Read Online Funeral Music by Morag Joss - Free Book Online Page B

people running, raised voices, and George practically holding her up and leading her kindly away, back up the stairs and across the high, echoing Concert Room. She had no idea how much time had passed, but she was recovering from the nausea and giddiness that had first swept over her, and had been able to field the anxious enquiries. Yes, she would be all right just sitting here. No, there was no one at home they could contact. She was now sitting in the Smoking Room, one of a number of smaller rooms off a corridor which ran alongside the Concert Room. The room was steadily filling up. The three Japanese girls were there, as well as a dozen or so people who must have come into the baths after them. One or two were still holding guidebooks and they sat on the chairs round the walls, talking in a dismayed kind of way. The door opened and George came in again, followed by three of the junior attendants, the two souvenir shop assistants and two entrance desk ladies. Sara watched in silence as the sight of people in uniform inspired one of the tourists to ask what on earth was going on. George shook his head. He hardly knew. A fatality appeared to have occurred. He had telephoned for the police, who had arrived almost immediately and gone straight to the corpse. They had ordered a cordon round the building and had stationed officers on all four sides of it. No member of the public was to be admitted, and no person inside the building was to leave. George had been instructed by a police officer to find a suitable room in which an enquiry and preliminary interviews could begin. Having shown them into the Drawing Room next door, George had then been sent to round up any remaining visitors and escort them, with all the staff, to the Smoking Room. That was all he knew.
    More police cars had drawn up; from the Smoking Room windows they could see out to Abbey Churchyard, where one stood with its blue light circling and flashing and from whose open front doors the on-off, whish-crackle of the radio could be heard. A woman detective constable came in and all conversation stopped. For the time being, everyone was being asked to wait. The detective constable apologised for the inconvenience and hoped that it would not be for too long. They waited.
    The WDC returned shortly afterwards and asked if there was a kitchen where tea could be made. The two shop ladies left with her, glad to have something to do. They came back with two trays. It seemed slightly profane to give a welcome smile to a cup of tea under the circumstances, but most people did, and the low hum of conversation resumed as the cups went round. George brought a cup to Sara and sat down beside her.
    ‘All right now, love?’
    ‘That man in the water. It was the man who did the speech last night at the Assembly Rooms, wasn’t it? Matthew Sawyer.’
    George nodded solemnly and Sara groaned. ‘I feel awful. I laughed at him. We both did, my friend and me. Last night it all seemed funny. I just thought he was embarrassing, didn’t know what he was dealing with. I can’t believe he’s dead.’
    The door opened and the WDC returned.
    ‘We have to interview everyone who was in the building when the body was found. For most of you, all we’ll need from you today is your personal details and a statement saying where exactly you were in the building when the alarm was raised. I’m sorry you’ve had a wait, but we shouldn’t have to keep you much longer.’
    More tea. Another officer came and took names and addresses. Sara sat on, white and quiet, relieved that nothing except sitting there seemed to be expected of her. She watched as gradually the numbers dwindled, as the tourists were ushered next door to give their innocuous details and peripheral knowledge of events, and then allowed to go. She realised that some of them would eventually look back on the day as a faintly enjoyable one, that for some of them, like those two Americans in lemon cashmere sweaters, the episode