’s seen you. They’re on the opposite side, near the fireplace.’

‘Who? Who’s she with?’

‘A guy in an expensive suit. Can’t say I recognise him.’

Diamond’s above-average blood pressure soared to well above average. Who was this dog’s dinner Paloma was partnering? The prospect of her taking up with someone else hadn’t entered his head. He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Which side of the fireplace?’

‘This side. They’re being served drinks. You could look now.’

Paloma was in an outfit he hadn’t seen before, black, with a wispy blue scarf or pashmina. She looked taller. New shoes. Extra high heels. She was laughing at something, clearly enjoying herself.

The dog’s dinner was taller than Diamond — allowing Paloma to wear the high heels without towering over him. He was also slimmer and younger. Certainly had more hair and it was only slightly silver at the sides. In a dove grey three-piece suit, he exuded privilege and class. Even had a pink tie.

Diamond had no idea who he was.

‘Take it easy, guv,’ Ingeborg said.

‘I’m okay,’ he said through clenched teeth.

‘You’re staring.’

He took a deep breath and looked away. ‘When everyone goes in, we’ll hold back and let them find seats. Then we can make sure we’re not too close. I need another drink.’

The champagne was coming round on silver trays. He reached for a glass, downed it fast and took another.

‘You might need to get to a seat earlier than you think,’ Ingeborg told him.

‘She’s had her hair done differently.’

‘I wouldn’t let that bother you, guv.’

Someone in a pinstripe and purple shirt who seemed to be acting as host approached them with another man in tow. ‘Here am I, doing my best to introduce people and I don’t even know your names.’

‘Ingeborg Smith.’

It took a nudge from Ingeborg to get Diamond to speak his name. Mentally he was over by the fireplace.

‘Bathonians both?’ the host man said.

‘Locals, yes,’ Ingeborg said.

‘This is Mr, em...’ The host turned to the other man.

‘Christmas. Doug Christmas, the manager of the quartet, down from London.’ Dark, with longish hair brushed back, he flashed a smile, but more at Ingeborg than Diamond. ‘I do my best to smooth the way for them.’

‘Did you arrange all this, then?’ Ingeborg asked Christmas after the host had moved on to make more introductions. Diamond, still in a state of shock, plainly wasn’t up for polite conversation.

‘Not tonight’s concert. That’s down to the university. They have the use of some offices here, so they have a foot in the door, so to speak. Have you heard the Staccati before, Ingeborg?’

‘Not like this, not live,’ she said. ‘We’re looking forward to it, aren’t we?’ She turned to Diamond. ‘Looking forward to it,’ she repeated as if to a deaf man.

‘Can’t wait,’ he said after a pause.

Ingeborg turned back to Douglas Christmas. ‘Do you go on tour with them when they perform abroad?’

‘Not for the entire tour. Can’t spare the time, more’s the pity,’ he said. ‘I make a point of visiting them at various concerts. Bring them a few treats from home, new shirts, the latest paperbacks, music magazines, a large box of chocs for Cat the cellist. It keeps up their spirits. You can get depressed living in foreign hotels for long periods.’

‘I expect you’re in regular touch with them.’

‘Daily. Hourly, if there’s a crisis.’

‘What can go wrong?’

‘You name it. No one to meet them at the airport. Substandard hotel. Cock-ups over the concert programme. There was even one horrible tour when our violist went missing. A very gifted musician, too. I had to drop everything and take the first flight to Budapest to sort things out.’

‘What happened?’

‘They cancelled the concert. I arrived in a murderous mood, after Harry’s blood, and I still feel bad about that, because the poor fellow stayed missing. No one has seen him or heard anything to this day. It was a massive setback. We muddled through for a time with substitute players, but it wasn’t the same. We’ve only recently got back to some kind of normality.’

Part of Diamond’s brain had been taking in what was said. He dragged his attention back to this side of the room and turned to Christmas. ‘Was he scared of you?’

This brought a frown and raised eyebrows. ‘Who?’

‘The violist who disappeared.’

‘Harry? Good Lord, no.’

‘You said you were in a murderous mood.’

‘A turn of phrase, no more.’ He laughed. ‘I may be known in the trade as Jaws, but I treat the quartet like my own kids. I’m still broken up about Harry.’

‘What could have happened?’

‘I wish I knew. He was a loner. I suppose they all are in their different ways, only he was always more secretive than the others and always strapped for cash, asking me for something ahead of payday. I discovered he was a compulsive gambler, off to the casino each time they arrived in a new city. He didn’t tell the others, as far as I know. He was always back in good time for each rehearsal and performance and always played divinely. You can’t do that if you’re high on something.’

‘So he got on all right with them?’

‘No problem I ever heard of. There are always tensions between talented people and we have strong characters in the Staccati, but Harry dealt with personal relationships in an adult way.’

‘Was he depressed?’

‘He didn’t appear so. We went through all this at the time with the Budapest police.’

‘I’m sure,’ Diamond said. ‘Have any of the quartet told you about their current problem?’

‘Problem?’ His face turned a shade paler. ‘What’s that?’

‘Here in Bath.’ Diamond pitched his voice lower. ‘I’ll be straight with you, Mr. Christmas. Ingeborg is a detective sergeant and I’m the head of CID. We’re investigating the suspicious death of a young Japanese woman who seems to have come to Bath because she was a keen fan of the quartet. She was found in the river some days ago.’

‘You don’t think my clients have anything to do with it?’

Christmas said in an appalled tone. ‘They’re not going to kill fans. They need them.’

‘There may be a connection with a case in Vienna four years ago. Another Japanese woman. She went missing at the same time the Staccati were performing there. She was found in the Danube canal.’

‘I know nothing of this.’

‘But you know they were in Vienna in 2008?’

‘True. They played several nights at the Konzerthaus. I was there for one of them and it was a perfectly normal gig. This is the first I’ve heard about a missing woman and it’s outrageous to suggest such a thing has any connection with the quartet.’

‘The body wasn’t found until after you’d all left. So you were in Vienna yourself?’

‘It’s one of my favourite cities.’

‘Mine, too,’ Diamond said as if he was a world traveller. ‘Was this visit prior to the Budapest engagement when your violist went missing?’

The manager’s face creased in alarm. ‘By God, it was. All part of our 2008 European tour. How extraordinary. It’s got to be a ghastly coincidence.’

Diamond didn’t need to comment on that. A voice from across the room announced, ‘The concert will begin shortly. Kindly proceed into the picture galley and take your seats.’

‘Are you going in?’ Christmas said.

Diamond nodded. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

‘Better not delay.’ He was off.

Diamond’s gaze returned to the opposite side of the room, where Paloma and her partner were in conversation with some other people. ‘They’re in no hurry,’ he said to Ingeborg. ‘Why don’t they bloody move?’

‘Cool it, guv.’

The anteroom was emptying fast. His plan to hold back would misfire if he and Ingeborg were left there, conspicuous.

‘We’d better go in,’ Ingeborg said.

Still he hesitated.

And then Paloma turned her head and saw them. Her brown eyes held Diamond’s briefly and widened in shock. Of all the people she might have expected to see at a chamber music recital, he would not have been high on the list. Clearly embarrassed, she swung away, grasped her partner’s forearm and almost tugged him towards the door.

‘Did you see that?’ Diamond said to Ingeborg. ‘She was holding his arm. Do you think they’re an item?’

‘Guv, I’ve no idea.’

He was hurting. ‘The body language says everything, doesn’t it? They’re more than just friends.’

‘Don’t let it get to you. It may be quite innocent.’

‘What’s she doing here anyway?’

‘I expect she’s saying exactly the same about you. We’d better go in.’

They took the end seats in the last row but one. Paloma and her escort were closer to the front, in the middle of the second row. Capability Brown’s gallery was seventy-two feet by twenty-four and the seating had been arranged lengthwise, but in a shallow arc facing a white marble fireplace. Chairs and music stands for the performers were positioned in front.

Diamond’s police career had put him in some unlikely places. This, by his standards, was among the most alien. Classical art was not his thing any more than music was. The pictures were hung in the style of the early nineteenth century, when the objective was to use as much wall space as possible. Large gilt-framed paintings from the Methuen family’s collection were suspended one above the other in twos and threes. To his eye the pictures looked sombre and repellent. He had no confidence that the music would be any more congenial.

A ripple of applause started and grew in volume. The quartet made their entrance. Ivan Bogdanov led them in, violin and bow in hand, a squat, bald figure in a white jacket and white bow tie that was their uniform. Even Cat Kinsella had a jacket over a white top and wore dark trousers like the others. Her waist size was probably more than twice Ivan’s. But she walked well and had no difficulty carrying her cello. Anthony Metcalf was the tallest, handsome, expressionless, indifferent to the audience. Finally came Mel Farran and he was definitely interested in the sea of faces, taking nervous glances as he moved towards the music stands. A strip of white bandage covered the outer edge of his left hand.

‘Pick your killer,’ Diamond said to Ingeborg and the woman in front of them stopped clapping and turned to see who had spoken.

The musicians took their places and spent a moment adjusting the lights on their music stands.

‘What are they going to play?’

‘It’s on the sheet,’ Ingeborg said out of the side of her mouth.

‘What sheet?’

‘On the chair when we came in.’

‘Ah.’ He’d been too interested in Paloma to notice. He shifted his weight to the left, delved under his thigh and retrieved it.

Beethoven, Opus 59, No. 3 in C major.

The quartet must have tuned their instruments off stage. Ivan gave a nod, put bow to string and they were straight into it.