“Me?”
“You had an affair with her, didn’t you?” Karl-Heinz raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, but we never talked about her husband if we could help it. I gathered she hated him. I didn’t ask questions. Besides, I could never pronounce his name.”
Karl-Heinz chuckled nervously.
“I was too concerned with keeping the peace. I feel at fault.”
Milan took his hand and squeezed it.
“You have to be a conductor first. Your priority is the music. Don’t blame yourself.”
Karl-Heinz squeezed back. “I’m on a slippery slope when I take moral advice from Milan Kaspar,” he said. “Come on. Let’s do this.”
They strode across the courtyard and picked out the stainless-steel button that corresponded to ap Hughes’s flat number.
Karl-Heinz pressed it assertively.
It was a moment or two before the intercom crackled.
“Yeah? Ness?”
“I don’t think so. It’s Karl-Heinz, Dafydd. Can I come in?”
“Oh. Karl-Heinz. Sure. Hang on, just let me…”
A couple of seconds passed and the door buzzed.
The two men headed for the stairs.
“He really thought Vanessa might come to him,” whispered Milan. “Deluded.”
“I’ve heard women really can’t resist men who get them arrested,” replied Karl-Heinz, shaking his head.
They arrived outside ap Hughes’s door, which was left on the latch for them.
“Good luck to us,” muttered Milan, giving Karl-Heinz a quick peck on the cheek.
Dafydd ap Hughes’s considerable bulk was wrapped in a tartan dressing gown and he was leaning against a granite kitchen counter at the far end of the open-plan living space.
There was little else in the apartment except a huge bed and an L-shaped sofa, covered in sheet music and Dafydd’s violin. The bed was rumpled, suggesting that Dafydd had been in it before they’d called. Hardly surprising, given that it was after midnight.
Karl-Heinz entered first, Milan lingering behind the door for a moment so as not to create an alarm straight off.
He listened as ap Hughes attempted to make pleasantries with his conductor.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said. “I haven’t got all my furniture shipped over yet. Bought the bed and sofa here, but all my storage is still in the US. It’s a bit late, Karl-Heinz, what gives?”
“I thought you might know why I was here, actually,” said Karl-Heinz.
“Won’t you sit down? Move that music out of the way… Do you want a drink? I’ve got coffee or whisky and that’s about it.”
“No, thank you. I won’t keep you long. I’ve got a very distressed percussionist back at my house. She’s just been released from police custody.”
“Ah. Well, you know, she did this.”
Milan peered through the door crack and saw ap Hughes point to a red fleck by the side of his eye. It didn’t look too terrible.