The Bird That Did Not Sing (DCI Lorimer) by Alex Gray Page A

was about to have her world turned upside down?
     
    Vivien had her eyes closed. She was wearing sunglasses, but even so, the brightness of this April day was dazzling. She had applied her usual cream with its high sun factor, a necessity for a fair skin like hers, and now she was enjoying the sensation of warmth on her bare arms and legs. Lying back on the steamer chair, pillows thoughtfully provided by Lorimer’s wife, Vivien allowed herself to drift into a mellow place between sleeping and waking. Somewhere a bird sang in the shrubbery, its sweet notes adding to the overall ambience of the day. There was no sign of the marmalade cat that made her stiffen with unreasonable fear every time it slunk past. It was, Vivien thought, letting her fancy wander, as if some unseen hand had set the stage: lighting bright on this side, music playing from the console at the back of the theatre and Vivien herself centre stage, caught in the moment, all eyes fixed on her recumbent form. She should concentrate on the moment, forget that Maggie was bustling around in the kitchen (she could discern noises though the open door) and listen instead to that inner voice that was telling her that all would be well.
     
    ‘Hello? Maggie?’ Lorimer closed the front door behind him and strode into the long room that combined study, lounge and dining kitchen, but there was no sign of either Vivien or Maggie. The sun streamed through the back door to the garden and he hesitated, listening for the sounds of voices.
    Through the kitchen window he could see Vivien lying on the recliner, hands folded across her lap. Maggie was sitting opposite, a book in her hands, her sunglasses tilted forward on her nose. ‘You are a good woman,’ he whispered softly under his breath, looking at his wife. ‘No wonder I love you,’ he added with a sigh. For a moment he allowed the pair of them to remain quietly in the sun, undisturbed by the words he would soon utter that would destroy the peace of their day.
    He stepped out of the shadow of the house into the sunlight, and as if he had called her name, Vivien sat up, her face turned towards him.
    ‘What is it?’
    As soon as she saw him, Maggie laid aside her book and came to stand by the woman’s side.
    Lorimer shook his head. ‘Vivien, I’m really sorry but it’s not good news.’
    ‘Why? What’s wrong?’ She swung her legs to one side, grasping the edge of the wooden recliner with both hands. ‘Tell me,’ she said, her voice trembling with fear.
    Lorimer hunkered down beside her. ‘Charles did not die of a heart attack, Vivien. It was something else.’
    The red-haired woman frowned. ‘But the doctor said…’
    ‘The doctor was quite correct to make the assumption. All of the signs seemed to indicate a heart attack. But that wasn’t what happened, my dear.’ He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. ‘A toxic substance has been found in his bloodstream.’
    ‘Was it an accident?’ she whispered.
    Lorimer shook his head. There was no way of denying this sort of evidence.
    ‘I’m sorry, but it appears that he may have deliberately taken his own life.’
    Vivien’s hand flew to her mouth and she shrank away, her back bowed as though the weight of this news had crushed her entire body.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ Lorimer said again, looking at the woman’s face, trying to see if she was beginning to weep. But it was impossible to make out her green eyes behind those sunglasses, and all he could see were twin reflections of his own image bending towards the woman he had once loved.
     
    ‘What happens now?’ Maggie spoke quietly as she waited for the kettle to boil. Vivien had disappeared upstairs to the bathroom, letting them have a few moments alone together.
    ‘Further investigations,’ Lorimer sighed. ‘Up to the Fiscal, really. But there’s no way she can have his body for burial right now.’
    ‘What do you think she’ll want to do?’ Maggie asked, looking intently at her