The Chorister at the Abbey (20 page)

33

Teach me to do the thing that pleaseth thee, for thou art my God; let thy loving spirit lead me forth into the land of righteousness.
Psalm 143:10

Robert came back to the supper table, a sheaf of papers in his hand; Suzy reappeared with apple pie and cream, and his warmed-up dinner on a tray. The middle-class dinner party atmosphere had dissolved and been replaced with an air of almost anxious enquiry.

‘What have you put on paper, Robert?’ Suzy asked.

‘Well, my feelings were that the Frosts were drugged and would confess to anything. I think they were responsible for the power cut because that’s the sort of pointless vandalism they would be up for. But someone else could easily have socked Morris in the face and the Frosts could have found the piece of wood.’

‘Yes!’ Alex was alert with interest now. ‘I found Tom Firth with the body at least five minutes after the power cut. Five minutes in the dark is a hell of a long time, believe me. You almost get used to it. And I know for certain that Morris had an old psalter in his hand. But I also know, and don’t ask me how, that a page was missing. I think it was the front page. Tom Firth said the same thing.’

‘Now we’re getting somewhere. Someone wanted the title page destroyed. We have that as a fact and it doesn’t sound like the Frosts.’

‘And you should know,’ Alex said drily.

‘OK – so I was in a relationship with Marilyn Frost.’ Edwin shrugged. ‘But that’s not why I’m interested in all this. I’m involved because someone very violent was near to you, Alex, literally, and that worries me. You could have been hurt yourself.’

Mollified, Alex leant back in her chair. ‘Why don’t we look at everything, however tangential, which impinges on this business? That was the way I used to write my books, when I had the confidence. I’d note all the things that interested me and look for a thread. Do it in an arbitrary way. I guess you’ve already got a list, Robert. Let’s just add to it. Everyone should say anything they think might be relevant. Rob can write them down and see where we get. I’ll start the ball rolling – the Frost clan.’ She glanced sideways at Edwin.

‘The Psalms,’ Robert offered.

‘And the convent,’ said Suzy.

‘Tom Firth and the body.’ That was Alex’s second contribution.

‘Chloe Clifford and her breakdown,’ Suzy jumped in.

‘Freddie Fabrikant’s accident,’ Robert added.

‘David Johnstone and his whole property empire,’ Edwin said quickly.

‘Local history,’ Alex finished up.

‘Local history?’ Robert turned to her, surprised.

‘Ask yourself, what were Morris’s interests? Choral singing. Local history. And blackmailing people – not for money but for power and pleasure. And in order to blackmail people, you have to know things. What did Morris know most about? Local history! Maybe recent history, in Edwin’s case. But he was a mine of information about Norbridge.’

‘And genealogy,’ Edwin added. ‘He was into that too.’

‘Was he?’ Alex turned to him. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘The favourites on his computer were ancestry.co.uk and findmypast.co.uk. And your books, Alex. They’re all about families, aren’t they? That’s the common thread there.
The
Wizard of Workhaven
– that’s based on St Vedast’s chapel on the coast and a local boy who discovers his father is the big landowner. And
The West Coast Pirate
– a local man who’s dispossessed and then finds that he’s really the lord of the manor . . .’

‘OK, so my plots are a bit samey.’

‘No! I’m not getting at you! I’m just saying that Morris loved that stuff. They were the only books in his room.’

‘So let’s add genealogy. I think we should each take an area of this mystery and research it. I’ll take genealogy.’ Alex felt more motivated than she had for years.

‘I’ll talk to the Johnstones,’ Edwin contributed. ‘I should visit David in hospital as secretary of the Chorus. I can talk to Wanda as well. You should know that she was going to meet Morris that evening; that’s why he was in the college!’

‘Aha!’ Robert chimed in. ‘I’d wondered about that. So that’s why he was there! That’s a good lead. For my part, I’d like to research the convent.’

‘No,’ Edwin said quickly. ‘I’ll do that. I’ve got a solicitor chum who’ll help. Why don’t you do the Johnstones instead of me? And you should talk to Norma again. That’s plenty. What about you, Suzy?’

‘I’d like to talk to the people at Fellside Fellowship.’ And to Mark Wilson, she thought to herself. Not that her motives were anything other than pure research. ‘What started me on this was that I remembered Morris boring me about trying to save the Fellside convent building. He sounded really nasty.’ She thought about the women she had seen from Rachel’s roof garden. ‘Maybe I could do nuns too!’

‘Nuns?’ Edwin looked at her sharply. ‘I think that comes under my remit, Suzy. Someone must own that convent and there must be an order listed somewhere which used the building.’

‘So we’ve all got something to do,’ Robert said. ‘When shall we meet up?’

‘It’s Shrove Tuesday next week,’ Suzy said. ‘I’ll do the kids’ pancakes while you’re at the Abbey Chorus, but I’ll save some batter and why don’t you both come here afterwards and have some? It gives us a few days. If we get nowhere, we can drop it and go into Lent suitably chastened. But if any of us finds anything significant, then we can dedicate the next forty days in the wilderness to finding out what really happened.’

‘I like it!’ Alex said. ‘Let’s go for it.’

On Pancake Day, Suzy was hard at work in the kitchen. She had always liked Shrove Tuesday. She’d altered her shifts to make sure she was at home, and she had bought all the ingredients for the pancakes in advance. As she beat the batter, with Molly’s help, she went over the new facts they had discovered about Morris’s murder. As Rachel had suggested, getting involved in the Little murder case was like trying the murky water of crime a toe at a time. So far, she felt fine about it – it was stimulating, an intellectual exercise which might help the much-maligned Frost boys, interesting but not really scary. Her confidence was coming back.

She liked Alex and Edwin, too. Edwin had opened up in a way she wouldn’t have thought possible. And though she and Alex were very different, they shared a sense of humour. Later on Saturday night Alex had talked about her research for her books. Her dogged attention to detail, her isolated work, locked into her computer or the library, was all totally unlike Suzy’s gregariousness. I need other people, Suzy thought, whereas Alex is self-contained. Alex had gone into the depths of despair alone whereas I was much more likely to scream for help!

And Robert had responded to that scream, literally, nearly two years ago. But that didn’t mean he had any less respect for her. They had talked for hours after she came back from Rachel’s. She loved him more than ever now she knew he had feet of clay.

‘So you were never the perfect husband?’

‘No, obviously, though I did work at it.’

‘Well, don’t ever work at it with me. It’s tough enough having to work when you need to earn a living! We don’t need that sort of strain. Just love me!’

‘I do!’

‘And I love you too! Very much.’

But that did not prevent her from appreciating the gorgeous Mr Wilson. On Sunday afternoon, as agreed, she had taken Jake up to the Fellowship and hung around until Mark came to talk to her.

‘Awful about David Johnstone’s car crash,’ she’d said.

‘Yes, I called in to see Pat earlier today. She’s going away to her son’s in Croydon for a few days, but David’s having another operation next week so she’s coming back for that. He’s not doing very well.’

‘Fellside seems accident prone at the moment. David, Freddie. It must put a lot of strain on you.’

‘Yes.’ Mark had leant forward confidentially, his large clear eyes looking into hers. He is quite scrumptious, Suzy thought. ‘Things haven’t been running so smoothly here, as you’ve probably gathered. I must apologize. The rehearsals have been quite chaotic lately.’

‘Yes, I suppose they have.’ Suzy wasn’t aware that it was any worse than before, but then she would hardly have known.

‘To be honest,’ Mark had said quietly, ‘it’s been more difficult for Paul lately. He’s very fraught. Please don’t be impatient with him. Three crises in two months . . .’

‘Three? David, Freddie, and who else?’ She had been aware of sounding unusually nosy.

‘Morris Little. That was the first and it added hugely to his stress levels. Paul and Morris were in contact, you know. Paul was due to meet Morris that evening. Of course it never happened, but it must have shaken Paul quite a bit.’

‘Absolutely.’ Suzy’s eyes had widened.

Mark was saying, ‘Don’t say anything to anyone about Paul having a rough time. I’m quite worried about him.’

‘And Jenny?’

‘She’s wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. But the baby’s very demanding.’

‘Tell me about it! Kids can be awfully hard work.’

‘Yes, I’m sure they can. Especially if you’re a single parent!’

Mark had looked at her in a way which would have made her melt if she hadn’t taken a grip on herself.

Perhaps because of that, she hadn’t answered him, and he had moved off to get back to the band causing musical mayhem on the stage. It was only afterwards that she wondered to whom he was referring when he mentioned single parents. And then she realized that he’d meant her, Suzy Spencer. She had felt a tingle of guilt. She ought to make it clear that she and Robert were very much an item.

But then again, there was no harm in a bit of flirting, was there? It was really rather exciting to think Mark Wilson might find her attractive! And he certainly trusted her. She had felt privileged that he had spoken to her in that confidential way. Mark was a caring person, worried about his friend, and he had talked to her. And anyway, she had told Robert all about it when she got home, and they had laughed about it.

It was when she was lost in thought, the batter dripping off the whisk and Molly shouting ‘Mummee!’ that she remembered one of her earlier conversations with Mark. They had been talking about inheriting musical talent and family stuff. And he had said that Paul Whinfell was mad on genealogy. And so was Morris. Could that be the link? Although almost everyone was into family history these days. But even so . . . She made a mental note to mention it to Alex.

Alex had spent all day Sunday at the computer. Edwin had given her all Morris Little’s emails in hard copy, and the print-outs of his articles. There were reams of it. She had tidied it all into folders – work on Norbridge, music, sent emails, draft emails, a list of the last fifty sites Morris had visited. She wanted to find a threatening email which matched with something Morris had dug up through one of his hobbies. If he really did have the information to needle someone seriously, might that person resort to violence?

She followed his genealogy trail, tracing the Little family. He had constructed a half-hearted family tree, using ancestry.co.uk, findmypast.com, genesreunited.co.uk, and a few others. The Little family was transparent. Morris’s father and grandfather had owned the shop, and before that they had been blacksmiths. His mother had worked in the store and his grandmother and great-grandmother had been in service. On the face of it, there was nothing there. Morris seemed to have become bored with it. But if he was uninterested in his own family after a few generations, why had he visited the genealogy sites so assiduously? Who was he looking up?

Edwin had reluctantly let her have the blackmail emails. They were all ugly and trite. Nothing Morris threatened to reveal was very terrible, Alex thought. They were silly, embarrassing misdemeanours like her own. The worst was the threat to expose a councillor for
being up yourself having
posh dinners with that barrow boy David Johnstone who everyone
knows is dealing in the hard stuff
, which might have been drugs. She shrugged. She suspected that in every town in the world, someone in the business community was part of the drug-dealing network, hard or soft. It wouldn’t surprise her if Johnstone was on the fringes of that, although he did not strike her as either ruthless or psychotic enough to be a major player. But Johnstone was a crook. She was intuitively sure of that.

She found Morris’s work on old Norbridge fascinating. How sad, she thought, that such a talented man should have gone to waste like this, nursing his resentments and hating anyone who was lucky enough to have an education. She imagined him slowly realizing from boyhood onwards that the shop was to be his life, whatever talents he had. It must have been like a slow, growing prison. No wonder he was uninterested in his own family history. But she told herself not to get sentimental. There was a nasty streak in Morris which wasn’t just the product of his disappointment. Look what he had done to Edwin!

She took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. She had been reading Morris’s material for over four hours. It made a change to think about Edwin.

He had been seriously affected by Morris’s email. But just what had Morris threatened to do? Morris had said he would reveal ‘where Marilyn Frost is now’. But why would that be a scandal? Was Marilyn a prostitute? Or in prison? Would it matter if she was, and it became widely known? In fact, wouldn’t something like that be common knowledge anyway? Her notorious family would surely have no problem with it. And if it was something as straightforward if unpleasant, why didn’t Edwin tell me, Alex thought? Why was Edwin so protective of Marilyn that he threw up the chance of being head of department just because of some sort of chivalrous idea of keeping her secret?

Wherever Marilyn was, surely her dysfunctional family would know? There was the mother, and also her uncles and stepfather. Edwin had mentioned them all. And Jason and Wayne, of course. And hadn’t Edwin said something about sisters? That was strange. No one else ever mentioned any Frost girls. How very odd, Alex thought. Where was she now?

34

Deliver me not over into the will of mine adversaries, for there are false witnesses risen up against me, and such as speak wrong.
Psalm 27:14

Robert hadn’t been lucky in his research. Norma Little was working hard in the shop, but she agreed to see him as soon as she could – probably the next week. He said he wanted to talk about a memorial to Morris in the concert programme, which was true. He also said he knew Edwin had looked into Morris’s work and that he’d been impressed, and would be working with Edwin to try and make something of it.

‘Something for the
Cumberland News
mebbe?’ Norma asked hopefully.

‘Well, possibly.’ Robert sighed. He understood her longing to see Morris praised in print, and the local paper was what mattered most to her. It would be good for business too! He hoped that Edwin would be able to come up with something from Morris’s paperwork that was worth publishing. So much of it seemed to be collations of other people’s work or half-formulated, slightly mad theories.

And there was the spite, of course. Robert had been distressed by the cruel emails, and relieved never to have received one. And, like Edwin, he felt some guilt and sadness too. Perhaps they shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss Morris as an old bore. Maybe that evening, if he had gone for a drink with Morris, then Morris would not have gone to the college and met his attacker.

But Morris hadn’t acted as if he’d had an important meeting to go to. He had indicated that Tom Firth should join him for a drink. But maybe Morris was being clever. Taunting Tom would ensure the boy went his own way and, looking back, Robert realized Morris had said nothing to his fellow basses about going to the pub. Clearly, Morris had not wanted to advertise his meeting at the college. Edwin would surely find out more about that when he talked to Wanda Wisley.

In the meantime, Robert arranged to go and see David Johnstone in hospital on his way home on Monday evening. Robert didn’t like to admit it, but he didn’t want to spend Sunday at David Johnstone’s bedside when he could be at home with Suzy. Their relationship had resumed its old warmth even if there was still a sense of its being unresolved.

He waited for Suzy to get home from dropping Jake at the practice at Fellside Fellowship. And Molly was out at her best friend’s house. They would have The Briars to themselves, and this time he wasn’t going to retire to his study.

Edwin had telephoned Wanda Wisley on Sunday morning. She had sounded distinctly ill, and his first thought was that she had a hangover.

‘I’ve got a tummy bug,’ she said grumpily. ‘I feel like shit.’

‘I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s something I’d like to discuss with you. It’s rather important. If you’re unable to come out, would you be able to see me at your cottage for half an hour?’

‘Is this department business?’

‘Yes.’ Well, in a sense it was.

‘Oh God, if you must.’ Wanda sounded world-weary but slightly less snappy than usual.

Since discovering that she had failed to tell the police about her abandoned meeting with Morris, Edwin had let his anger with her slowly grow. But he hadn’t been sure how to approach her. Now he was involved with the other three in what Suzy called their ‘research’, he felt more aggressive. At the back of his mind he rebuked himself for not having the balls earlier to try and do something for Marilyn’s brothers. He had believed that the Frost boys were capable of murder. But not this murder. It made no sense.

When he arrived at her cottage, Wanda was waiting for him, dressed in old jeans and a massive sweatshirt which he guessed belonged to Freddie. She looked very pale without her make-up and her nose was red and shiny.

‘Come in. I don’t know what it was that wouldn’t wait.’

‘I need to talk to you about Morris Little.’

‘The old bore who got himself murdered?’

‘Yes. Is Freddie about?’

‘He’s upstairs, and believe me when he’s up there with his legs in plaster I’m not bringing him down, if I don’t have to. He’s watching DVDs in the bedroom.’ She looked around shiftily. Edwin thought, she doesn’t want Freddie to hear this.

They sat down in the funny cramped sitting room which took up the whole ground floor, with the big fireplace, and stairs in the corner making a fake inglenook.

‘Wanda, I know Morris had arranged to meet you the night he died.’

‘Oh, fuck. How did you find out?’

‘Morris’s wife asked me to clear out his emails. You need to know that there are several of us who think the Frost kids are innocent. We want to go to the police with more evidence. It’s important. Was Morris definitely coming to see you?’

‘Well, we’d spoken on the phone and I’d said perhaps I’d be there . . .’ She reddened. ‘I didn’t think of it as a real commitment.’

‘So what did Morris say? Did he say he’d come over at a certain time? Was he coming alone? Did he mention bringing someone else?’

Wanda thought carefully. ‘He said he’d got an interesting document. Something to do with one of those stodgy Victorians he was obsessed with.’

‘Cecil Quaile Woods?’

‘That’s the guy!’ Now that she realized Edwin wasn’t going to cart her off to the police station, or threaten to tell the Principal, Wanda was more co-operative. ‘Actually, you know, he did say it would be handy to meet me around six o’clock, because he had some other people to see.’

‘Other people?’

‘Yes. I remember that because when it got to three o’clock I thought, oh bugger this, I’m going shopping.’ She wasn’t going to confess that she had completely forgotten about meeting Morris. ‘I wasn’t going to hang around until six o’clock. I called Freddie and said we’d meet outside McCrea’s.’

‘So you were out with Freddie all afternoon?’

‘Yes, I certainly was! Do you think it was me who hit that old fart over the head with a plank? Not that I’d have stopped myself, if he bored me any more than he had done already. But no, I’m not your villain. I was out all afternoon in various stores, and even when Freddie left me hanging about for half an hour the Principal saw me – so there!’

‘Where was Freddie for that half-hour?’ Edwin asked suddenly.

‘God, I don’t know. In McCrea’s some of the time buying a disgusting waistcoat for himself and a tatty red velvet scarf for me. He didn’t come back till after six o’clock. He was probably chatting up the waitress in Figaro’s. You know what he’s like.’ Wanda laughed. She’s so relieved that she’s not implicated, Edwin thought, that she hasn’t realized she’s exposed Freddie.

There was movement at the top of the staircase.

‘Wanda,’ Freddie said, his voice booming gruffer than ever, ‘you never told me we had a visitor.’

He hung on to the landing banisters which made a sort of gallery over the sitting room and smiled at Edwin, but – whether it was the pain in his legs or something else – his grin was more of a grimace. Wanda might not have realized that she’d dropped Freddie in it, Edwin thought, but Freddie had heard exactly what she’d said. And he knew just what it meant. She had an alibi, but he didn’t.

At hospital on Monday night, Robert looked at a much-reduced David Johnstone. He was asleep, breathing noisily, tubes attached to his nostrils. Robert had had no idea that he was so ill. He looked very yellow.

Pat Johnstone was there, fidgeting. She laughed her usual cackle when she saw Robert.

‘Nice of you to come. It’s so boring here!’ She laughed again, as if Robert had come to see her rather than David. ‘I’m off to my son and daughter-in-law’s tomorrow for a break, but I’ve got to be back at the end of the week.
He
’ – she shrugged towards the immobile figure on the bed – ‘has had another op but they say he needs more tests. Funny colour, isn’t he?’ She sounded annoyed.

‘How is he?’

‘Not recovering as well as they’d hoped. That’s why they’re doing tests on him. Obviously’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Yes, it’s a real nuisance.’

She and Robert looked at each other across the bed. What can I say? Robert thought. I’ve no idea how to make small talk with Pat Johnstone.

‘Is David’s business coping without him?’

‘Seems to be. The branch offices are anyway. Of course he always had other schemes on the go.’ She cackled. ‘Don’t know what’s going to happen about them.’

Her eyes glinted, and Robert remembered what Alex had told them. Pat needed to get her hands on David’s money. She must live in fear of him leaving her for one of his girlfriends, and taking the money with him.

‘Property schemes?’ Robert asked, innocently.

‘Usually.’ Pat’s eyes narrowed. ‘He had a lot of interests.’ She talked in the past tense.

Robert searched for something to say to fill the silence. Fishing, he asked ‘D’you mean hobbies? Was he interested in family history? That’s the new craze, isn’t it?’

Pat cackled even more than usual. ‘Hobbies? David? You must be joking. And the less we know about his family the better. No, the only family history David would be interested in was who owned what! Now, that would get him going. Like that other chap who came a cropper.’ There was a sort of malevolence in Pat’s face that Robert hadn’t seen before.

‘Who? Freddie Fabrikant?’

‘Nah. He’s just a big windbag. I meant that chap David couldn’t stand. Morris Little from Uplands store. They were allus arguing about buildings. Now they’re both out of it.’ Pat seemed pleased.

Robert thought: What’s this all about? David had behaved like Morris’s greatest fan. The idea that David and Morris were at odds was news. He looked down at the sick man, still in his drugged sleep. ‘I’ll come back when he’s awake,’ Robert said. ‘Tell him that the Abbey Chorus is thinking of him.’

‘I bet,’ said Pat nastily, and cackled again.

On Tuesday night at nine o’clock, Suzy, Robert, Edwin and Alex sat around the big kitchen table at The Briars, eating pancakes.

‘So what’ve we got?’ said Suzy, with her mouth full.

‘Nothing of interest in Morris’s family tree, but he was clearly investigating someone. He was into all the ancestry sites,’ said Alex. ‘But not his own, unless his wife can enlighten us.’

‘I’ve got nothing from Norma Little. I can’t see her till next week at least,’ Robert said. ‘However, Pat Johnstone is interesting. She said that Morris and David were at each other’s throats over something to do with buildings. Property deals maybe?’

‘That’s new,’ said Alex. ‘Johnstone was always saying that Morris was a great bloke, lying obviously. And the property angle is interesting. Maybe my bungalow is part of that. What have you got, Edwin?’

‘Wanda admits that she abandoned a meeting she had planned with Morris where he was going to show her some documents. Maybe one of them was the psalter.’

‘And I heard from Mark Wilson’ – Suzy blushed slightly – ‘that Paul was due to meet Morris the night he died.’

‘So a lot of people could have met Morris that night. And are we all agreed that the Psalms come into this somehow? Or is that just fanciful?’ Robert asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Edwin. ‘There’s the question of the missing psalter. That’s fact.’

‘So what hypothesis would fit all this random evidence?’ Suzy asked.

Alex Gibson thought hard. Plotting was surely her bag. But it was different when you couldn’t start from scratch. Finding a thread between real clues was much harder. Edwin suddenly put his hand on her arm and she felt it like an electric shock.

‘Could it be that the psalter held some sort of evidence which the attacker didn’t want Morris to reveal?’ he asked.

‘Like what?’ Suzy said. ‘A controversial new chant, for example? I don’t think so, Edwin. Not in the twenty-first century. Unless it was written for Britney.’

‘OK, I take your point.’ Edwin smiled, surprisingly relaxed these days. ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘you must agree, Suzy, the book is crucial to all this. And Alex says it was the beginning that was missing. What usually goes at the beginning of books?’

‘The dedication! So maybe it was the dedication which was the point,’ Alex rushed in.

‘Yes. Someone didn’t want the front page of a unique old book to be seen. A book that would be a curiosity perhaps, but not necessarily terribly valuable. The idea of a dedication does fit,’ said Edwin.

Robert had been writing on the back of his notes. ‘I think we’re looking at this wrongly. Instead of trying to get a crime to fit, let’s look at the people in the frame. We’re all agreed the Frosts are not necessarily the murderers, aren’t we? So who do we know could have met Morris? OK, half of Norbridge of course, but he was in the Music Department on the quietest afternoon of the year, and he was being discreet about the meeting. So whoever met him either had to have an arrangement to meet him, or to know he was there, or to bump into him.’

‘So there’s Wanda Wisley, though she says the Principal saw her in the shopping mall. And by extension, Freddie Fabrikant,’ Edwin said. ‘And you should have seen his face when he realized that Wanda had put him in the frame.’

‘But why would Freddie kill Morris? Anyway, Freddie was injured himself later.’

‘No, Suzy, don’t ask about motives. Just list those people who knew he would be at the college, and who had the opportunity,’ Robert said. ‘So far there’s Freddie, and Wanda – unless we check out her alibi with the Principal. And the Frosts – we can’t count them out.’

‘And Rev Paul,’ Alex said unhappily. ‘I don’t want it to be him, but he was supposed to be meeting Morris.’

‘And he’s mad on genealogy,’ added Suzy.

‘Not to mention the Psalms,’ Edwin said grimly.

‘Do you think we’re really on to something?’ Suzy said suddenly. ‘Or is it that we’re just bleeding heart liberals who want the Frosts in the clear?’

‘Some of us might have other motives,’ said Alex, looking at Edwin.

‘You mean Marilyn?’ Edwin said. ‘Yes, that is part of it for me. I know Marilyn’s brothers were horrible, and capable of violence. But I don’t want them to be Morris’s murderers.’

‘So why isn’t Marilyn involved in trying to exonerate them?’ Suzy voiced the question Alex had been desperate to ask.

‘Yes,’ Alex added. ‘Shouldn’t we talk to Marilyn? After all, this is more her bag than ours, isn’t it?’