Funeral Music by Morag Joss

little garden house made of dark green painted wood with windows on either side and large double doors which opened right back, allowing you to sit either in the hut looking out, or on the little gravelled space in front with its low wooden balustrade. As well as two chairs for playing on and a rather disgraceful chaise longue, there was a rickety table and some spidery wicker basket seats, with faded green cushions, for collapsing into. Hanging from chains in the pitched roof were two storm lanterns. The hut stood camouflaged in the shade of a huge pine tree and was as private as an eyrie. Up here you were invisible, untouchable. Andrew looked down through the mass of lavender bushes to the old climbing roses which twisted in full flower through the fruit trees, over the roof of Medlar Cottage and across to the valley and the lime tree meadow.
    ‘I know. Sorry,’ he said, without moving his gaze from the hillside. ‘I know I’m playing badly. I was determined not to bring it up, but I’m in charge of the Pump Room case. And I know that you got caught up in it.’
    He paused, still staring out. At seven o’clock on this evening in June, the valley was lit in bright sunshine. Black and white cows idled under the trees in fields that were wrinkled with the ridges trodden by generations of their hoofed ancestors. The new grass was washed in a chalky, early summer green. You half expected Bo-Peep to skip into view.
    ‘Valerie doesn’t think I’ll be up to it.’
    ‘Oh, I’m sure she does,’ Sara said casually. ‘Is it, er, going well?’
    ‘No, it isn’t, as a matter of fact,’ he said.
    ‘But don’t you know most of these people? Your yobs and vandals, I mean. The regulars. Surely it’s one of them you’re looking for?’
    Andrew pored over the Fauré on the music stand with apparent absorption, but he was a poor actor.
    ‘What does Valerie think?’
    ‘I don’t discuss these things with Valerie.’ He started the piece again and his tone brought to mind a cat whose tail has been stood on.
    ‘Stop,
stop
! God, stop that noise. Look, you’ll probably reel in the lout who did this in no time.’ She added softly, ‘I hope you will. The whole thing’s making me feel...unsafe. You will, won’t you?’
    Andrew put down his bow again. ‘I’m sorry. I really can’t discuss the enquiry. But it’s not one of our regulars, I can tell you that.’
    ‘All right then,’ Sara said deliberately. ‘I understand. But if you just told me how you knew it wasn’t, that wouldn’t be
discussing
it, would it?’
    Andrew played a little, considering. ‘All right then, in complete confidence. Matthew Sawyer was lying dead in a locked building, with the alarms set. The person, or people, who left him dead must have locked the building and set the alarm after them. Still, not your problem. Sorry. Shall I try this again?’
    ‘Start again from the beginning. Breathe with the phrases. Think about where you want them to go. And listen.’
    ‘Sounds easy, doesn’t it? The music, I mean,’ he added, frowning over the Fauré.
    As he played Sara said, ‘But isn’t it easy? You just round up all the people who know about the alarm and eliminate them till you find the one who could have done it.’
    ‘Done that. Nothing. Look, Sara, I’m really not supposed to discuss this.’
    ‘Well, try to concentrate on what you’re doing with that cello, then. What do you mean, nothing?’
    ‘Nothing. They’re transparent. Decent, respected museum employees, and nothing that even begins to suggest a motive. And they’ve all got alibis.’
    To Sara’s irritation, Andrew’s playing became momentarily convincing. Then he put down his bow again.
    ‘All right, in
confidence
. Two of the attendants were off duty. One of them, Jack, was taking part in a pub quiz at the Centurion in Twerton. He was there all night and dozens of people can vouch for him. Colin was at home with his wife. They’ve got a new baby. And all that evening