Free An Unsuitable Death by J. M. Gregson

do—”
    “Then answer my question! We need to know everything we can about this murdered girl and those around her.” Lambert was suddenly impatient with the self-indulgence of this gilded creature, suddenly aware of the myriad pieces of information that were being documented outside this room and awaiting his attention. “We need to know how serious your relationship with Tamsin Rennie was, how long it had been going on, and whether you think you were the only man seeing her. Then you can tell us when you last saw her and exactly what you know about her death.”
    For a moment, it looked as if Tom Clarke’s fury would burst out in words. Then he controlled himself. Fastening on to the phrase which had most angered him, he said in a low, even voice, “There were other men. When I first knew Tamsin, there were other men. But that was over. I’d made her see that it must be. We were going to move away, to start afresh.”
    That old dream of the young, that you could move to a new area and cast off all the old baggage. That a couple were stronger than one, could give each other the strength to carry it through. It worked, occasionally. But never with an out-of-work actor and a penniless girl with a drug dependency. Lambert said, more gently now, “Where did Tamsin -get money, Tom? She was spending far more than she earned, even when she had regular work.”
    “The rent for the flat, you mean?” He didn’t mention the heroin he must have known about, his eyes flashing a question about how much they knew as he looked into his interrogator’s face. “I don’t really know how she afforded that.” He looked at the carpet by his feet, hearing the hollowness of his own words as he spoke them. Eventually, he said, “Well, I do, I suppose. I just don’t like to admit it. She was taking money from men, when I first knew her. But she gave up all—”
    “She was taking money for sexual favours, you mean?”
    “Yes. She was when I first knew her.” He still couldn’t bring himself to look at them. “It’s against the law, isn’t it?”
    Lambert smiled. The man seemed suddenly very young and naive. “That’s hardly going to concern us now, Tom. But you’re saying that Tamsin helped to finance the rent for the flat by taking money from men who came there. It’s important that you’re completely frank with us. It has surely occurred to you that it could be one of these men who killed her.”
    “I’ve considered that. I’m sure it wasn’t.” Then, as if struck by the monstrous arrogance of stating this to a detective, he added apologetically, “They were a long time ago, you see, these other men. She’d given all that up, once we became an item.” He produced the last phrase aggressively, as if challenging them to deny it. Lambert again wondered fruitlessly whether Tamsin Rennie would have regarded Clarke and herself as “an item”.
    He produced the second photograph which had come from the dead girl’s flat from his desk. It was all they had to offer, but Tom Clarke did not know that; he looked as if he wondered how much else they had gathered from the place, how many more embarrassing surprises lay in wait for him in the top drawer of this grizzled detective’s desk. Lambert said gently, “This was another picture Tamsin had kept. It was found alongside the one of you which you have already seen. What can you tell us about this man?”
    “I’ve never met him.”
    “That does not answer my question, does it?”
    The slender arms were thrown wide for an instant, as if he meant to protest. Then he folded them carefully, like a child practising a new movement. “All right. He was an older man, who was visiting Tamsin regularly when I first knew her. She had stopped seeing him months ago, along with the others. He was kind and gentle with Tamsin, from what she said. I expect that is why she kept his picture.” He sounded as if even here it was important for him to explain that to himself. He said