Jazz and Die (13 page)

‘Do you know them all?’ I asked. It was a very silly question. ‘Your pigs?’

‘Some of them have names,’ said Tom with a reluctant grin. ‘I can’t bear to have them slaughtered. Granpops is my favourite. He’s black. He knows me. Comes over when I call him.’

I was glad to hear that. He had a heart for a black pig.

‘I never eat meat,’ I said.

‘I know,’ he said with a trace of sadness, as if I had let him down. Perhaps he had imagined something more growing between us, something illicit. But I couldn’t change. I enjoyed his company but I could not change my life.

The evening was coming to an end. Everyone was exhausted, players as well. Many had long journeys ahead. Playing jazz was work. They had other bookings lined up. It paid the bills, or some of them.

The pub staff were tired too. I could see it etched on their faces. Maybe the bar takings had soared but their feet hurt.

Tom was giving Ruth a lift home. Chuck was driving Maddy 
back to the hotel. Everyone had forgotten about me. Ross had picked up one of the blondes. I was the only stranded female. I guess I would have to walk. The night air would freshen my brain. I slipped into my fleece before I left the hot room.

The rain had cleared again and as I walked downhill to the seafront, my spirits rose. Nothing awful could happen on such a starlit night. More people should be walking and not driving about in stuffy cars, polluting the air.

There was hardly anyone else about. The narrow promenade alongside the sea was deserted. Even the seagulls had gone to bed, to wherever they hang out on the crowded cliffs, heads tucked under a wing. It seemed a pretty uncomfortable way to sleep.

Then I heard footsteps. They had suddenly come from nowhere. The footsteps were quickening. I felt a quiver of alarm and tightened my fingers on my torch. It was a useful weapon.

‘Jordan, don’t be scared. I couldn’t let you walk home alone.’

It was James calling, yet I hadn’t recognized his footsteps this time.

‘I didn’t hear you coming,’ I faltered, relieved to see his dark figure.

‘Sorry, I took a shortcut over the grass. I had to catch you up.’

He swung into step beside me, not touching me or taking my hand or anything. But it was enough to know that he was there, that he had been concerned, that he had not forgotten me. He looked tall and dark, strong and comforting.

‘Nobody offered me a lift,’ I said as if I had to explain my lonely state.

‘They probably all thought someone else was giving you a lift.’

‘I guess so.’

The dark tide was high, washing against the steps of the beach huts. The pile of clothes would have floated away if James had not had them bagged and moved. White horses glistened on the waves further out in the bay, rowing boats bobbed, the halliards on the tall masts of the yachts in the harbour tinkled like small voices.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ said James, for once having time to look.

‘The sea is always beautiful. And now, in my new flat, I have a view of it, day and night, whenever I want to stop and look. You must come and see it sometime.’

‘Sounds perfect. Lucky you. I’m currently living in a rented flat in a farmhouse with a view of sheds and tractors.’

‘I hope it isn’t a pig farm.’

‘No pigs. Arable.’

We were climbing the hill now towards the Whyte Cliffside Hotel. It stood solid and white in the distance. This steeper part of the hill always took my breath away. Damned asthma. And I didn’t have my inhaler as usual.

I put my hand on James’s arm. ‘Could we s-slow down a bit?’

‘I forgot. Sorry. Are you all right?’

I nodded, taking a few deep breaths to regulate the intake. For a moment I leaned on him. I could hear my heart thudding. Another moment to treasure even if I couldn’t breathe.

We began walking again and James took my arm as if to propel me upwards. The wind was freshening and I could taste rain again. James was going to get wet, returning for his car parked somewhere near the party pub.

‘Where’s your car?’

‘I don’t exactly remember.’ He grinned.

We went into the driveway that led to the brightly lit hotel entrance. Chuck had left his car at the side, as if too tired to put it in the car park. He had parked askew and they had got out, leaving it there. They had not looked at the boot.

Scrawled across the boot in luminous paint were two words: YOU’RE NEXT!

It was like a scream in the dark.

‘H
e’s here. He’s somewhere near,’ said James. ‘That paint’s not even dry. A drowned man didn’t do this.’

I could see that. I hoped neither Chuck nor Maddy had spotted it when they got out of the car. They’d gone straight into the hotel and up in the lift to their suite.

James was already on his phone. ‘I need uniformed over here, forensics and a photographer.’ He gave the address. ‘I know it’s late. I don’t care if it’s late. Wake them up. No sirens.’

He would get a lift back in a police car now.

‘You’ll get a lift?’ I asked, knowing the answer. ‘And I had thought of offering you half of my very comfortable double. You could have the best side.’

‘What a kind thought, Jordan,’ he said, peering closely at the letters as if there might be some fingerprints. ‘I’ll take a raincheck on that one.’

‘I don’t do rainchecks.’

‘Very wise. You don’t know who might take them up.’

He pushed me towards the automatic doors of the hotel and they yawned open for me. I knew he wouldn’t change his mind. He wasn’t that kind of man. I walked into the abyss out of the rain. I wondered when it would ever stop raining.

The car had gone in the morning. They had towed it away for a thorough forensic search. There would be some clue. The man would have left some hair, some fibre or soil from his shoe. It was
amazing what they could find.

I went up to Chuck’s suite at breakfast time to tell him what had happened. He was still in his dressing gown, a room-service tray on a table with a continental breakfast. He poured out coffee.

‘Join me, Jordan. I can drink from a tooth mug.’

‘I’ve had my breakfast, thank you.’ Another omelette. Smoked salmon and cream cheese, recommended by my friendly waiter. Out of this world on the gourmet taste scale. It would become a favourite. I wondered if Mavis could make one.

Chuck was shocked by the news from police but had agreed that he could do without his car for a day. He needed it back early the following morning. ‘So more threats?’

I hadn’t told him the exact wording. ‘Sort of.’

‘Thank goodness Maddy didn’t see it. She would have freaked out.’

‘We don’t want to alarm her.’

‘I’ve got to get to Wigan.’

‘Could you hire a car?’

He nodded. ‘I could. But I need my instruments. They are all locked in the boot. I hope they’re not damaged. Worth thousands. Insured, of course. But their sentimental value is off the chart. My first ever trumpet.’

‘I’ll phone DCI James and make sure they are safe.’

‘I’d be obliged. I can’t work without them.’

‘How’s Maddy?’

‘Still asleep. Worn out by the party. She can sing good, that girl of mine.’

‘She can sing good. She has a future.’

‘Her mother was a jazz singer.’

‘That’s where she gets it from. Great genes.’

I left Chuck. I think he was going back to bed and I didn’t blame him. The man was a genius and a genius needs pampering.

I’d slept well when I’d finally got to bed. I’d waited in reception with James till uniformed arrived in unmarked cars. Then he was busy. He spoke to the night duty receptionist but he had seen nothing unusual. Forensics searched around and they found
a footprint, half spotted with paint.

‘A bit of a drip here, guv,’ they called out.

‘Good work. Take a cast or dig up the drive.’

James bent and gave me the briefest kiss on the cheek. ‘Go to bed, sleepy-head. I’ll need your brain in the morning.’

I wanted him to need my body, not my brain, dumb-cluck.

There was no word from James so Maddy and I got ready to do the town tour. She was not keen on the history and culture, preferring to comb the charity shops.

‘They have great old-fashioned jewellery, you know,’ she said. ‘Vintage stuff. All the rage. The stuff people throw out.’

I saw Chuck stuff a wad of notes into Maddy’s hand. She would probably spend it all. I wanted to show her what I had learned about Swanage’s past history from the tourist office walkabout leaflets. And I wanted to go into the library to look at microfilm. They were a well-equipped library, small, oddly octagonal in shape, but up to date in services. We went there first.

Maddy was happy to go on the internet and email all her friends. I asked for microfilm of the local paper, three years back. It was eye-aching work scrolling through all the tiny print. I was looking for pictures, photos taken of the jazz festival three years back.

The photographers had been there again this year, snapping anything that moved. And every year back, I reckoned. Local papers needed news and a jazz festival was news.

The umbrella parade, three years back, looked identical to this year’s. I spotted Elsie Dunlop, same outfit, different umbrella. It was a Star Wars theme. She had gone to town. Probably won first prize.

There was another photograph, taken down on the harbour front. I recognized several more umbrella ladies. In the background were two peering faces. One was a young girl, Asian-looking, long black hair, and the man was tousle-haired, good-looking in a careless sort of way. It was only head and shoulders of them both but something rang a bell.

I called Maddy over. It was hard to prise her off Facebook or Twitter or whatever she was on.

‘Look, Maddy,’ I said. ‘Please look carefully. Do you recognize these two faces?’ I zoomed in. They came up fuzzy, but larger.

‘Sure, that’s Sarah and that’s the arty art teacher, Roger whatshisname. Is that the jazz festival?’

‘Three years ago.’

‘So, I don’t remember it.’

Maddy went back to her infinitely more interesting social twittering.

I got a print of the photograph on the microfilm. They both looked happy but Sarah had a wistful look as if she knew her parents would be worried about her. I texted the news to James. There was no answer. I didn’t expect an immediate response.

‘Cup of coffee?’ I suggested after logging off. I needed a caffeine boost. Then it was history and marathon charity shops. Maddy had all that money to spend. She would not be able to resist a spree. Her fingers were twitching.

I thanked the library staff. They had been so helpful, especially when I was hopeless at working the microfilm machine. At least I didn’t break it.

One of the library staff recognized Maddy. ‘You’re the girl who sang at the youth big band concert? You were so good.’

Maddy was pleased and went out, beaming. That compliment had made her day. The next hour also made her day.

You’d have thought she had nothing else to wear, that her wardrobe was as empty as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. She raked through the racks, tossing garment after garment over her arm, whether they were her size or not, taking what she fancied. She would make them her size.

I concentrated on the rick-rack shelves. I bought the Wade figurines, the copper tray, a square vase which might be early Troica, fingers crossed, and the spotted sheep. If the vase was Troica, I could sell it on. A watercolour painting of Swanage bay caught my eye but I could not read the painter’s signature. It was quite faded and old. But there was something about it that I liked.

My new flat at Latching, the fourth-floor flat with amazing views, was twice the size of my former two bedsits. It would need more furniture. My furniture consisted of a bed, a coffee table, a big sofa, a desk and a microwave. And it had walls that need pictures.

So when I saw this pink velvet footstool, I was hooked. Velvet is my downfall. It would fit into the wasp.

‘I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning,’ I said, handing over a fiver.

‘We’ll put it out the back for you. What name?’

‘Lacey. Jordan Lacey.’

‘She’s Wonder Woman Lacey,’ said Maddy, grinning and following me to the counter with a pile of clothes. ‘You’re my bestest friend.’ Then she did an unexpected thing. She draped a necklace of azure blue beads over my neck. It still had its price tag hanging from a string. It was chunky and modern.

‘For you,’ she said. ‘Pressie. Cos you’re nice.’

‘I love it, thank you.’

One up for me, it seemed.

Maddy obediently followed me on the history tour, mildly interested in the story of the stone artefacts which were brought back from London and installed round and about in Swanage. She particularly liked the old jail house or ‘cooler’, re-sited behind the town hall. She peered through the grilled door into the dark interior.

‘Creepy,’ she said with a pretend shiver. ‘I wouldn’t like to be stuck in there, especially at night.’

‘No chance of that. It’s kept locked.’

There were ancient faceless statues of the once-famous politicians of London in the garden of Purbeck House, now a three-star hotel in town, but Maddy showed little interest in them, not even in the old arch from Hyde Park Corner. Some of the statues had lost their heads so it was not surprising. The gothic London Bridge clock tower was more to her liking as the unusual downstairs space looked as if it had plenty of room for a party.

‘It was originally called the Wellington Tower built on the south side of London Bridge but it got in the way of the traffic so
they moved it. There’s no actual clock,’ I said.

‘This would be great for a party,’ Maddy enthused, not listening to the historical facts. ‘We could have a Ye Olde London theme party. I could come as a lavender seller. I need to look for a long skirt and a frilly blouse. Can you buy lavender? How about tonight?’

More shopping. ‘But surely all your friends will have gone home?’

‘I’ll make some new ones.’

I got an unexpected text from Mavis, the owner of my favourite cafe in Latching. She was latching into this technology. (Joke – I must remember to tell her.) ‘A geezer came into the cafe, asking if we’d got a detective in town. I told him about you. Do I get commission if it’s a new case?’

I texted back. ‘Yes. Back sometime tomorrow.’

A new case. That was what I needed: something to take my mind off vertigo and buried girls.

‘About this party,’ Maddy went on. ‘I need to buy Pepsis, beer and Breezers, crisps and nuts. It’s going to be great. We can bring some taped music, go dancing under the stars.’

‘You may need permission,’ I said dubiously, seeing another late night steering Maddy back to her bed.

‘Why? It’s public property, isn’t it? Who’s to know anyway?’

‘Are you asking your dad to the party?’

‘Heavens, no. No old people. But you can come,’ she said graciously. ‘I’ll make an exception for you.’

‘How kind,’ I said, equally gracious.

But James would not be included. Practically ancient.

I could see another hectically busy afternoon, the wasp ferrying party food and crates of drink from the big supermarket near the station. Maddy was not able to buy the beer and the Bacardi Breezers. She was underage. I had to do it. So I was useful. I existed solely as her dogsbody. Did Shakespeare invent that phrase? It sounded Shakespearean. He invented most of today’s phrases.

I got a second text from Mavis. This man wants his wife
found, she wrote. Ye gods, another domestic. I texted back: ‘Have got brilliant new car, can find anyone, anywhere.’

The afternoon passed in a haze of shopping. I never wanted to see another shop, only mine. I went into a trance. I could drive on automatic pilot. Hotel to shop. Shop to hotel. Dump supplies at clock tower. I was in taxi mode. ‘You’ve got to dress up,’ said Maddy, still on a high.

‘I’ll come as a street vagabond. I’ll find a shawl.’

‘Cool.’

Ross wasn’t there but some of the jazz lovers had hung over, not wanting to go home yet. I recognized a couple of musicians from the youth jazz band. Maddy had texted them. The news had gone round. I was glad to see her transfer interest to a younger generation. Ross would hurt her eventually.

Breezers or a Pepsi? Not exactly my drink but then I was driving. A slight drawback emerged when it was found that the clock tower was locked at night, but the party transferred itself to the rock and shingle garden walk below. No one seemed to mind. Most of the fancy dress was unidentifiable. Anything flowing or weird was Ye Olde London. I was shawl and tramp.

I had to be there. The paint maniac might strike again. He might be any of the gyrating youngsters in costume. How could I recognize a drowned man in a cowl and monk’s robe? I don’t know why that thought came into my head but it was the perfect disguise. We had several monks. They were popular in London, begging, living off hand-outs. Much like today’s homeless but not selling the
Big Issue.

At some point while I was drinking my Bacardi Breezer diluted with Pepsi, which was revolting, I noticed that Maddy was not there. She was not dancing on the walk below nor snuggling up in one of the clock tower recesses.

My wasp was empty although she could not have got into my car without breaking a lock. She would not have gone swimming on this particular stretch of water: no beach, just a shelf of pebbles. It would need a lot of lavender to improve on the fishy smell.

I started to spread the word. ‘Has anyone seen Maddy? When did you last see her? Do you know where she has gone? She is only fourteen.’

‘No idea. We thought she was dancing.’

A few of the more responsible youngsters fanned out, looking for her along the walk and the gardens. She might have gone anywhere.

Someone found her basket of lavender. It was strewn on the pavement leading back to town. I was getting a really bad feeling. There was a stampede into town, hunting along twittens and alleyways. The booze had run out anyway so the party was over. I followed, my head buzzing with possibilities. I was sick with worry.

It wasn’t me who found her or heard her. It was the top trumpeter from the youth jazz band. She was in the jail house, the ‘cooler’, locked in, a creepy dark place, screaming her head off. There was nothing I could do, except talk to her through the grille. I sat on an uncomfortable stone ledge nearby. The uneven edge bit into my bottom. But I had to stay there.

‘Calm down, Maddy,’ I said. ‘You are safe now. What can you tell me? How did you get in here?’

‘It was a m-monk,’ she sobbed, from within the depths. I couldn’t even see Maddy in the dark. She was huddled somewhere. ‘He said he was a friend of Ross. He said he had a gift for me. Something s-special from Ross. Ross has n-never ever given me a present before.’