Booked for Murder. V. McDermid L.
to know what exactly …’
Before Lindsay could say more, Catriona had stepped back and was holding the door open for her. ‘This way,’ she said, her voice ten degrees frostier than the air conditioning.
Once she’d ushered Lindsay inside, Catriona stepped in front of her and led the way down a corridor lined with framed book covers. A couple were prize-winning Penny Varnavides Darkliners titles. At the end of the corridor was another steel and wood door which led into a small boardroom. The table and the chair frames were the now familiar ashen wood. Lindsay began to wonder if they’d taken over the offices from some failed financial consultancy. More book covers lined the walls, interspersed with author photographs. Penny was still there, in the centre of one of the side walls. Catriona walked determinedly to one end of the table and sat down, stretching her long legs in front of her and crossing them neatly at the ankles. ‘So,’ she said. ‘Why are you really here?’
Lindsay pulled out a chair a couple of seats away from her and sat down. ‘What makes you think I’m not here to talk about your executorship?’
‘Pointless before probate’s granted,’ she said dismissively.
‘So why march me in here?’
‘When people waltz into my office intent on causing trouble, I prefer not to give them the satisfaction of an audience.’ She dug into a pocket of her skirt and pulled out a packet of the mild cigarettes Lindsay had only ever smoked when she was kidding herself she was about to give up. As she lit one, she kept an eye on Lindsay. ‘So who are you, and what are you really doing here?’
The best lies, Lindsay knew, were the ones closest to the truth. ‘I’m an investigator. Meredith Miller is innocent, and she’s engaged me to make some inquiries about the death of Penny Varnavides. I’m here to talk to you about Penny,’ Lindsay said, watching the smoke curling upwards and remembering how the business of smoking had always made her feel much better than the physical sensation.
‘What makes you think I’ve got anything to say?’
‘You had plenty to say to the police. And you were quick enough to say it.’
Catriona leaned back in her chair and stretched for an ashtray sitting on a sideboard. ‘The police are the appropriate people to talk to when one believes a crime has been committed. And given Meredith’s status as prime suspect, I’m not at all sure it would be appropriate for me to talk to you. Besides, there’s an issue of client confidentiality here. Penny was my client, and I’m not inclined to breach our professional relationship.’
‘As soon as probate is granted, it’ll be Meredith who benefits from your work even more than you will yourself. She will, in effect, be your client. Don’t you think it would make life a little easier for everyone if you cooperated with me?’ Lindsay tried.
‘If Meredith did kill Penny, she won’t be earning a shilling from the estate, will she?’ Catriona inhaled, then released what was left of the smoke from her nostrils. It was hard not to read self-satisfaction into the gesture.
It was clear that Catriona and Lindsay were never going to become friends. With nothing to lose, Lindsay went on the attack. ‘But you will, won’t you? Ten, twenty per cent of what Penny earned must have made you a lot of money while she was alive. Dead, she’s going to generate a small fortune, isn’t she? Even if it was just an accident, her sales are going to climb. But if it’s a particularly gruesome and mysterious murder, using the very method outlined in her next book, her sales figures are going to go through the roof.’
Catriona’s eyebrows furled together in an angry frown. ‘That’s an outrageous suggestion. You take my breath away, Ms Gordon.’
‘You’re not the first woman who’s said that,’ Lindsay said suggestively, gambling that Catriona was straight.
‘How dare you!’ Catriona said with contempt.
‘Penny used to say it all the time,’ Lindsay continued blithely. ‘I wasn’t entirely candid with you, Catriona. I live in California, you see. Penny and Meredith are very old friends of mine. I know a lot more about you than you do about me. I know, for example, how much you’d hate a story in one of the middlebrow newspapers that pointed out how much you stand to gain from your little trip to the police station. And how, when it actually comes down to it, you knew much more than Meredith about the murder method. She’d only heard Penny talk about it, but you’ll have read it. And if we’re talking cui bono …’
‘My God,’ Catriona said, voice dripping contempt, ‘I didn’t know private snoopers like you knew cui bono from Sonny Bono. Ms Gordon, to kill Penny Varnavides for the income generated by one short burst of sales would be akin to killing the goose that laid the golden eggs in the hope of pushing the market price of gold higher. I stood to earn a lot more cash from Penny Varnavides alive than I could ever hope to gain from her death.’
‘Maybe so. But it would still make a nice tale in the tabloids. I’m not asking you to breach commercial confidentiality. All I want is some answers to a few innocuous questions. I’m not the one who got heavy here.’
‘I despise blackmail,’ Catriona said, lighting a second cigarette.
‘Me too,’ Lindsay said cheerfully. ‘It doesn’t half get results, though.’
‘You must go down like a cup of cold sick in a euphemistic society like America.’
‘They love it. Penny used to call me a breath of fresh effluvium. They think all the Scots are brutally frank. They’ve been watching too many historical Hollywood epics. So, are we going to talk to each other, or am I going to talk to the tabloids? Did I mention I used to be a national newspaper journalist?’ Lindsay’s smile alone would have been accepted by any court in the land as sufficient provocation for GBH.
Catriona fiddled with her cigarette. ‘There’s so little to say that it’s not worth arguing over. I’m far too busy to have to deal with muck-raking journalists as well as interfering busybodies.’
It wasn’t a graceful climbdown, but Lindsay wasn’t proud. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I know Penny would have wanted you to help.’
Catriona looked as if she’d bitten into a profiterole and found a slug. ‘Such convenient knowledge,’ she muttered.
‘You’ve been Penny’s agent right from the start, am I right?’
‘Since before she was ever published. She brought The Magicking of Danny Armstrong to me after it had been rejected by all the major American houses and her agent in New York had let her go. I was able to place it for her over here, and the rest, as they say, is history.’
Lindsay took out her notebook, more for show than necessity, and scribbled a note. ‘This latest book? Very different, I hear.’
‘Penny decided she wanted a challenge. She was doing three Darkliners titles a year, and she wanted to break out of what had started to feel like a rut. Heart of Glass was going to be her first adult thriller. It was very noir, very passionate and very powerfully written. I had great hopes of it.’
‘How much of it was actually finished?’
‘Penny had written about three-quarters of it. She came over here to do some research she needed for the last part of the book, and to finish writing it. I read what she’d completed before she arrived. But within days of getting to London, she announced she was doing a major rewrite. I was surprised, because what I saw was very good. But Penny was adamant that it needed some substantial alterations.’
Lindsay frowned. ‘She wasn’t going to change the murder method in the book, was she?’
‘Not as far as I’m aware. From what she said to me, it was the characters she planned to work on, not the plot or the structure.’
‘Was there anything in particular that she mentioned?’
Catriona stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Nothing specific,’ she said.