libro the double bass mystery
TRANSCRIPT
The Double Bass Mystery Jeremy Harmer
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The Double Bass Mystery Jeremy Harmer
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The Double Bass Mystery
Cambridge University Press ISBN 0 521 65613 3
The Double Bass Mystery Jeremy Harmer
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Contents Chapter 1 - A bit of a problem 5 Chapter 2 - A beautiful day 7 Chapter 3 - A newspaper, a beach 10 Chapter 4 - The concert 14 Chapter 5 - Screams in the night 18 Chapter 6 - Inspector Portillo 22 Chapter 7 - Secrets 25 Chapter 8 - A restaurant, a fight 31 Chapter 9 - Two men, a truck and a double bass 35 Chapter 10 - Why did you do it? 41 Chapter 11 - One more question 45
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People in the story
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Chapter 1 A bit of a problem
We came out of the airport building. All eighty-five players
from the Barston Symphony Orchestra in England. The sun was shining. It was hot.
âWelcome to Barcelona!â Frank Shepherd said to us all. âCome this way. The coaches are waiting.â We followed him. Somebody took a photograph.
The coaches left the airport and started on the motorway into Barcelona. Frank Shepher came and sat next to me. Frank is the manager of the Barston Symphony Orchestra.
âPenny,â he said (thatâs my name). âWeâve got a bit of a problem.â
âWhat kind of a problem?â I said. 'Well, itâs your double bass,â he said. âMy double bass? Whatâs wrong with my double bass?â âIt isnât here. It isnât in Barcelona.â âWhat? Where is it?â
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âIâm afraid that I just donât know,â Frank said. Oh, sorry. I must tell you something about me because,
well, this is my story. Actually thatâs not quite true. Itâs the story of a double bass too. People take things and somebody dies. But thatâs for later. Now Iâll start at the beginning.
My name is Penny Wade. I am twenty-six years old. I play the double bass in the Barston Symphony Orchestra. There are eight double basses in the BSO. I am number eight. I got the job six months ago. The other seven players are all older or better than me. The trip to Spain was my first time with the orchestra in a foreign country.
'Whatâs the problem?â my friend Adriana said from the sear behind me. Adriana plays the violin in the orchestra.
âItâs my double bass,â I said. âFrank canât find it.â âIâm sorry,â Frank said. âWe put it in the BSO truck in
Barston and it wasnât in the truck when it arrived in Barcelona.â
All the big instruments came by road. It was cheaper than taking them in a plane.
âHe says someoneâs taken it,â I told Adriana. âI said perhaps someoneâs taken it,â Frank said. âThatâs no help at all,â I said. I was angry. 'Perhaps isnât any
good. Perhaps it fell off the truck. Perhaps someone wanted wood for their fire... â
âLook,â Adriana said. âThis is stupid. Double basses are big. They donât just fall off trucks.â
âThis one did,â I said. I looked out of the window of the coach. We were arriving in Barcelona. My first foreign trip. Wonderful, donât you think? But thatâs just the problem. It wasnât wonderful at all.
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Chapter 2 A beautiful day I woke up. I looked around me. Where was I? Then I
remembered. I was in a hotel in Barcelona. With the Barston Symphony Orchestra. But without my double bass.
I went to the dining room and had coffee. Simon Hunt was at my table. I was his girlfriend, and he was my boyfriend. I think.
'Listen,â he said. âYou know tonightâs concert.â âYes,â I said, âand I canât play in it.â âWell, you can if you want,â he smiled. âYou can play in my
place.â âOh Simon, really?â âYes, Iâve hurt my hand, so ... erm ... I canât play, you see. I looked at his hand. I couldnât see anything wrong. âIt looks OK,â I said. âWell, it isnât,â he answered quickly. I liked Simon very much. He was tall and handsome. He
had dark hair and blue eyes. He was double bass number two in our orchestra and ten years older than me.
âAre you all right?â I put my hand on his arm. âI'll be fine.â He took my hand away. âIâve talked to Candida
about tonight.â (Candida was the leader of the double basses.) âShe says itâs OK.â
âThanks, Simon.â âYes, well, itâs nothing. It means that I get a free afternoon.â
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'Well, weâre both free this morning,â I said. âWe can do something together.â
âHmmm,â he said. âPerhaps we can go to the Picasso museum. Or the Parc
GĂŒell? Or up to MontjuĂŻc? Or to the beach?â (Barcelonaâs got everything: beautiful buildings, good restaurants, the sea.)
âYes,â said Simon. He wasnât listening to me at all. âYouâre not listening to me at all!â I said. âSorry?â he said, looking back at me. âI said âYouâre not listening to me at allâ.â âOK, OK, sorry. Itâs just, well, Iâve got a lot that I have to
think about.â He looked strange. âDo you want to do something together this morning or
not?â I asked. âNo. No, I donât...â At that moment Adriana walked over to our table.
âMorning!â she said happily. âItâs a beautiful day. What are you two going to do today?â
âI donât know,â I said. I was watching Simon. He was smiling at Adriana.
âWell, look,â she said to me. âWeâve got lots of free time. Letâs go to the beach or something.â
âYes, thatâs a great idea.â I was pleased. It was going to be a good day after all, I thought. But I didnât know what was going to happen then, did I?
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Chapter 3 A newspaper, a beach While I was waiting for Adriana in the hotel reception area I
sat down at a table. There were newspapers on the table. Most of them were in Spanish or Catalan, but there was one from Britain. I began to read it. There was a story about a painting.
Thieves Steal Picture from Gallery
Two nights ago some men
got into the Tate Gallery in London. They took a painting called The Gardener by the French painter CĂ©zanne.
âItâs one of our most famous pictures,â said gallery director Delia Hitchin. âEveryone loves it. The Gardener is a beautiful picture. It is a good example of CĂ©zanneâs work.â
The thieves got in through a
window at the back of the building. Nobody heard them. Nobody saw them. They cut the painting from its frame.
âThis painting is really important,â says Ms Hitchin. âWe want it back. Please, if you know anything at all call us or the police.â
The Gardener is 65.4 x 54 centimetres. It is worth about two million pounds.
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I looked up. Frank Shepherd was standing next to my chair.
He was looking at the newspaper too. âThatâs an interesting story,â he said. âWhat story?â âAbout the painting.â âThe thieves were very good,â I said. âNobody saw them in
the gallery. Nobody heard them.â âYes. Thatâs good all right,â Frank said. âOh, by the way,
about your double bass.â âYes?â I said. âI talked to the police here. A man called Portillo.â âAnd?â I asked. âHeâs going to try and find it,â Frank said. âHow?â I said. I wanted my double bass back. âI donât know. Iâm not a policeman. He's going to talk to the
drivers of the truck, I think. And heâs going to talk to the French police.â
At that moment we heard a voice. âFrankâ somebody shouted. âFrank Shepherd! I want to talk
to you.â I looked round. Candida Ashley-Morton, the leader of the
double basses, was walking towards us. âExcuse me!â said Frank. He walked up to Candida and the
two of them went towards the hotel bar. Candida was talking quickly. Was she angry? I couldnât hear the conversation. They went into the bar.
The lift doors opened and Adriana got out with some of the other orchestra players.
Somebody was shouting in the hotel bar. It was Candida Ashley-Morton. She was shouting at Frank.
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There was a short silence. Then he shouted back. Everybody stood and listened.
âCome on,â Adriana said to us.,âItâs their problem, not ours. Letâs go to the beach and have some fun!â
If you havenât been to Barcelona, you must go. The city feels good and thereâs lots to do. One of the most famous areas of the city is a big street called Les Rambles â or the Ramblas in English. People walk in the middle of this street. Cars go on the sides. Tourists walk up and down it. It has trees and cafes, street musicians and street actors. People sell newspapers and flowers and birds in cages. They try and sell you things or paint your picture. Itâs always full of life, always full of people.
About twenty of us left the hotel that morning. We walked down the Ramblas. We were talking and laughing. At the bottom of the long street we walked past the boats and the restaurants and then we came to the beach.
It was a beautiful day. The sun was already high in the sky. There were a lot of people lying on the sand. Some of the orchestra ran to the sea and swam. Some began to play football on the beach. Adriana and I sat and watched. We put on our sunglasses and smiled at each other.
âWow!â she said. âThis is fantastic! This is the life!â She was right. It was a fantastic day. But we didnât know,
then, about the future. The future wasnât fantastic at all.
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Chapter 4 The concert Concerts start late in Spain. It was half past nine and the
theatre still wasnât full. My face was red because of the dayâs sun and it was very hot in the theatre.
At five to ten we walked on to the theatre stage and sat down. The audience stopped talking. Our conductor, Philip Worth, walked on to the stage at ten o'clock. He lifted his arms and we started to play a piece of music called âIn the Southâ by the English composer Edward Elgar. I looked at all the people in the audience. Simon was near the front. He smiled at me. I was playing very well. I was really happy â except for Simonâs poor hand, of course.
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After âIn the Southâ we played a guitar concerto by the Spanish composer Rodrigo. The guitarist was a young Catalan player. She was very good and everybody loved her. Then there was a break of twenty minutes before the second half of the concert. The orchestra went into a room behind the stage. We drank some water. Simon came in.
âThat was great,â he said. âYouâre playing very well.â âThanks,â I said. I was very happy. âItâs because of your
instrument. Itâs because of you.â âDonât say that,â he laughed. âWhy?â I asked him. âItâs not true.â For a minute he didnât look happy. âSorry,â I said. He smiled at me. âIâm going to sit at the back of the theatre
for the second half,â he told me. 'OK?â âWhy?â I asked. âTo hear a different sound,â he answered. âTo hear you from
the back of the theatre.â âOh, right. I understand.â Except I didnât really understand.
Then he kissed my hand and I felt happy. Simon wasnât always nice to me.
âSee you later,' I said. We played Rachmaninovâs Third Symphony after the break.
It is difficult music, but I think we played it well. The audience were very happy, anyway.
I left the stage with Simonâs double bass. I put it into its big white case and closed it. Then I looked for Simon, but he wasnât in the theatre. I went to the room behind the. stage. Many of the orchestra players were there. They were talking happily. I waited for Simon. But he didnât come.
âHave you seen Simon?â I asked Adriana.
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âMe? No. Why?â She was a bit red in the Face. I told you. It was a very hot night.
âI canât find him,â I said, looking at her. âHe was at the front of the theatre for the first half. Then he went to the back. Now he isnât there.â
âHeâs probably at the hotel.â âI hope so,â I told her. âAnd another thing,â she said. âWhereâs Frank?â âIsnât he here?â I asked. âI donât think so,â she said. âI canât see him, anyway.â I left .the theatre with her. We talked about the concert. She
said that everybody loved it. Yes, I agreed, it was really good. We walked along the Ramblas. There were people out with
their friends. Men and women. Boyfriends and girlfriends. Children. It was a lovely night. There was a man with a guitar. A woman was dancing to his music. People sat in the open-air cafes and drank beer and wine.
âItâs a bit late for children,â I said. âNot here,â Adriana said. This was her third time in
Barcelona. âHere everybody goes to bed very late.â âWell, I canât understand it,â I answered. âIâm very tired. I
want to go to sleep.â Ten minutes later we got to our hotel. I didnât say goodnight to Simon. I couldnât find him. âDo you want a drink?â Adriana asked. âNo thanks. I really am very tired.â âOK,â she said, âsee you tomorrow morning.â I got into the lift and went up to my floor. I thought about
the concert. I thought I played well. When I got to my room I went to the telephone. I tried
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a number. No answer. I put the telephone down. I thought something was wrong. I wasnât happy. Simon wasnât with me. My lovely double bass wasnât with me.
âOh well,â I thought. âMaybe tomorrow will be better.â Some people think the double bass is a funny instrument.
They say it just goes ink plonk, but itâs not true. Double basses are wonderful. They look lovely and they have a warm sound â like a Friend. They are different from other instruments, too. I mean, one violin looks a lot like another violin. Cellos all look the same too. (Well, maybe theyâre different colours, but most people think they look the same.) So do trumpets. But not double basses. Some are tall and thin, some are short and fat. Each one is a different person. Each one has its own sound.
My double bass is a dark rich brown. Itâs very old. It looks really beautiful. If you play it well it makes a special sound. And it is worth a lot of money. I love it more than anything else. It's a Panormo. Made in 1798. My parents bought it for me.
âWhat am I going to do without my beautiful Panormo?â I thought. âAnd where is Simon? What is happening to me?â
I was very tired. I fell asleep.
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Chapter 5 Screams in the night I was asleep, but my head was full of pictures and stories. I
was dreaming about double basses and violinists and parties on the beach. Simon was in my dream. Our conductor was in it. So was my old teacher, playing a double bass on the sand. Then I heard a different sound. Somebody was shouting. No, it was worse than that. Somebody was screaming, screaming very loudly. I opened my eyes. I woke up. It was five oâclock in the morning.
Somebody screamed again. And again. And again. This time I wasnât dreaming.
I got out of bed. I put on a T-shirt and some jeans and went out of my room. Doors were opening on the left and the right. Adriana came out of her room. She ran up to me. She was half asleep, still in her night-dress. âWhat is it?â she asked sleepily. âWhatâs going on?â
âI donât know,â I answered. Martin Audley (a trumpet player) came up to us. âWho screamed?â he asked. âNobody knows,â I told him. âBut it sounded terrible.â There was another scream. It came from outside. We ran back into my room and looked our of the window,
down at the street. There was a police car there, some people, more and more people. And something else.
âCome on,â I said. We got the lift to the ground floor. When it stopped we ran our of the hotel and pushed to the from of all the people.
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Marilyn Whittle, the harp player, was already there. Her face was white and her eyes were large and round.
âLook! Look!â she said. She was pointing in front of her. She screamed again.
We looked. She was pointing at the person at her Feet. It was Frank Shepherd. His mouth was open. There was blood all over his head.
Martin spoke first. âMy God!â he said. âHeâs dead!â
For a few minutes nobody did anything. It was like a
moment From a bad film. I looked around me. Candida Ashley-Morton was there. Her face was white.
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'Oh, oh, oh no,â she was saying, and then she turned and walked back into the hotel.
We knew that we couldnât sleep. We didnât know what to do. But the hotel manager was a nice person. He opened the bar â at half past five in the morning. We sat there. We were all asking the same questions. What happened? How did Frank die? Did he fall from his room?
We heard another police car. A man came into the bar. We stopped talking.
âGood morning,â he said. âMy name is Portillo, Inspector Portillo.â His voice was cold. So were his eyes. But I also thought, âHeâs very good-looking with his dark hair and those eyesâ. Then I felt bad because of Frank.
âNow, please listen everybody,â the policeman said. âMr Shepherd is dead. We canât change that. So go to bed. Weâll talk tomorrow â well, I mean later today.â His English was very good.
Outside it was getting light. I was lying on my bed, thinking about Frank. I was trying not to see the blood and his eyes, open and dead. I was trying not to, but I couldnât stop. Someone knocked on my door. I got up and opened it. It was Simon.
âHello,â he said. âHi. Isnât it terrible?â âYes,â he said. âPoor Frank.â âWhere were you?â I asked. 'After the concert? Where were
you last night?â âI went to a bar,â he said. âWhy?â I asked. âWhy? Why? What a stupid question. For a drink.â âWhat did you do then?â I asked.
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âQuestions, questions! Why all these questions?â His voice was different now.
âWhat did you do then?â I asked again. âI went to another bar.â He wasn't smiling now. âWhy didnât you tell me?â I said. âI needed you.â I was
thinking of Frankâs body again. âYou didnât come to my room when you got back.â
âIs that a question or a statement?â âI donât know. Come on, Simon, where were you?â I didnât
want to ask all these questions bur I couldnât help it. âAll right. All right,â he shouted. âLook, I went to a few
bars, OK? I had a lot to drink. A lot. I walked back to the hotel very late. About three in the morning. When I got here I went up to my room quickly. I wasnât feeling very well, you see. All those drinks... â
âWere you with someone else?â âHavenât you listened to me?â Now he was really angry. I
didnât understand it. âOh Simon, Iâm sorry,â I said. âIâm being stupid; Itâs just,
well, you know... â âYes,â he said. He was quieter now. âItâs been a difficult
night, a difficult morning.â He smiled at me. He kissed me. But there was something wrong. Something wasnât quite right.
âIâm going to go back to my room,â he said. âI need a shower. See you later.â He walked out of the room without another word.
I looked at the closed door. I thought about his word's, about his answers to my questions. And then I thought, âWhy isnât he telling me the truth?â
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Chapter 6 Inspector Portillo Three and a half hours later on that same day I sat down
with Inspector Portillo in the hotel dining room. âGood morning, Miss Wade,' he said. âGood morning,â I answered. I was a bit afraid. Why did he
want to see me? Why were the police talking to everybody? âI know about you,â he said. âYou do?â I asked. âYes. Youâre the player with the double bass.â âWithout the double bass,â I said. âYes,â he laughed. âBut weâre looking for it.â âWill you find it?â I asked. âI hope so.â âHe isnât cold,â I thought. âHeâs very nice. I like him.â Then, suddenly, he changed. âNow I have some questions
for you.â âWhy?â I asked. âThat is not a very intelligent question,â he said. 'Someone
has died. We always ask questions.â âSo you think Iâm stupid, do you?' I was angry and very,
very tired. âNo, of course not. I am very sorry,â he said. I looked into
his face. He really was sorry. âForget it!â I said. âIâm just tired.â âYes, so am I,â he smiled. âNow, can I ask you some
questions?â
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âYes,â I answered unhappily. âWhere were you last night?â he said suddenly. âI was at the concert,â I replied. âYes, yes. Of course. And after the concert?â âI came back to the hotel.â âWho with?â said Inspector Portillo. âWith Adriana Fox. We walked up the Ramblas together.â âOK,â Portillo said. âYou got back to the hotel. And then!â âAnd then I went to bed,â I explained. âJust you?â he asked with a smile. âWhat? What do you mean?' I said. âAre you married?â he asked. âDo you have a boyfriend?â âIâm not married. But Iâve got a boyfriend,â I said. âI think.â
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âWho is he?â Inspector Portillo asked. 'Do you have to know?â I asked. âIs it important?â âIâll ask you a different question,â he said. His voice was
cold again. I didnât understand why. âDo you have a boyfriend in the orchestra?â
âThatâs a very personal question,â I said. âDeath is very personal,â he said, very quietly. âYes. Sorry,â I said. I suddenly saw Frankâs body again. âSo?â he asked. âWhat?â I said. âWhatâs the answer? Do you have a boyfriend in the
orchestra?â âYes,â I said. âWho is that?â âSimon Hunt,â I told him. âAnd did he, did you spend the night together?â âWell no, we didnât,â I said. I wasnât enjoying this. âI see.â He put his pen in his mouth. He didnât say anything
for a moment. Then he looked into my eyes. âAll right,â he said. âThatâs all.â
âYou arenât going to ask me any more questions?â I said, âI can go?â
âYes. For now. But donât go far. Nobody in the orchestra must leave Barcelona. Stay near the hotelâ
âOf course.â âIâll talk to you again,â he said. He was smiling again. âAll
right?â âOh yes,â I said. âGood.â But I didnât feel good at all.
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Chapter 7 Secrets âItâs going to be strange without Frank,â Adriana said. âYes,â I agreed. âVery strange.â We were sitting in a cafe. Adriana was drinking an orange
juice and I was drinking my third cup of coffee. We both felt very sad.
âYouâve been in the orchestra for two months,â Adriana said. âIâve been in it for three years. Frank was like a father to me. He was a nice man.â
âYes,â I said. We talked about Frank. We didnât talk about his body in the street, bur I remembered everything. I remembered the screams. I remembered the people in the street, people running in the hotel, Martin, Candida, Adriana. Pictures, pictures. In my head. I sat up. Some coffee fell on to my T-shirt. Something in the pictures was wrong.
âAre you OK?â Adriana asked. âYes. No.â I needed time to think. I didnât want questions
from Adriana. âListen, Penny... â she began. âYes?â I said. âOh, nothing,â she replied. Then she looked up at someone
behind me. I turned round. âSimon!â I said. âHello. Where have you been' âOh, here and there,â he replied. âI was talking to some of
the orchestra players. About Frank, of course.â âOf course,â I said. âDo you want to sit down?â
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âSure.â Adriana smiled at him. He smiled back. It was a
special smile. They had a secret. Just the two of them. Something that I did not know. That nobody knew. I turned away.
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Simon asked for a beer. When it came he drank it very quickly.
âWhat do you thinkâs going to happen?â Adriana asked. âAbout what?â Simon said. âAbout our concerts â tomorrow here in Barcelona, then
Madrid, Bilbao,â Adriana said. âWhat do you mean?â Simon asked. âWell,â my friend explained. âFrankâs dead. He was our
orchestra manager. Heâs been with the orchestra for twenty years. How can we play tomorrow night without him?â
âBut itâs an important concert tomorrow night,â I said. âMore than two thousand people are coming.â
âYes, thatâs a problem,â said a voice next to me. I looked up. Martin Audley was standing there.
âMartin,â said Adriana. She looked uncomfortable. âWhat are you doing here?â
âIâm looking for Penny, actually,â Martin told her. âMe?â I said. âYes,â Martin said. âInspector Portillo wants to speak to you
again.â âWhen?â I asked. âNow. This minute.â âIâll go then.â I looked at Simon. He wasnât smiling at all
now. I got up and walked away from the table. I looked back.
Martin was sitting with them now. The sun was hot but I began to run. I was running away from the picture in my, head. The picture of last night in the hotel
But I couldnât stop the picture. I was back in the hotel, back in my room. I heard the screams. I ran out ofâ my room. Other people ran out of their rooms. Other players,
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Adriana, for example. Her room was six doors down from mine. I could see her, but now I remembered something else. She came from her room, but she wasnât the only one there. Somebody was in the room with her. I saw him in the dark, but I couldnât see him well. Who was it?
I thought of Adriana in the cafe. Smiling at Simon. Was that their secret?
I ran into the hotel. Inspector Portillo was waiting for me. âI am very sorry,' he started. âBut I have got some more
questions. âSo have I,â I said. âDid somebody kill Frank?â âMaybe.â He smiled a secret smile. âWhat do you mean by âmaybeâ? Have you found Frankâs
killer? What do you know?â I asked. âMiss Wade,â he said. âThereâs something the police here
always do, something we have always done.â âWhatâs that!â I asked, stupidly. âWell, we ask the questions, you give the answers.â I think
he was laughing at me. âIs that all right with you?' he asked. I didnât say anything. âThat means yes, I think. Now Mr Simon Hunt is your
boyfriend, you said?â asked the inspector. âYes,â I answered. âAnd he plays the double bass too, I believe?â âYes,â I said. âIs he a good bass player?â âOh yes,â I said immediately. âHeâs better than me. Heâs the
number two. The second best in the whole orchestra.â âYes,â the inspector said. âSomebody told me that.â
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âWhy are we talking about Simon?â I asked, but he didnât answer me. He just looked and looked. âSorry,â I said, âI remember. You ask the questions.â
âYou are a quick learner Miss Wade.â Now I was sure. He was laughing at me. âMr Hunt didnât play in the concert last night, did he?â he said suddenly.
âNo,â I told him. âI played in his place. He lent me his double bass. Because I havenât got mine with me.â
âYes,â he said. âI havenât forgotten.â âSorry, of course not,â I said. Was he angry with me? âDid Simon Hunt go to the concert?â he asked. âOh yes. He was at the front,â I told him. I was thinking of
Simonâs handsome Face. âWas he at the front all the time?â Inspector Portillo said. âNo. In the second half he sac at the back.â âDid you see him at the back?â His voice was cold again. âYes. I mean, no.â I wasnât sure. âItâs a big theatre.â âAnd after the concert?â the inspector asked. âWhat did Mr
Hunt do then?â âHe went to a bar â well, he went to three or four bars I
think,â I told him. âDid you see him at the hotel?â âNo... look, why are you asking all these questions about
Simon? You should ask me about Candida,â I said. 'Candida?â he said. âYes, Candida Ashley-Morton,â I said. âThe leader of the
double basses.â âWhat about her?â âI think... I think that perhaps she killed Frank,â I said;
âWell, perhaps she didnât kill him, but she knows something. Iâm sure.â
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âWhy do you say that?â he asked. âWell, because I heard something. She was very angry with
him yesterday morning.â I told Inspector Portillo about the conversation between Candida and Frank in the hotel bar.
When I finished he sat back in his chair. âThat is most interesting, Miss Wade,â he said. âMost
interesting. âWell, yes. So you must talk to them.â âThank you,â said the police inspector. âI will think about it.
And Penny â I mean, Miss Wade â I am sorry about all the questions.'
I got up and walked out of the room. Candida Ashley-Morton. Yes. Perhaps she killed Frank. Did the inspector believe that? Did I? What was the truth?
Twenty-four hours later I had the answer.
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Chapter 8 A restaurant, a fight That evening some of us went to a restaurant near the
Ramblas. Simon didnât come with us. âI have to see some people. Iâll come back to the hotel later,â
he told me. I was sitting next to Martin. I like Martin. Heâs been in the orchestra for about six years.
Adriana was at the other side of the table. Sometimes she smiled at me and I smiled back. But all the time I was thinking, âWas that Simon in her room? Is she trying to be my friend and Simonâs lover at the same time?â He wasnât in his room last night. Somebody was in hers.
âOh no,â I thought. âWhy is life so difficult?' We finished our supper and paid the bill. Then we walked
back up the Ramblas. Adriana came up to me. âAre you OK?â she said. We were
walking past a cafe. âNow, now,â I thought. âNow is a good time for the question
â the question I want to ask her.â But at that moment we heard English voices. We turned
round. Candida Ashley-Morton was sitting at one of the tables. Marilyn Whittle, the harp player, was standing up. She was shouting at Candida. People were watching them.
âWas it you?â she was shouting. 'Did you push him out of the window?â
âNo, of course, I didnât,â Candida said quietly. âDon't be stupid.â
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âI think you did,â the harp player said. âYou killed him. Because he didnât love you.â
âWhat are you talking about?â Candidaâs face was white. âYou loved him, didnât you?â Marilyn said. Her face was all
red. Candida looked at the ground. She didnât say anything. âDidnât you?â screamed Marilyn. âYou were in love with him!â âAll right. Itâs true,â Candida said. âFrank and I were lovers.
There, are you happy?â âThatâs why you killed him!â Marilyn shouted. âWhat are you talking about?â Candida said again. Her voice
sounded tired. âYou killed him because he didnât love you anymore,â
Marilyn told her. âPlease stop. Everyoneâs listening.â âEverybodyâs listening?â she said. âSo what? Let them
listen. Iâll tell them a story. About a man called Frank Shepherd. I loved him too, you know.â
âYes,â Candida said quietly. âHe told me.â âThatâs not true!â the harp player shouted back. âHe didnât
tell you. He didnât love you. He loved me. More than you. He loved me.â
âStop it, Marilyn,â Candida said. âGo back to the hotel. Go back to your room. You need some sleep.â
âSleep? I canât sleep. Frankâs dead. How can I sleep? With a killer in the next room.â
âNow listen, Marilyn, you must stop this.â âI wonât stop it. Youâre a killer, a killer, a dirty killer. You
pushed him our of that window because he loved me.
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Me. He loved me.â Marilyn was shouting louder and louder. She had a terrible look in her eyes. Everybody on the street stopped to watch. I didnât know what to do.
Adriana walked over to the harp player. âStop it!â she said to her. âStop it!â And she hit Marilyn hard in the face.
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Marilyn opened her mouth to say something. Then she closed it and ran out of the cafe.
âGo after her, Martin,â Adriana said, and Martin followed the unhappy harp player into the night.
âIâm sorry about that,â Candida said. âIâm sorry. Itâs not true, of course. Really. Itâs not true.â She was crying now.
âLetâs talk about it tomorrow,â Adriana said. She put her arm around Candida and we walked away, up the Ramblas, towards our hotel.
I spent that night with Simon. He arrived an hour after we did. He was nice to me. He got into bed next to me, and kissed my eyes. He talked of love and I wanted to believe him. He had a bottle of champagne with him.
But I wasnât happy. I loved Simon, but I didnât feel good about it. He was strange towards me. Sometimes he said things and did things which I didnât understand. But he tried to love me, I think. He tried to love me that night, perhaps because he knew something that I didnât know. He knew that it was our last night together.
When I woke up he was gone.
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Chapter 9 Two men, a truck, and a double bass I couldnât find Simon after breakfast. I couldnât find him
anywhere in the hotel. The morning passed very slowly. The orchestra players
talked to each other, but not much. A few of us went for a walk, but we didnât go Far. We were all waiting.
After lunch we all went back to the hotel dining room. Well, nearly all of us.
Philip Worth, our conductor, walked into the room. Inspector Portillo was with him.
âGood afternoon, everybody,â said our conductor. Everybody stopped talking.
âNow as you know, Inspector Portillo asked you all questions yesterday. Now he has some answers. Jorge.â
Jorge? Inspector Jorge Portillo. That was the inspectorâs name? I liked it.
âThank you, Maestro,â said Inspector Portillo. âAt this moment we donât know everything. We have to talk to some more people. But I will tell you my idea of the story. I think it is the real story, but... â he looked around the room, âsome things are still nor clear.â He looked at me and smiled.
âYou all came to Barcelona by air,â he started. âBecause itâs quicker than a coach. But the big instruments came in the BSO truck with two drivers. The double basses were in that truck, of course. They drove to Dover and put the
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truck on the boat. Then they drove through France towards Spain.
After twelve hours the truck' drivers were tired. They stopped at a cafe by the side of the road. Near Toulouse in France. They went into the cafe and had a cup of coffee and something to eat. Then a car arrived. A big car, I think. It went up to the truck. Two men got our â well, we think it was two. They went to the truck. They opened it â Iâm sure they had the key. Then they saw it and they smiled.â
âWhat? What did they see?â Marilyn asked. âThe double bass of Miss Penny Wade,â said the inspector. âWhat? What did they see?â I asked. âThey saw your double bass, Miss Wade.â âWhy my double bass?â I didnât understand what he was
talking about. âThey werenât looking for it, were they?â âOh yes,â Inspector Portillo said. âThatâs what they were
looking for.â âBut who? Why? How did they know it was my double
bass?â I asked. âI think somebody wrote your name on the case. The two
men saw it and they took it from the truck.â âI donât understand,â Adriana said. âWhy did they take
Pennyâs double bass?â âWell, I donât think they wanted Miss Wadeâs instrument,â
the inspector said. âThey wanted the case.â âThe case?â Martin said. âWhy did they want the case?â âWell, actually,â Inspector Portillo said. âThey didnât want
the case. They wanted something in the case.â âWhat? What was it?â I couldnât wait any longer.
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âA picture.â 'A picture? What kind of a picture?â Adriana asked. âIt was a painting. By the French artist CĂ©zanne. Itâs called
âThe Gardenerâ. Somebody took it from the Tate Gallery in London...â
âOh yes,' I shouted. âI read about it in the paper. Itâs worth two million pounds. Wow!â
âThank you Miss Wade,â said Inspector Portillo. I wasnât sure, but I think he was smiling at me again. I smiled back. 'So somebody took the painting from the Tate Gallery. And then somebody â it wasnât the same person, of course â put it in Miss Wadeâs double bass case.â
âWhy didnât they take the picture and leave the double bass?â I asked.
âI donât knower. Perhaps they didnât have time. Perhaps some people came out of the cafe. But they closed the truck and drove away with Miss Wadeâs bass in its big white case.â
âInspector,â Martin said. âYou say âI thinkâ, âperhapsâ, âI donât knowâ. What do you know? Is this story true?â
âThatâs a good question,â Inspector Portillo replied. âYes, bur whatâs the answer?â Martin said. âThe answer is this. Miss Wadeâs double bass was in the
truck when it left Barston. It wasnât in the truck when it got to Barcelona. The truck stopped for a long rime only once. And a French driver saw two men with something big and white there. Something like a double bass case.â
âHow do you know that?â Adriana asked. âThe French police told us,â the inspector said. âWhereâs my double bass now?â I asked. âI'm sorry, Miss Wade,â said Inspector Portillo.
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âBut I donât know.â He liked me, I thought. He really was sorry.
âWhat about the painting?â Martin asked. âThatâs safe,â Inspector Portillo said. 'The French police
found it this morning in Paris.â âExcuse me!â Adriana said. âYes?â said Inspector Portillo. âYou said Frank died because of the truck. But how? Why?
What do you mean? Did he die because of' the painting? Did he put the painting in Pennyâs double bass case, or what?'
âThose are all good questions,â Inspector Partil1o replied. âThey were our questions too. At first we didnât understand why Mr Shepherd died. Did he fall out of that window? Did he jump? Did somebody push him? Did he have problems? With a lover? A Friend? Was there an argument?â
I looked over at Candida Ashley-Morton. Her head was in her hands. She was crying, I think. Perhaps she really did do it. Inspector Portillo was still speaking.
âBut then we talked to the hotel people. We looked at the rooms. And immediately we had a problem.â
âWhat problem?â Martin asked. âThe window in Mr Shepherdâs room was closed,â Inspector
Portillo said. âHe didnât like open windows,â Candida said quietly, âThat is correct.â Inspector Portillo looked at Candida when
he said this. âAnd a man cannot jump out of a closed window.â âWhat are you saying?â Martin asked.
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âI am saying that Frank Shepherd didnât jump out of the window of his room. He fell From a different room.â
There was silence in the hotel dining room now â complete silence.
âThat was difficult for us,â the inspector said. âWhose room was it? We didn't know. But then one of my men looked at everything on the hotel computer. He looked at the telephone calls. Then he saw it. Somebody telephoned the police in London last night. What was the room number? He looked on the computer. It was Frank Shepherdâs room. Frank Shepherd telephoned London.â
âFrank called the police in London?â Marilyn asked. 'Why?â âWe asked the police in London the same question. âWhy
did Frank Shepherd telephone you?â They told us.â âWait a minute,â Martin said. âI thought Frank fell from
somebody elseâs window. But you said he telephoned from his room.â
âYou are quite correct,â the inspector said. âHe telephoned From his room. Then he went to somebody elseâs room.â
âWhose?â Candida asked. âDo you know what happened to Frank. Do you know the name of his killer?â
âOh yes, we know. We know.â And suddenly I knew too.
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Chapter 10 Why did you do it? Sometimes, now, I still canât believe what happened in
Barcelona. I donât know the whole story, of course, but I know most of it.
Simon did not stay for the second half of the concert in the theatre in Barcelona that night. âNo problem,â he thought, âPenny saw me at the concert. The orchestra saw me. Penny thinks Iâm sitting at the back.â Poor Simon.
Simon went to a bar to meet someone. But Frank was also in the bar. Frank needed a drink. He needed to think about his problems. You see Frank loved Candida. But then Marilyn decided that she loved Frank too. She sent him letters, gave him things, talked to him, Followed him everywhere. Frank didnât like Marilyn following him. He needed a drink.
Simon didnât see Frank. Frank didnât see Simon either, at first. But the barman saw Frank â and later he saw a picture of Frank on the television â so he rang the police.
A tall Frenchman came into the bar with a black bag, Perhaps thatâs when Frank looked up and saw Simon, but he didnât speak to him. Frank knew that something wasnât right.
âThank you Monsieur Hunt,â the Frenchman said. âWe have got the picture. My friend is very happy.â He opened his bag. He gave Simon a large brown envelope. Frank was listening.
âAll this, just for a CĂ©zanne painting,â Simon laughed.
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Frank probably remembered the article in the newspaper. The Frenchman walked out of the bar. Simon looked into the envelope. There was money in it. A lot of money. Frank saw it too. It was money for âThe Gardenerâ by CĂ©zanne, of course. Frank didnât know the whole story then, but we know now: a rich man in France wanted it for his secret collection of art. Something else Frank didnât know. Simonâs cousin worked at the Tate Gallery as a security guard. She took the painting from the gallery. She gave it to Simon and he put it in my double bass case. Nobody looks for a painting in a double bass case in an orchestra truck!
Simon went back to the hotel. Frank went to his own room first and made that phone call to London. Then he went to Simonâs room. Perhaps he wanted to ask him, âWhy? Why did you do it?â Perhaps he wanted to tell him to run. I donât know. But it wasnât a good idea to go to Simonâs room. Simonâs window was open. Frank Fell five floors to the ground.
The police found Simon at Barcelona airport. He went there after his night with me.
The policeman walked through the police station. I followed
him. It was very hot in the building. We got co a door. The policeman unlocked the door. There was a different policeman in the room. And Simon. âHello,â Simon said. He looked terrible. âHello,â I said quietly. âHow are you?â âWhat do you think?â he said. It wasnât a real question. âOh Simon, did you really kill Frank?â I asked him.
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âYes. No. He was angry. He fell. Well, I pushed him.â âWhy?â I asked. I couldnât believe this. âHe saw me in the bar,â Simon said in an unfriendly voice.
âHe saw me with the Frenchman. He knew about âThe Gardenerâ.â
âWhy?â I shouted. âWhy did you do it?â I was very angry. âWhy did I do it? Money, of course. I wanted more money. âAnd why didnât you run?â I asked. âI did. After Frank âfellâ, I left the hotel. But then I
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thought. âNobody knows. It was an accident. Thatâs what people will say.â But I didnât know about his telephone call. I didnât know that the police could see where his fingers were, his fingerprints on the window of my room.â
We sat in that room for a few more minutes. We didnât look at each other.
âWhatâs going to happen to you?â I asked. âWhat do you think? Iâm going to be in prison for a long
time, I expect.â 'Poor Simon.â âOh, be quiet. Go away. Go away. I donât want you in this
room. I donât want anybody here with me. I donât want to see you again. Ever. Just get out.â
I wanted to stay. Simon was not a good person, but I loved him. Well, I loved him once upon a time.
âSimon,â I said. âSimon I...â but I didnât have any words in my head. Simon looked at the floor. The Spanish policeman looked our of the window. I left the room.
When I walked out of the police station I didnât look back.
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Chapter 11 One more question We left Barcelona. I was very unhappy. I thought about
Simon in prison. We played concerts in Madrid and Bilbao. We didnât play very well, of course, but we played.
On our last night in Bilbao, Adriana and I went out after the concert.
âAre you going to be all right?â Adriana said. âYouâve had a terrible time.â
We were walking by the RĂo NerviĂłn, Bilbaoâs big, black river.
'Adriana,â I said. âCan I ask you something?â âYes, of course.â âDo you â did you like Simon before?â âWell, I liked him.â âWere you very good friends?â âWhat? What are you asking? Like lovers?â Adriana asked. âNo. Yes. No. I donât know.â Why did I start this, I thought. âOF course he wasnât my lover,â she laughed. âWhy did you
think that?â âI didnât, really. Itâs just, well, you had a secret.â âAh. That... â She stopped and looked at me. âYou did have a secret, didnât you?â I asked. âYes, yes we did.â She was silent for a minute. I waited.
âSimon saw us, you see. He saw me with Martin.â âMartin!â Now I was really surprised.
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âYes. Weâve been together for three months. But we didnât want to tell anyone.â
âSo the night Simon killed Frank?â I asked. âSomebody was in your room... â
âYou thought it was Simon! Oh, Penny!â 'Iâm sorry,â I said. âIt was Martin, of course, you silly thing.â She laughed. âIâm sorry,â I said again. âNow listen to me,â said Adriana. âDonât feel sorry, donât
think about Simon. Start your life again. Start thinking of the future.â
Thatâs when I heard it. Music. Someone was playing a guitar. Somebody else was playing a violin. But that wasnât all There was another instrument too.
âAdriana!â I shouted. âListen!â âWhat?â âThat sound. I know that sound. Come on.â We ran by the side of the river. We ran to the music. The
players in the street were very good. We stood there, listening to the guitar and the violin. And a double bass. A beautiful double bass with a special sound. A Panormo. Made in 1798. It was my double bass.
âHey,â I said. âThatâs my double bass.â âNo, it isnât,â said the double bass player. âAll right,â I said, âWhere did you get it?â âWell, I... er... I... itâs mine,â he said again. âThatâs nor true,â Adriana said. âItâs not your double bass
and you know it!â The double bass player was not sure what to do. He didnât
look very happy. He knew that something was wrong.
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âAll right,â he said. âAll right. A man sold it to me. Very cheap. In the street. It wasnât right. I know. But I donât like it anyway. The sound is all wrong. You give me some money and you can have it.â
Finally we gave him some money, but not much. I went to
the bass player and took the lovely instrument. It was dirty and there were some black lines on the wood. But I loved it anyway. I was very happy. I put my arms around it.
âCome on,â I said to it. âLetâs go home,â At that moment a car came. round the corner and stopped.
Two policemen got out. I didnât know the first one, but I knew the second.
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âAh,â he said. 'Hello Miss Wade. Penny.â âInspector Portillo,â I said. âWhat are you doing here? You
work in Barcelona.â âThat is true. I work in Barcelona.â âSo why are you here?â âWe ask the questions,â he said. He was laughing at me.
âYou have found something, I see,â he said. âYes, itâs my double bass. Isnât it fantastic!â âIt is good news, yes. You said it was a very good double
bass. It looks nice. But I think its player is more beautiful.â âSorry?â I said. âWhy do you think I am in Bilbao, Penny Wade?â the
inspector said. He was very good-looking. âCome on, Penny,â Adriana said. âItâs time we went back to
the hotel.â âI will take you,â my inspector said. âYour double bass can
go in our car, I think. Come on. Then I want to ask Miss Wade a question.â
âMore questions! I donât believe it.â I said. âOnly one,â he said. âIâve only got one more question.â And he did ask me one more question. The most surprising
question in the world. And my answer? âIâll think about it.â And I have thought about it. Maybe there is a future after all Iâm going back to Spain tomorrow.