Free An Unsuitable Death by J. M. Gregson Page A

reluctantly, “That’s all, is it? There weren’t any other pictures of men, were there?”
    Lambert wondered whether he should deny Clarke all knowledge of the sparse crop the SOCO team had harvested from that basement flat. Then he nodded and said, “Those were the only photographs we found there. Can you give us details of any other men who you know had visited her?”
    He leaned forward, clasping his folded arms tight against his chest, giving at least the appearance of careful thought. “No. I told you, she’d given all that up. I didn’t want to know about her past. I only know about that man because she had a bit of a soft spot for him. He was an older man in pursuit of a young girl who didn’t want him. A bit sad, really. I certainly didn’t feel threatened by him. His name is Milburn, by the way. Eric Milburn, I think. I don’t know his address.”
    How easily the young dismiss people even one generation ahead of them nowadays, thought Lambert. Perhaps he underestimates us as well, he thought. He said briskly, “Let’s summarise what you are telling us, Mr Clarke. When you met her, Tamsin Rennie was supporting a residence and a lifestyle which she could otherwise not have afforded by an undefined amount of amateur prostitution.” He held up his hand as the young man made to protest. “As a result of a serious involvement with you, you believe she gave up the lucrative sale of her sexual favours. The employment and remuneration of young actors being as they are, presumably you were not able to provide her with replacement funds.”
    He paused for a moment, knowing that actors are rarely reluctant to talk about themselves, and Tom Clarke did not let him down. “No. I’ve been resting for about half of the time I knew her. I understudied three speaking parts at Stratford for the RSC last year, but I only got to carry the odd spear on stage.”
    Despite his intention to drop the Royal Shakespeare Company casually into the exchange, he spoke the initials with a hint of awe, as if he hoped for some sort of reaction. Lambert merely said, “Which leaves us with this unanswered question: how then did Tamsin Rennie replace the income which was no longer being gathered from her former clients?”
    Clarke, diverted for a moment into his own life, had not been prepared for this. “I — I don’t quite know. Perhaps she had saved a certain amount from — from what she had been doing before I met her. Perhaps her family had been helping her.”
    Lambert nodded at Hook, who said gently, “Come on, Tom. You don’t believe either of those things. If you were as close to her as you claim, you must know that she wasn’t getting any help from her family.”
    The thin shoulders shrugged hopelessly, the arms he had held resolutely folded broke free and flew uncontrolled and wide. “I don’t know. Perhaps she was running up debt, for all I know. I thought I was going to get her out of the situation and make a fresh start.”
    Lambert said, “Do you know Tamsin’s landlady, Mrs King?”
    “No. I never met her. Never even saw her.”
    There was perhaps something significant in this resolute denial, but neither of them could see quite what it was. “She is not a lady who would allow someone like Tamsin to run up large arrears on her rent, I can assure you.”

Again that hopeless, defeated air. “I can’t help you about Tamsin’s finances. We didn’t talk about them much. We were concerned with bigger things than money. We were trying to sort out the whole of our lives.”
    The grandiose phrase was delivered defiantly, but the bravado was paper thin. Lambert looked at him for a moment, then said, “Indeed. And sorting out Tamsin Rennie’s life involved even greater changes than you have indicated so far, didn’t it, Mr Clarke?”
    Tom felt himself shifting on his seat, even as he said, “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve told you I didn’t know about her finances, that we had—”
    “But you knew about