Free Requiem for a Mezzo by Carola Dunn

he whispered something in her ear and she slapped his face, called him a disgusting Russian pig. There was something about face-fungus, too, I don’t remember exactly.” He cast a sidelong glance at Marchenko, who glared back, his black beard bristling.
    Daisy remembered the bass’s sotto-voce reprise of Confutatis maledictis with Bettina lying dead at his feet. “He certainly had cause to dislike her,” she agreed.
    â€œDislike! He detested her, and these foreigners are very emotional, very excitable, often downright unstable. Believe me, I know.” He preened his hair again, this time with a self-satisfied smirk. The habitual gesture must be good for the cash register of the hairdresser responsible for preserving his Marcel
wave. “You’ll tell the coppers about Marchenko, won’t you?”
    â€œWhy don’t you?”
    â€œOh. Well. After all, it’s only speculation. I haven’t got anything they’d consider evidence. Wouldn’t want them to think I was just making trouble.”
    Or trying to get himself off the hook. “I’ll pass your speculation on to the Chief Inspector,” Daisy promised. Along with the news of his affair with Bettina and her pestering him to keep his promise.
    â€œExhausting, that’s what they are, foreigners,” said Gower in a burst of candour. “In the end, give me good old English reticence every time.” He stared longingly at the door whereby his plain, dull wife had left.
    As if in answer to his stare, it opened and Jennifer Gower came in. Their reunion was spoiled by Piper.
    â€œMr. Gower, your turn, sir.”
    He gave her a peck on the cheek in passing. She looked much calmer, no doubt reassured by Alec’s most soothing manner. She started towards Daisy but veered off to talk to the Cochrans when Dimitri Marchenko beat her to Daisy’s side.
    The massive Russian looked down at her grimly. “You police spy,” he growled.
    â€œNo I’m jolly well not!”
    â€œ Tak, not spy—informer, nyet ?”
    â€œI’m not an informer, either. I happen to have a friend who is a policeman. I make no secret of it, and if people choose to tell me things, that’s their lookout.”
    â€œ Shto lookout?” He sat down heavily, the chair creaking beneath his weight. “Lookout is spy.”
    â€œI mean,” said Daisy slowly and carefully, “if people who know the Chief Inspector is my friend give me information, they should not be surprised when I tell him.”

    Marchenko ruminated on this for a moment, then nodded. “Informer. I tell you, you tell policeman.”
    She gave up. “Yes.”
    â€œI tell you, Yakov Levich kill Bettina.”
    â€œMr. Levich?” Daisy was dismayed. She rather liked what little she had seen of the violinist. “How do you know?”
    â€œIs dirty Jew. Jews all murderers. Kill Khristos, kill khristian-skiye dyeti —childs. To Jews, kill khristianin is nothing. Also, Levich is Russkiy .”
    â€œSo are you.”
    â€œ Nyet! Ya ukrainets. Live in Russia, speak Russian, but uk-rainskiy blood. Russians spit on Ukraine, I spit on Russians.” He seemed about to act upon his words but fortunately recollected himself in time. “Also,” he said in a low sinister rumble, “Levich is Bolshevik spy!”
    Daisy didn’t believe a word of it. He had spies on the brain. Besides, Levich could not, presumably, rejoice in both Jewish and Russian blood. “He had no motive, no reason to kill Bettina,” she pointed out.
    â€œIs reason! Good reason. Levich like Bettina’s sister. Bettina call him money-gubbing Yid, say will tell parents sister like heretic, try to stop meeting.”
    â€œShe tried to stop Muriel seeing Mr. Levich?”
    â€œ Da. They talk, she come: ‘Do this, do that. Fetch this, fetch that.’ Is reason, nyet ?”
    â€œA pretty feeble reason!” said Daisy