Alex Gray - Shadows of Sounds

‘Well,’ Lorimer said slowly, ‘at least this proves one thing. She couldn’t have known the instrument was stolen, could she? Not when she intended her violinist son to have it.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ Quentin-Jones agreed. ‘That’s something anyway.’

‘Does he know yet?’

The Surgeon shook his head. ‘That’s the worst bit about it all. Karen introduced this lad to Tina. They’ve become quite good friends, as it happens. Ironic, isn’t it?’ he smiled grimly at Lorimer. ‘Tina was going to contact him today. She said she couldn’t face him at the concert last night.’

Lorimer’s mind froze. What was it that Tina Quentin-Jones had asked him after her mother’s funeral? How would they know if they’d got the right man? Had she harboured any suspicions about this young violinist? or had the girl been thinking of someone else altogether?

‘What were the other aspects of your wife’s will, sir?’ Lorimer asked suddenly.

Quentin-Jones shrugged. ‘Not much, really; a small insurance policy that comes to me. Her jewellery goes to Tina. Most of our assets are in joint names, Chief Inspector. Karen didn’t really have any money of her own squirreled away, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ The Surgeon looked closely at Lorimer as if trying to read his mind. ‘And, no, there was no little something left for Christopher Maurice Drummond if that’s what you’re wondering. He’d had quite enough already, don’t you think?’

Lorimer sat back in his chair regarding the Surgeon thoughtfully. There was a new edge to his voice. Something like a carefully restrained anger. But had it always been there? And was Derek Quentin-Jones really more sinned against than sinning?

‘Oh, it’s you?’ Simon Corrigan stepped back from the door as he saw the girl standing there. ‘I suppose you’ll want to come in,’ he added then called over his shoulder, ‘Chris! Your girlfriend’s here!’ There was a peculiar expression of malice in his face as he opened the door wider making Tina flinch. But the quick glance she threw his way confirmed something. If she was not mistaken, the horn player’s red-rimmed eyes showed signs of recent weeping.

‘Oh, hi,’ Chris Hunter emerged from the end of the hall, his face lighting up at the sight of the girl.

‘Leave you to it, then,’ Simon muttered, sloping off into an adjacent bedroom.

‘Come on through. Coffee?’ Chris laid a hand on Tina’s arm. His eyes registered surprise when she shook it off fiercely. ‘Hey, what’s up? Have I done something to upset you?’

Tina looked at him angrily. ‘You tell me,’ she said.

Chris glanced at the closed door of the bedroom for a moment. ‘Come on through to the kitchen and tell me what’s the matter, eh?’

The girl hesitated for a moment then with a shrug that was supposed to look nonchalant followed him down the darkened passageway into the kitchen at its end.

‘Right, pal, what’s all this about? First you stand me up at the concert and now you come up here with a face like thunder. Am I entitled to an explanation or not?’ Chris folded his arms and smiled at her.

Suddenly Tina burst into uncontrollable sobs and threw herself into his arms. Her muffled words were lost as he patted her hair and held her close to his body.

‘It’s all right, wee one, come on, it’s OK,’ he soothed.

Tina gulped back more tears and looked up at him. ‘Did you hear what I just said?’

‘Not a word, sweetheart. Now how about starting again. It can’t be that bad, can it?’

Tina took hold of both his arms and held them, still gazing intently into his eyes. ‘You never knew at all, did you? She never told you?’

‘Told me what?’ Chris gave a small puzzled laugh.

‘You’re my big brother.’

For a moment the only sound in the room was the ticking of an ancient clock on the wall as Chris Hunter stared at the girl clutching his arms. ‘God! I can’t believe it!’

She nodded. ‘It’s true. Mum left you her violin in her will. She’s known about you for years, kept tabs on everything that happened to you, Dad reckons.’ She paused and smiled tremulously. ‘Only he’s not my Dad. Nor yours.’

‘What? Then who …?’ Chris Hunter’s voiced came out in a whisper as he tried to resurrect some of the world that was crashing around him.

‘A man called Maurice Drummond. He’s the Chorus Master of the City of Glasgow Chorus. He and Mum had a couple of affairs,’ Tina drew a deep breath, ‘and we’re the result.’

‘Are you sure?’ Chris asked, still staring at Tina as if she were the only credible thing in the room.

‘Sure. Dad says these DNA tests were bound to prove it as well.’ She looked up at his face. ‘Did you know you were adopted?’ she asked suddenly.

He nodded. ‘I’ve known for ages. Mum and Dad split up when I was little and she told me then. But I’ve never bothered about it. Mum was Mum to me. Still is,’ he broke off, the implication of his new identity hitting him suddenly.

‘My real mother has been murdered,’ he said, an expression of horror coming over his face.

‘Chris, I’m so sorry, I’m so very sorry.’ Tina began to weep again and buried her face into his jersey. But this time, as Chris Hunter stroked her hair, his attention was not on Tina but on something quite different that only he could see.

Simon turned away from the kitchen door, slipping into the shadows of the hallway. It all made sense now. Everything he’d just seen and heard made such perfect sense.

The close mouth was in shadow when the man finally opened the street door. Four steps up and a long stone passageway ahead were illumined by the stained glass window high overhead on the first half landing. Flynn grinned as he turned his head, examining the old polished tiles along the walls. It was a ‘wally close’, a mark of prestige in Glasgow tenements once upon a time, Flynn knew. His wally close. The grin grew wider as he followed the man up two flights of stairs. He’d be doing this every day, he thought suddenly. Up and down to his new job, in and out the close to the bus stop along the road. Flynn blinked, surprised by sudden tears. Such an ordinary thing to be doing, wasn’t it? But it seemed like a whole new world to him.

‘Right, pal, this is it,’ the man turned to Flynn and handed him the keys. ‘You’ve got all the stuff you need to start you off. It’s not a lot, but it’ll do you until you can afford to replace it, eh?’

Flynn nodded. The guy wasn’t that much older than himself but he had the look of one who’d seen it all and more. Being assistant warden in a Glasgow hostel would have given him insight into the lives of loads of folk, he reckoned. Joseph Alexander Flynn was just another client being dropped off at his wee flat.

‘Want me to come in with you?’ The man smiled suddenly. ‘Show you how the oven works an’ all that?’

‘Naw, I’ll manage fine. I’m no’ goin’ tae be cookin’ a Christmas turkey, ah’m I?’

‘Well, there’s always Christmas dinner down at the Hamish Allan if you want to come?’

Flynn shook his head. He had other plans for Christmas day. With a lift of his chin he looked at the warden. ‘Ah’ve already got an invitation, thanks anyway.’

The man shrugged. He clearly didn’t believe him. Who would offer hospitality to someone like Flynn?

‘OK, I’m off. But you can come down and see us any time. You know that. Right?’

‘Aye. Right.’

Flynn waited until the man had turned down the first flight of stairs then he inserted the key into the lock (his lock!) and pushed open the wooden door.

His hand immediately felt for a light switch as he entered the gloomy hall. Flynn dropped his two bags on the carpet and carefully closed the door behind him. The hall was a small rectangle with doors opening off on either side. He pushed open the first one on his immediate right revealing a small bathroom. A cursory glance showed him a strip of bare laminated floor with a bath on one side and a washbasin and loo at the far end. He pulled the light cord making the porcelain gleam suddenly under the naked bulb. Well, at least it was clean. He had a sudden vision of Lorimer’s untidy bathroom with its rows of gels and jars that his Missus had left behind. Och, it wouldn’t take him too long to clutter up his own wee place.