'What the hell business is it of yours?' she grumbled as she poured milk on her cereal and perched on a stool at the breakfast bar. If she was always this charming first thing in the evening, it wasn't so surprising that Jett preferred to wake up alone.
'You can always tell good breeding,” I said airily. 'Plebs like me, we can never aspire to the courtesy of the moneyed classes.'
To my surprise, she spluttered with laughter, spraying the worktop with gobbets of coconut matting. 'OK, I'm sorry, Kate,' she conceded. It was the first time I'd seen a side of her that explained why Jett had put up with her for more than five minutes. 'I'm always a complete shit until I've had something to eat. I think I get low blood sugar in the night. I guess all this business over Moira is just making it worse. And breakfast with Bonzo there was a prospect too dire for words.' Her upper class drawl exaggerated her words, made them seem more amusing than they were.
'So what's the daughter of a baronet doing among the Neanderthals, then?' I asked, trying to pick up the tone of her own remarks. Richard's background info was still coming in handy.
She gave an ironic smile. 'Depends who you want to believe. According to my mother, I'm indulging in a belated teenage rebellion, having a bit of rough before I settle down. According to the lovely Gloria, I'm a gold-digger who likes having her name linked in the gossip columns with Jett. According to Kevin, I was useful in the early days because I kept Jett amused, but now I'm a pain because we keep rowing.'
'And according to you?'
'Me? I'm still here because I'm crazy about the guy. I'll admit that when I first met him, I thought he might be fun to play with for a while. But that changed. In a matter of days, that changed. I'm here because I love him and I want to make it work. In spite of all the efforts of his so-called friends to put a spanner in the works,' she added, with an edge of bitterness that nullified the light tone of her earlier remarks.
'Was Moira one of those?' I asked, getting up to make myself some coffee.
She nodded. 'In spades. Sorry, an unfortunate turn of phrase, but maybe not so inaccurate. She treated me like a brainless bimbo to the point where I felt like having my degree framed and hung on my door. Did you know I have an upper second in modern languages from Exeter?' she asked defensively. I waved an empty mug at Tamar and she nodded. 'Black, one sugar. Moira seemed to think that since I wasn't a black, working-class musician then I could have nothing to offer Jett. It was ironic. She didn't want him any more, but she was damned if she was going to let anyone else be part of his life.'
I was almost beginning to feel sorry for Tamar myself. Then I remembered the display in the drawing room the previous morning, and how insincere I'd instinctively felt it to be. 'Well, she won't be around to throw any more spanners,' I responded heartlessly.
'And if I'm being honest, I'd have to say I'm glad. If I'd heard one more sentimental conversation about "our roots" I think I'd have screamed. But I didn't kill her. You can't get away from the fact that they made good music together. And I wouldn't have taken that away from him. I know how much his work means to him.' Tamar stirred her coffee demurely. I nearly believed her. Then I remembered Micky's hints and their implications. Someone had been shoving heroin at Moira, and it looked like Tamar. I decided to wait till I had more evidence to hit her with, rather than waste the talkative mood she was in today. It hadn't escaped me that the reason for her co-operation might be nothing more than a desire to stay in Jett's good books.
'I hate to be a bore, but I have to ask you what you were doing on the night Moira was killed,' I said. T know you'll have run through it already with the police, but I have to go through the motions.' I gave what was supposed to be a winning smile.
Tamar ran a hand through her tousled hair and pulled a face. 'Bor-ring is right. OK. I'd been shopping in town all afternoon, then I met my sister Candida for a coffee in the Conservatory, you know, just off St Anne's Square. I got back around half-past seven. I bumped into Jett and Moira in the hall on their way down to the studio. Jett said they'd be about half an hour, and I decided to cook dinner.
I did steaks in brandy and cream sauce with new potatoes and mangetout, and Jett and I ate in the TV room. I drank most of a bottle of burgundy, Jett had his usual Smirnoff Blue Label and Diet Coke. We watched the new Harrison Ford movie on video, then I went upstairs and had a bath. Jett came up and joined me just after ten. We made love in my room, then he went off downstairs some time after eleven. He said he was going to do some work with Moira. I couldn't sleep, so I read for a while then I started to watch the video. That's when you walked in.'
It all came out a bit too pat. I used to have a boyfriend who continually confounded me by his ability to remember the most trivial remarks weeks later. So when he lied to me, his stories were always so detailed it never crossed my mind to doubt their veracity. When I think of that, I thank God that Richard can barely recall what he ate for dinner the night before. Unless it impinges on his professional life, information passes through Richard's head without leaving a trace. But Tamar was trying to impress me very forcibly with her candour and her excellent memory. I didn't trust her an inch.
I tried the tired old question. 'So who do you think killed Moira?'
Tamar's eyes widened. 'Well, it wasn't Jett. But then, you know that, don't you?' she added, her voice heavy with irony.
'Leaving Jett aside, you must have given the matter some thought,' I pressed her.
She got to her feet and dumped her dishes in the dishwasher. With her back to me, she said, 'Gloria is a very stupid woman, you know. Stupid enough to think she's bright enough to get away with murder, if you understand me.' I caught the reflection of Tamar's face in the kitchen window. There was a tight smile on her lips.
She turned back to face me, her expression wiped clean. 'Why don't you ask her what she was doing running upstairs just before one o'clock?'
I could feel the pulse in my throat. 'What do you mean?'
'I heard someone running upstairs. I was coming through from my bathroom, so I stuck my head round the door. I saw Gloria's door closing. What was she up to? You're the detective. Maybe you should ask her.'
23
Tamar swept off to make herself fit for company after that final pleasantry, leaving me rejoicing at the prospect of another friendly little chat with Gloria. Luckily, I didn't have to scour the shopping centres of the north west for her. She was in her office, beating up her word processor as if the keyboard had my face on it.
'Sorry to interrupt,' I said. 'I just wondered where I might find Kevin.'
'He's got a suite in the west wing,' she said pompously, not even breaking her rhythm. 'Bedroom, bathroom, lounge and office. Turn left at the top of the stairs, then left again. The office is the double doors on the right. But you probably won't find him there at this time of day. He's more likely to be out and about.'
'Thanks. Oh, one other thing. When I asked you about your movements, you didn't mention that you'd gone downstairs again after you went up to bed.'
That brought her frenzied typing to a halt. 'I never did,' Gloria denied vehemently, her chin thrust out like a defiant child. 'Anyone who says I did is a liar.' She'd gone that ugly puce again.
'Are you sure?' I asked mildly.
Her lips seemed to tighten and shrink. 'Are you accusing me of lying?' she challenged.
'No. I simply wondered if it might have slipped your mind.'
'It couldn't have slipped my mind if I'd never done it, could it?'
I shrugged and said, 'See you around, Gloria.' I walked slowly up the stairs, pondering on her reaction. If I were Neil, I'd be laying odds of 2-1 that she'd been lying. Which meant one of two things. Either she was the killer, or she thought she was protecting the killer. And the only person I could imagine Gloria protecting was Jett.