Read The Bird That Did Not Sing (DCI Lorimer) for Free Online

assistant.’ Vivien turned her head away, blowing a pale line of smoke through the dark night air.
    ‘And that was enough to satisfy you?’ The words were out before he could stop them. It was none of his business, his wiser self reminded him. Yet once upon a time Foxy’s career had been all he could think about.
    ‘Charles has big plans,’ Vivien said, turning to smile at him. ‘There’s a theatre group arriving from Africa this summer. Doing a UK tour. Taking in the Edinburgh Festival. He’s bankrolling the whole thing,’ she said.
    Her speech was clipped, a hard edge to her voice as she spoke. Did she realise just how much he gleaned from the human voice? Or were her words meant to convey a sense of pride in her husband? Somehow he doubted that. Years of experience listening to people made the detective realise that there was something in Gilmartin’s venture causing his wife some pain.
    ‘Charles thinks he may be mentioned in the next Honours List,’ Vivien added, a brittle smile on her face.
    ‘A knighthood?’
    She nodded and dropped her cigarette, grinding it beneath the toe of her black patent shoe. ‘He’s putting so much behind this whole thing.’ She shrugged. ‘Bound to be noticed in all the right places.’
    Lorimer grinned back at her. ‘That would make you Lady Gilmartin, then,’ he chuckled. ‘Lady Foxy,’ he added, catching her eye.
    For a long moment neither of them spoke.
    Vivien lifted her hand and traced a finger down the left side of his face. Was this an invitation for him to bend across and kiss her?
    Then she sighed, gave her head a slight shake and turned away to gather up her handbag.
    ‘Better get back in,’ she said softly. ‘Smoking break is over.’
    The hall was filled with flashing lights from the noisy disco, with dancers gyrating in the confined space making progress back to their table difficult and conversation impossible.
    A quick glance at his watch told the detective that he had stayed long enough. Time to go home, he told himself, time to put this evening firmly in the past where it belonged.
    ‘I’d better go,’ he said, leaning over so that Vivien could hear him.
    She nodded silently and there was an expression of sadness in her eyes as she looked up at him.
    ‘If we do make the Edinburgh Festival, perhaps you would like to come,’ she said. ‘Bring your wife?’
    ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Maggie loves the theatre as it happens.’
    ‘Do you have a card? I could email you and let you know when the dates are all arranged.’
    Lorimer fished out one of his business cards from the top pocket of his jacket and handed it to her.
    ‘Detective Superintendent William Lorimer,’ Vivien read. She looked up and smiled. ‘Suits you,’ she said. ‘Well done.’
    He smiled back, then reached down to flick a lock of her flame-coloured hair ‘Bye bye, Lady Foxy.’
    Once outside again, Lorimer gulped the chill night air as he headed for the taxi rank. It hadn’t been too bad, he told himself. He had met up with a few old pals, shaken hands with men and women who were now complete strangers and whetted his curiosity over Foxy.
    As the taxi took him the short journey home, the detective replayed their conversation in his head. She wasn’t really happy, he told himself. London and all its glitz and glamour had been less of a dream than the young Vivien Fox had planned. And there was something else: the way she had spoken about her husband had made him wonder if she had found contentment in her marriage the way he had with Maggie.
    As the lights of his house loomed closer, Lorimer experienced a rush of gratitude for the life he had. Inside, Maggie would be asleep, warm and waiting for him, Chancer curled up on his side of the bed, no doubt. He paid the driver and walked up the driveway, listening to the taxi’s engine grow quieter as it passed out of the street and headed back towards the city. He thought of Stu Clark and his Australian suntan, a daughter