Shadows of Sounds by Alex Gray

dominating the bay window. Had that been Mrs Millar playing as he’d passed by? Could you do something as creative as making music the morning after your husband had been murdered?
    ‘Please sit down, Chief Inspector, Constable. Would you like some coffee?’ Her tone seemed to indicate that this was merely a social visit. There was no trace of anguish in her voice. Maybe she was still in denial, he told himself.
    ‘Thanks. Coffee would be fine,’ Lorimer replied, but didn’t sit down. Instead he followed Mrs Millar into the kitchen and leant against the wood panelled wall, watching her as she filled a kettle jug and set about preparing their coffee.
    WPC Irvine followed them in and sat by the oak table, glancing up at Lorimer as if trying to gauge what was on his mind.
    ‘I’m sorry about your husband,’ Lorimer began slowly. ‘It must have been a dreadful shock.’ He watched her face as she turned towards him.
    ‘I’m used to shocks, Chief Inspector. Yes, this was dreadful, but it’s happened and I can’t make it un-happen. Just as I couldn’t change the way George was. Don’t think me harsh but I’ve become used to accepting the things I cannot change.’
    There was an inflection in her tone that made Lorimer realise she was quoting something he’d heard before. For a moment he was at a loss then it came to him. Wasn’t it part of a prayer by Saint Francis of Assisi? Or was he mixing that up with something else? Mrs Millar was looking at a corkboard next to the doorway on Lorimer’s left. He followed her gaze and saw the small green card. On it was written,
    God
     
    Grant me the Serenity to accept
    The things I cannot change …
    Courage to change the things I can
    And Wisdom to know the difference.
    She looked back at him, the ghost of a smile hovering apologetically around her lips.
    Lorimer didn’t know what to say. Even if she was a devout woman that shouldn’t stop her from expressing her emotions, should it?
    For a moment Lorimer wished he’d asked the officer who’d come here last night for the widow’s first reaction. It hadn’t seemed necessary. Now he was curious to know how she had responded to the terrible news.
    ‘Thanks,’ he said as she handed them mugs of coffee. He thought they’d make their way back into the sitting room, but Mrs Millar motioned for him to join his colleague at the kitchen table. She leant into a chair with a patchwork cushion at her back then raised her mug of coffee.
    ‘To life,’ she said and smiled in Lorimer’s direction.
    Her easy familiarity with a complete stranger gave Lorimer some disquiet. For a moment they locked eyes as he raised the mug of coffee to his lips. Lorimer looked away first. There was nothing malevolent about the woman’s gaze, just a calm directness. Usually he’d be probing a person’s behaviour for undercurrents of emotion, indications that could help in establishing the nature of relationships. But how to get behind that mask of tranquillity, if indeed it was a mask, was a problem.
    ‘I’d like to ask you some questions about your husband,’ Lorimer began.
    ‘Of course. Whatever I can tell you, Chief Inspector,’ Mrs Millar’s reply was polite, almost but not quite grave. It was as if she were about to discuss someone she’d encountered in the street, not her own husband. Was that telling him something? Lorimer wondered.
    ‘First of all, could you tell me when you last saw MrMillar?’
    ‘Yes. He was at home yesterday until just after lunch. He left about two o’clock. There was a three o’clock rehearsal call.’
    ‘Did he drive into town?’
    ‘No. He took the underground from Hillhead into Buchanan Street. It’s the easiest way.’
    ‘Was there anything unusual about your husband’s demeanour before he left?’
    He watched her face as she took another sip of coffee. She was thoughtful, considering her words carefully.
    ‘No. I don’t think I noticed anything untoward. He was a fairly cheerful person as a