Peter Robinson: Past Reason Hated

‘The music was still playing. I opened the door to the living room and… I… at first I thought she was wearing the new scarlet camisole. She looked so serene and so beautiful lying there like that. But it couldn’t be. I told you last night, I hadn’t give it to her then. I’d just bought her the camisole for Christmas and I’d put it in the bottom of the wardrobe with everything else. Then I went closer and… the smell… her eyes… Veronica put her mug down and held her head in her hands.

Banks let the silence stretch for a good minute or two. All they could hear was the soft ticking of Mrs Cooper’s kitchen wall clock and a dog barking in the distance.

‘I understand you were married,’ Banks said, when Veronica had wiped her eyes and reached out for her coffee again.

‘I still am, officially. We’re only separated, not divorced. He didn’t want our personal life splashed all over the newspapers. As you may have gathered, Caroline and I lived together.’

Banks nodded. ‘Why should the newspapers have been interested? People get divorced all the time for all kinds of reasons.’

Veronica hesitated and turned her mug slowly in a circle on the table. She wouldn’t met his eyes.

‘Look,’ Banks said, ‘I hardly need remind you what’s happened, how serious this is. We’ll find out anyway. You can save us a lot of time and trouble.’

Veronica looked up at him. ‘You’re right, of course,’ she said. ‘Though I don’t see how it can have anything to do with all this. My husband was – is, Claude Ivers. He’s not exactly a household name, but enough people have heard of him.’

Banks certainly had. Ivers had once been a brilliant concert pianist, but several years ago he had given up performance for composition. He had received important commissions from the BBC, and a number of his pieces had been recorded. Banks even had a tape of his, two wind quintets; they possessed a kind of eerie, natural beauty – not structured, but wandering, like the breeze in a deep forest at night. Veronica Shildon was right. If the press had got hold of the story she would have had no peace tor weeks. News of the World reporters would have been climbing the drainpipes and spying in bedroom windows, talking to spiteful neighbours and slighted lovers. He could just see the headlines: MUSICIAN’S WIFE IN LESBIAN LOVENEST.

‘Where is your husband now?’ Banks asked.

‘He lives in Redburn, out on the coast. He said the seclusion and the sea would be good for his work. He always did care about his work.’

Banks noticed the bitterness in her tone. ‘Do you ever see one another?’

‘Yes,’ she said. A smile touched her thin lips. ‘It was an acrimonious parting in many ways, but there is some affection left. We don’t seem able to stamp that out, whatever we do.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘About a month ago. We occasionally have dinner if he’s in town. I rarely visit the coast, but he comes here from time to time.’

‘To the house?’

‘He’s been here, yes, though he’s always worried someone will see him and know who he is. I try to tell him that people don’t actually recognize composers in the street any more than they do writers, that it’s only television and film stars have to put up with that, but…’ She shrugged.

‘Did he know Caroline?’

‘He could hardly help knowing her, could he? They’d met a few times.’

‘How did they get on?’

Veronica shrugged. ‘They never seemed to have much to say to one another. They were different as chalk and cheese. He thought she was a scheming slut and she thought he was a selfish, pompous ass. They had nothing in common but affection for me.’

‘Was there any open antagonism?’

‘Open? Good Lord no. That isn’t Claude’s way. He sniped from time to time, made sarcastic comments, cruel remarks, that kind of thing.’

‘Directed towards Caroline?’

‘Directed towards both of us. But I’m sure he blamed Caroline for leading me astray. That’s how he saw it.’

‘Was it that way?’

Veronica shook her head.

‘Was Caroline ever married?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Was she living with anyone before she met you?’

Veronica paused and gripped her coffee mug in both hands as if to warm them. Her fingers were long and tapered and she had freckles on the backs of her hands. She wore a silver ring on the middle finger of her right hand. As she spoke, she looked down at the table. ‘She was living with a woman called Nancy Wood. They’d been together about eight months. The relationship was going very badly.’

‘Where does Nancy Wood live?’

‘In Eastvale. Not too far from here. At least, she did the last I heard.’

‘Did Caroline ever see her after they split up?’

‘Only by accident once or twice in the street.’

‘So they parted on bad terms?’

‘Doesn’t everyone? Much as I admire Shakespeare, I’ve often wondered where the sweetness is in the sorrow.’

‘And before Nancy Wood?’

‘She spent some time in London. I don’t know how long or who with. A few years, at least.’

‘What about her family?’

‘Her mother’s dead. Her father lives in Harrogate. He’s an invalid – been one for years. Her brother Gary looks after him. I told one of your uniformed men last night. Will someone have called?’

Banks nodded. ‘Don’t worry, the Harrogate police will have taken care of it. Is there anything else you can tell me about Caroline’s friends or enemies?’

Veronica sighed and shook her head. She looked exhausted. ‘No,’ she said. ‘We didn’t have a lot of close friends. I suppose we tried to be too much to one another. At least that’s how it feels now she’s gone. You could try the people at the theatre. They were her acquaintances, at least. But we didn’t socialize very much together. I don’t think any of them even knew about her living with me.’

‘We’re still puzzled about the record,’ Banks said. ‘Are you sure it isn’t yours?’

‘I’ve told you, no.’

‘But you recognized the singer?’

‘Magda Kalmar, yes. Claude and I once saw her in Lucia di Lammermoor at the Budapest Opera. I was very impressed.’

‘Could the record have been intended as a Christmas present from your husband?’

‘Well, I suppose it could… but that means… no, I haven’t seen him in a month.’

‘He could have called last night, while you were out.’

She shook her head. ‘No. I don’t believe it. Not Claude.

Banks looked over at Richmond and nodded. Richmond closed his notebook. ‘That’s all for now,’ Banks said.

‘Can I go home?’ she asked him.

‘If you want.’ Banks hadn’t imagined she would want to return to the house so soon, but there was no official objection. Forensics had finished with the place.

‘Just one thing, though,’ he said. ‘We’ll need to have another good look through Caroline’s belongings. Perhaps Detective Sergeant Richmond can accompany you back and look over them now?’

She looked apprehensive at first, then nodded. ‘All right.’

They stood up to leave. Christine Cooper was nowhere in sight, so they walked out into the damp, overcast day and shut the door behind them without saying goodbye.

Veronica opened her front door and went in. Banks lingered at the black iron gate with Richmond. ‘I’m going to the community centre,’ he said. ‘There should be someone from the theatre group there since they’ve been notified of the break-in. How about we meet up at the Queen’s Arms, say twelve or twelve-thirty?’ And he went on to ask Richmond to check Veronica Shildon’s purchases and look closely at the receipts for corroboration of her alibi. ‘And check on Charles Cooper’s movements yesterday,’ he added. ‘It might mean a trip to Barnard Castle, but see if you can come up with anything by phone first.’