Lorimer had to park right at the top of the hill. The road was virtually a single lane due to the double parking, Huntly Gardens being one of the few streets off Byres Road that lacked a residents-only zone. As they walked back down, Lorimer found himself looking into the bay windowed rooms of every flat at pavement level. It was a habit of his to gauge what sort of district a person inhabited from the houses of their neighbours. He stared at a variety of window dressings; that hanging wind chime might denote a student flat, those crisply laundered nets probably belonged to a resident out at work and who needed a bit of privacy. There was a grand piano in one bay window with a metronome on top. Music spilt out from behind the fly blown glass window. Lorimer stopped abruptly, checking the address.
‘This is it, sir.’
As he buzzed the call button opposite ‘Millar’ the music stopped. A crackling sound emanated from the system then a woman’s voice asked, ‘Who is it?’
‘Detective Chief Inspector Lorimer, WPC Irvine, Strathclyde Police. We’ve come to see Mrs Millar.’
There was a pause then the same voice said, ‘Wait a minute.’
Beyond the frosted glass panel Lorimer could see a figure hurrying towards him. The door swung open and Mrs Millar stood regarding them seriously.
She was, he supposed, around sixty, though her black jeans and embroidered top gave her a much younger appearance. Her bare feet, thrust into a pair of Birkenstocks, showed purple painted toenails. Lorimer absorbed all this in one glance as he cleared his throat.
‘DCI Lorimer. Mrs Millar?’
‘Yes,’ she answered him simply. ‘Would you like to come on through?’
Lorimer followed George Millar’s widow through the hall and into the ground floor flat. She showed them into the front room. Lorimer’s first impression was of a high ceiling and lots of ornate plasterwork then his eye fell on the grand piano that sat dominating the bay window. Had that been Mrs Millar playing as he’d passed by? Could you do something as creative as making music the morning after your husband had been murdered?
‘Please sit down, Chief Inspector, Constable. Would you like some coffee?’ Her tone seemed to indicate that this was merely a social visit. There was no trace of anguish in her voice. Maybe she was still in denial, he told himself.
‘Thanks. Coffee would be fine,’ Lorimer replied, but didn’t sit down. Instead he followed Mrs Millar into the kitchen and leant against the wood panelled wall, watching her as she filled a kettle jug and set about preparing their coffee.
WPC Irvine followed them in and sat by the oak table, glancing up at Lorimer as if trying to gauge what was on his mind.
‘I’m sorry about your husband,’ Lorimer began slowly. ‘It must have been a dreadful shock.’ He watched her face as she turned towards him.
‘I’m used to shocks, Chief Inspector. Yes, this was dreadful, but it’s happened and I can’t make it un-happen. Just as I couldn’t change the way George was. Don’t think me harsh but I’ve become used to accepting the things I cannot change.’
There was an inflection in her tone that made Lorimer realise she was quoting something he’d heard before. For a moment he was at a loss then it came to him. Wasn’t it part of a prayer by Saint Francis of Assisi? Or was he mixing that up with something else? Mrs Millar was looking at a corkboard next to the doorway on Lorimer’s left. He followed her gaze and saw the small green card. On it was written,
God
Grant me the Serenity to accept
The things I cannot change …
Courage to change the things I can
And Wisdom to know the difference.
She looked back at him, the ghost of a smile hovering apologetically around her lips.
Lorimer didn’t know what to say. Even if she was a devout woman that shouldn’t stop her from expressing her emotions, should it?
For a moment Lorimer wished he’d asked the officer who’d come here last night for the widow’s first reaction. It hadn’t seemed necessary. Now he was curious to know how she had responded to the terrible news.
‘Thanks,’ he said as she handed them mugs of coffee. He thought they’d make their way back into the sitting room, but Mrs Millar motioned for him to join his colleague at the kitchen table. She leant into a chair with a patchwork cushion at her back then raised her mug of coffee.
‘To life,’ she said and smiled in Lorimer’s direction.
Her easy familiarity with a complete stranger gave Lorimer some disquiet. For a moment they locked eyes as he raised the mug of coffee to his lips. Lorimer looked away first. There was nothing malevolent about the woman’s gaze, just a calm directness. Usually he’d be probing a person’s behaviour for undercurrents of emotion, indications that could help in establishing the nature of relationships. But how to get behind that mask of tranquillity, if indeed it was a mask, was a problem.
‘I’d like to ask you some questions about your husband,’ Lorimer began.
‘Of course. Whatever I can tell you, Chief Inspector,’ Mrs Millar’s reply was polite, almost but not quite grave. It was as if she were about to discuss someone she’d encountered in the street, not her own husband. Was that telling him something? Lorimer wondered.
‘First of all, could you tell me when you last saw Mr Millar?’
‘Yes. He was at home yesterday until just after lunch. He left about two o’clock. There was a three o’clock rehearsal call.’
‘Did he drive into town?’
‘No. He took the underground from Hillhead into Buchanan Street. It’s the easiest way.’
‘Was there anything unusual about your husband’s demeanour before he left?’
He watched her face as she took another sip of coffee. She was thoughtful, considering her words carefully.
‘No. I don’t think I noticed anything untoward. He was a fairly cheerful person as a rule. No, he seemed perfectly normal. He was looking forward to the programme, I know that.’
Remembering the Albinoni solo, Lorimer wondered if that had been something George Millar would have enjoyed. Something he’d been denied.
‘Mrs Millar, can you think who might have wanted your husband dead?’
‘My goodness, that’s direct enough,’ she smiled but her eyebrows were raised. ‘Who might have murderous tendencies towards George?’ she mused, looking away from Lorimer and gazing into space. Then she frowned and shook her head. ‘That’s a question that puts me in a difficult position. It makes me have to judge how other people should behave.’
Lorimer nodded, silently noting the plural reference. ‘Let me put it another way, then. Had your husband done anything to provoke anybody?’
‘Oh, dear Lord, yes. George was about the most provoking man you could meet.’
‘I need you to be specific. who in particular had he provoked?’
She smiled sweetly at him again, ‘Why me, of course, Chief Inspector. But I’m not the killing type.’ She glanced across at the policewoman as if to affirm her statement.
‘Anybody else?’
‘I’m sure he drove many of his fellow musicians mad at times. He was a bit of a perfectionist. And of course he was incorrigibly promiscuous,’ she added as if it was a mere afterthought.
‘Can you give me some details about anyone who may have had a grudge against Mr Millar?’
She shook her head slowly then answered, ‘No, I don’t think I can.’
‘Do you mean you don’t know of anybody or you can’t bring yourself to tell me?’ he asked.