The Sound of Broken Glass Part 26

But in the end he knew that what had happened had been his fault. Nadine had been unhappy and he'd been too selfish to see it. And instead of helping her, he had betrayed her.

And then the school term began, and with it the weather broke with a vengeance. The rain came down as if it would wash away the sins of the world, but nothing could erase the stain of Andy's guilt.

Nadine's car disappeared. He wondered if she had gone to stay with someone else-perhaps her parents? But he knew only that she'd grown up in Hampstead, and nothing else about her family. He'd never asked.

Then, a few weeks before Christmas, he came home from school to find a to let sign next door. The flat was empty, Nadine was gone, and nothing in his life would ever be the same.

The nursery school interview turned out to be not nearly as intimidating as Kincaid had expected.

MacKenzie had met him and Charlotte, as promised, in front of the white Victorian villa near Pembridge Gardens. The only thing identifying the building as a school was a small bra.s.s plaque beside the blue door. When MacKenzie rang the buzzer, they were admitted immediately.

Charlotte, having been told she could visit Oliver's cla.s.s, went willingly with MacKenzie while Kincaid was ushered into the head's office. "I'm Jane," the woman said, gesturing him to a seat. Middle aged and pleasantly attractive, she wore silver-framed gla.s.ses and a long, colorful skirt that looked as if it might have come from one of the stalls in Portobello Road.

He'd expected a long list of questions about Charlotte's background and emotional issues, her level of academic progress, even the state of her toilet training. Instead, Jane scanned a few notes on her desk, then looked up and smiled. "I understand your little girl has had some difficulties. Well, we'll see what we can do for her."

He stared at her for a moment, not certain he'd heard correctly. "You mean-You can take her?"

"It so happens that one of our families is making an unexpected move to New York for business reasons, so there will be an opening in Oliver's cla.s.s. She could start, um"-she consulted her notes again-"next Monday, I believe, if that would suit you. Although we do provide wraparound care, I'd suggest we begin with mornings only for the first few weeks and see how she does."

Gobsmacked, Kincaid nodded. "Yes. Yes, thanks very much. But what about the-"

"The secretary will give you the admission form and the information on uniforms and fees."

"You don't need to meet Charlotte?"

"I'm sure we'll get well acquainted soon enough, Mr. Kincaid. I like to partic.i.p.ate in the children's routine as much as possible. If you think she might need a little help adjusting, you're welcome to sit in with her for a day or two. So I'll expect to see you on Monday as well?"

"Yes, of course. I'm certain I can arrange that." He stood and reached across the desk to pump her hand. "Thanks again," he said with what he felt was great inadequacy.

"Oh, there is one thing, Mr. Kincaid." Jane stopped him as he reached the door, for the first time sounding like his expectation of a headmistress. "Just so there is no misunderstanding. We are not a glamorous school-merely a good one. We don't put children on a waiting list before they are conceived. We don't do celebrity raffles. We don't care if you spent your holiday in Barbados, or if your child's G.o.dmother has an Oscar, or what kind of car you drive. In fact, we rather discourage that sort of thing." Her stern expression dissolved into a smile. "Although we do make an exception in MacKenzie's case."

"I'm very relieved to hear both," he'd replied, although he had no idea what she meant about MacKenzie.

He would tell Gemma the good news as soon as she got home, but first he needed to talk to Louise and make certain Charlotte's estate could handle the fees in the interim before the sale of the Fournier Street house was final.

Perhaps, he thought, considering his promise to Tam, he could kill two birds with one stone.

Having made arrangements the previous evening for Charlotte to spend the afternoon with their friend Betty Howard, Kincaid dropped her off and drove to Bethnal Green alone. Louise was resting when he arrived at her flat near Columbia Road, and when she ushered him into the sitting room, he thought she looked a bit better than she had on Sat.u.r.day.

When he explained about the school, she laughed, and it occurred to him that that was a sound he'd seldom heard from her. "You are one for getting results," she said. "And yes, it should be fine. Actually, I think it's not unreasonable for a fee-paying school, especially in Notting Hill. And if Charlotte can adjust to the wraparound care, that will cost you considerably less than paying a nanny for half days. Although," she added, with a return of her usual acerbity, "it sounds to me as if the place is being elitist by not being elitist."

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"As well as can be expected. And that, I take it, is a good thing. But I'm pleased for you. It looks as if one of us may be returning to work soon, at least."

She offered coffee but he declined, saying he needed to have a word with Tam, and that he didn't want to tire her. Both true enough, and saved him from confessing that the flat was hothouse temperature and he hadn't the stamina for her coffee.

Next door, he found Michael out with the dogs, and Tam pacing. "He said he'd come, though I had to b.l.o.o.d.y threaten him. He's always been such a reliable lad, Andy. That's one of the reasons I convinced Caleb to give him a try. And now he's acting like some prima donna. I can't think what's got into him. I havenae told Caleb he's saying he's not sure he wants to record with wee Poppy."

Before Kincaid could reply, there was a light tap on the door. Kincaid opened it to find Andy Monahan, scowling at him. "Tam said you wanted to talk to me."

"If you don't mind," Kincaid said easily. He thought that Andy looked exhausted, the shadows under his eyes dark as bruises. "Do you want to come in?"

Andy threw a glower at Tam. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather sit outside. Just us."

The day was gray and damp with a chill wind, but Kincaid wasn't inclined to argue. With a quelling shake of his head at Tam, he stepped outside. The chairs were placed on either side of the small balcony, one in front of Tam and Michael's flat and one in front of Louise's. He sensed that arranging them into a conversational grouping would convey an unwanted formality, so he led the way through the gate at the top of the stairs and sat down on the top step.

With obvious reluctance, Andy sat beside him, huddled in the depths of his peacoat. It was Andy, however, who spoke first. "I had no idea Charlotte's mum was a copper. What are the two of you doing, tag-teaming?"

"I'm here strictly because Tam asked me to speak to you. He's worried about you. But you know that if you tell me anything that is relevant to these cases, I'll have to pa.s.s it along to Gemma."

"No secrets of the confessional, then?" Andy asked, mocking.

"It looks to me as if you could use some help. I'd guess you haven't slept-or eaten-in a couple of days."

Andy rubbed at the now-fading bruises on the knuckles of his right hand. "Not much of either since Monday. Not since I heard"-he glanced at Kincaid, then looked away-"I guess you know about Melody."

"I know that Melody interviewed you on Sunday night, and that she was with you during the time that someone drugged Shaun Francis at his local pub, took him home, stripped him, tied him up, and strangled him."

"Oh, G.o.d." Andy looked as if he might be sick.

"I also know that yesterday Melody spoke to Nick, your ba.s.s player, and that she knows you lied to her about the fight in the pub." Kincaid nodded at Andy's knuckles. "Want to start with that?"

Andy gave a choked laugh. "There's no way to start with that." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. For a moment he gazed down into the quiet street and then his shoulders sagged. "I'm tired. I'm tired of keeping secrets. What happened on Friday night was the end, not the beginning. It started on a hot August day when I was thirteen years old."

When Andy had finished his story, Kincaid sat, appalled. He thought of Kit, who had endured much in his young life, but had had someone to turn to, someone to care for him. After a moment, he said quietly, "You never spoke to your mother about any of this?"

Andy shook his head. "She had burdens enough."

"What happened to her?"

"She died when I was sixteen. Her liver gave out, they said, but I always thought she just couldn't find a reason to go on."

"What did you do?"

"The nuns at my school found me a place to stay until I finished my year. I was playing gigs by then. Some of the old-time musicians in Crystal Palace got me jobs, gave me sofas to doss on. Then I met Nick and George in a club, and we put together our band. They both lived at home and their parents let me stay when I needed a place. Then I met Tam and he started getting me enough session work to get by. Eventually I got the flat in Hanway Place." He sighed. "I owe Nick and George. And I owe Tam. I never thought I'd have to choose between the two."

"And the boys, Shaun and Joe? You never saw them again?"

"Not until Friday night. But I didn't lie to Melody. It wasn't Shaun. It was Joe. I didn't recognize him at first, when he came up to me in the White Stag. I really thought he was just some drunk punter, until he asked me if I remembered old times. He wanted"-Andy's voice was tight-"he wanted to know why we couldn't be friends."

"So you hit him."

"I lost it. I just lost it. But it didn't make me feel any better." He took his hands from his pockets and rubbed at his knuckles again. "Not worth risking my picking hand. But Shaun, Jesus. I always thought nothing was too bad for him, but-When Melody told me Shaun was dead, like that other guy, I thought I'd gone completely round the bend. I never knew their last names, Shaun or Joe. But I knew it had to be him, and when she showed me the photo, I was certain." Glancing at Kincaid, he added, "You know I don't blame Melody for going to her guv'nor. Your Gemma." He frowned, as if he still hadn't quite managed to get his head round that. "But I can't very well ring her up and say, 'Oh, sorry.'"

"Better if you don't just now," Kincaid agreed. "What about Nadine? You never saw her again, either?"

Andy pulled his coat tighter and s.h.i.+vered. "You'll think I really am bonkers. Not until Friday night, although I swear I looked for her everywhere I went for years. And that night-maybe it was because I'd seen Joe and that brought it all back-but I thought I caught a glimpse of her, in the back of the room at the White Stag. It was during the second set. Then the crowd s.h.i.+fted and she was gone. I thought I'd imagined it . . . "

Kincaid caught the hesitation. "Until-"

"Until Sunday night. When I was with Melody in the Twelve Bar. She looked different, of course, and it was just an instant as she turned back from the stairs. But it was Nadine."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

The two high water towers that had been erected were still standing but soon after they were dismantled.

-Betty Carew, www.helium.com "What happened to Mrs. Drake?" Gemma asked Wayne Carstairs, resisting the urge to fan herself. It was warm in the headmaster's office, and while he wore a long-sleeved navy polo s.h.i.+rt with the school crest embossed on the breast, she and Melody were still in their coats.

"The head dismissed her without references." Carstairs leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "It was cruel. Not only would such an action have kept her from getting a job at another public school, but it would have ruined her prospects at even the lowliest comprehensive."

"You didn't approve?"

"I did not. But Joe Peterson's father, Gary, was on the school's board of governors and he liked to wield his power."

"Joe Peterson? That was the name of the boy involved?"

Carstairs nodded. "A little sycophant, was Joe. Bullied by his father and by Shaun Francis-in fact, I always thought that was what cemented the rather unlikely relations.h.i.+p between the two boys. Joe was already comfortable in the role of toady."

Melody had been following the conversation with a frown. "Did Peterson go to the police?"

"Yes. But after they interviewed the boys and Mrs. Drake, and some of the other members of staff, the police declined to bring charges. I remember the detective was quite sharp, and I doubt he was any more taken in by the story than I was. But Peterson was livid. He hired some City barrister to file a civil suit against the poor woman, claiming she had caused his son 'emotional trauma.' Apparently, there had been some question into the nature of her husband's death, although no charges were brought, and I'm sure Peterson thought he could use that in a civil suit to blacken her character."

"What could he possibly have hoped to gain?" asked Gemma.

"Certainly nothing financially. I don't believe she had two pennies to rub together. But Peterson had money to burn, and like Shaun Francis, he was a man to hold a grudge. I remember seeing him chatting up Mrs. Drake at Games Day, the end of summer term. She looked so cornered that my wife went to her rescue. I always wondered if he had . . . approached her . . . and she had rebuffed him. He certainly didn't do his son any favors by pursuing the matter. Shaun Francis dropped Joe after the whole business, apparently considering him a social liability, and the rest of the school followed suit. Joe Peterson didn't last the rest of the year here. I don't know what happened to him after that."

"And Mrs. Drake?"

Carstairs's lips tightened. "I don't know. She was here teaching one day and gone the next. I-none of the staff-ever had the chance to tell her we were sorry to see her go."

"Did you ever hear the outcome of the civil suit?"

"No. Although I suspect if it had gone to Peterson's advantage he'd have bragged about it at a parents' evening."

A low rumble had begun outside Carstairs's office-the sound of many feet on hard floors and the rising crescendo of children's voices. The cla.s.srooms were letting out for lunch.

The headmaster glanced at the clock on his desk. "I'm afraid lunchroom duty calls."

"You've been very generous with your time, Mr. Carstairs," said Gemma with a smile. "One more thing. The barrister Mr. Peterson hired-do you happen to remember his name?"

Standing, Carstairs took a tweedy jacket befitting a more traditional headmaster from a peg behind his desk. "Let's see . . . He was a striking man with prematurely white hair, as I recall. He deposed all the staff, and I'm afraid he found us a bit uncooperative. In fact, the English master composed a rather rude limerick about him that made the rounds of the staff room." Carstairs smiled, murmuring something under his breath that Gemma didn't quite catch, then said, "His name was Arnott, the lawyer. I'll leave the content of that literary masterpiece to your imaginations."

"So there was a connection between Shaun Francis and Arnott," said Melody as she and Gemma left the school building and headed for the car. The clouds had come down, obscuring the great Crystal Palace radio transmitters, and a cold drop of moisture touched her cheek like a kiss. "But a bit tenuous, as well as years ago, and we still have no idea what any of that has to do with Andy. Or if it has anything to do with him at all." Glancing at Gemma, she added, "Someone needs to speak to him again."

Melody expected to be chastised, but instead, Gemma looked up from reaching in her bag for the car keys, her expression surprisingly sheepish. "Duncan was going to have a word."

"What?"

"Tam rang him last night in a state. He said Andy was threatening to pull out of this big recording deal and wanted Duncan to talk to him."

"So you've put him off-limits to me but agreed that Duncan could question him?" Melody realized how absurd that sounded as soon as the words left her mouth. "No, don't tell me," she said as she slipped into the car beside Gemma. "Duncan didn't sleep with him."

Gemma's lips quirked in a smile. "Well, I hope not. But you're right-I have gone outside channels when I've told you not to do exactly that. But Duncan and Andy seem to have a rapport, and it certainly wasn't there for me. I thought it couldn't hurt for Duncan to give it a try."

"I'm worried about him," admitted Melody. "I know it's stupid and we hardly know each other, not really, but . . . "

"I thought . . . " Gemma hesitated, then went on, "When I talked to him yesterday, I got the impression that the feeling was mutual. And he's-Well, I don't think you're stupid at all."

"Thanks. I feel ever so much better," Melody quipped, but in truth she found that she did. But she was no less worried. "But you haven't heard anything from Dun-" Her phone, silenced for the interview with Mr. Carstairs, vibrated in her pocket.

When she saw it was Doug, she gave Gemma an apologetic shrug and answered.

"I've got something for you," said Doug without preamble. "It's taken me all day, but I've accessed Vincent Arnott's criminal case records, and I came across a familiar name. Ten years ago, Arnott was the prosecutor in a drugs charge against Caleb Hart, your record producer."

"Hart?" repeated Melody. "But he said he didn't know Arnott."

"Well, obviously, he lied. Hart and a young girl singer, his protege, were found in possession of cocaine and heroin in a drugs bust. Hart had a good lawyer and the bust itself was a bit questionable, so he got off lightly."

"And the girl?"

"A probationary sentence. But I did some research. The case made good fodder for the media-drugs and rock and roll at the very least-and Arnott was apparently vicious as a prosecutor. He smeared the girl's reputation. Apparently she either couldn't handle the drugs or the adverse press. She committed suicide ten months after the trial. Hart then got very publicly sober and has remained so since."

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d," said Melody.

Gemma, watching her intently, mouthed, "What?"

"Did you happen to get a home address?" Melody asked Doug, giving Gemma a slight headshake as she scrabbled in her bag for a pad and pen.

"It's North Dulwich. Crystal Palace, more or less." Doug read it out to her and she wrote it down.

"Thanks. You've been brilliant."

"But," said Doug, who knew her intonations too well.

"You could do something else, if you're not too busy."