Jazz and Die (16 page)

‘Always close the balcony door. We don’t want an inquisitive pigeon hopping about, looking for scraps.’

The shopping didn’t take long. It was pink, of course. Dark pink one side and bright pink the other, with a hand pump. Maddy produced a credit card. ‘Dad slipped it to me,’ she whispered. ‘Battle of Hastings.’

Chuck ought to change his pin number. It was too easy. We
also bought some milk and a few essentials. I wasn’t into cooking. My repertoire was still soup, salads and sandwiches. Maddy would have to get used to it.

‘Veggie’s OK with me,’ she said. ‘Healthy, isn’t it? I don’t like meat anyway.’

‘You eat burgers.’

‘They’re not meat, are they?’

‘Sort of meat, bits and pieces.’ I was not going to elaborate.

Maddy was actually enjoying herself. I left her pumping up the air mattress. This was a novelty. She might even go to bed early. After our supper snack, on the balcony, watched by a row of beady-eyed pigeons, we went for the promised walk along the pier.

She loved it. The freedom, the space, the strolling holidaymakers enjoying the late evening sunshine. The tide had turned and the sea was washing round the sturdy timber struts. We walked the circuit then went into the amusement arcade. Now she was in her element. She got a pound’s worth of change from a machine and was trying them all.

Jack, the owner, sidled up to me. As always, unshaven, T-shirt stained with coffee. My long-time admirer. ‘Who’s this with you?’ he asked.

‘A visitor. Not staying too long, I hope, or I’ll be exhausted.’

‘At least she’s spending money, not like some I could mention.’ He grinned.

‘Looks like we’ll be coming in every day,’ I sighed.

‘I’ll give you a discount.’

There was a whoop of joy from Maddy. She had managed to grab a large pink elephant out of the soft toy machine but it was too large to go down the chute to freedom.

‘I’ll get it for you, missy,’ said Jack, shaking out a fearsome bunch of keys. ‘No one has managed to snatch the elephant before.’

‘He’s cool. He can sleep on my bed.’

‘What’s your name, missy?’

‘Summer,’ said Maddy, all smiles. She was doing her
enchantment role. Jack was amused. He usually got a bad mouth from the youngsters who came into the arcade.

‘See you tomorrow, then?’

‘You bet.’

Since Maddy now had a prize, I managed to get her to leave. The sky was beginning to darken and I wanted to be back in the safety of the flat. I had work to do for the morrow. There was this new case to contact and my shop to open.

‘Where’s your television?’ she asked as we went in. No trouble with vertigo. The timed lights were illuminating the walkway but I couldn’t see the height.

‘I don’t have a television.’

‘You don’t have a television? You’re living in the Middle Ages, lady. First thing tomorrow then,’ she said mysteriously. ‘Dad’s card, remember? Twenty-one-inch flat screen. It could go in that corner.’

‘Now I have some work to do. I have a new case tomorrow and a shop to open up.’

Her eyes opened wide with surprise. ‘You’ve got a shop? Wow! What does it sell? I can help, you know. I’ll be your assistant. Please? Please?’ She was looking through my old jazz tapes. ‘I see you’ve got some of my dad’s.’

‘I’m a big fan. Remember?’

‘Can I phone him?’ She was suddenly homesick. ‘On his mobile. I want to talk to him.’

‘Ask him to pull over if he’s still driving.’

‘He knows that.’

‘Of course, Maddy. But don’t say exactly where you are, in case your phone is being hacked.’

I left her talking to Chuck on the phone. I thought we had covered our tracks rather well. I thought we were pretty safe. But I was wrong.

M
addy slept on top of the sleeping bag inside a folded sheet with a pillow in a clean pillow case. She kept the pink elephant beside her. It had a reflective sort of face. It was her comfort mascot.

I slept in my own bed with the door open. It was a joy. My bed was so comfortable. It was always my one luxury. The mattress was the right degree of firmness for my back. I slept the sleep of the good and deserving, though what I had done to deserve Maddy indefinitely I was not sure.

In the morning I made mugs of tea, marvelling at the view of God’s country from the kitchen window, the South Downs, now National Trust. My two previous bedsits had one view only, the street below: refuse bins, stragglers on the pavement, cruising cars, gutters with debris.

‘Wake up, sleepyhead,’ I said, putting the tea down beside her. ‘The day has dawned.’

‘This is far too early for it to have dawned,’ she mumbled.

‘Don’t forget, I’m a working woman. I have a shop to open and a client to interview.’

She brightened a fraction. ‘I’d love to work in your shop and sell things. Can I? How shall I know all the prices?’

‘Everything has the same price. Six pounds. It makes life easier. The books are priced individually, inside the cover, unless they are on a fifty-pence shelf or in the sad and abandoned twenty-pence box.’

I’d arranged for the new client to come and see me at half ten. He’d sounded really agitated on the phone.

‘Can’t I come now? It’s really urgent.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m busy, winding up another case.’ The lie came out as smooth as treacle. ‘Tomorrow is the earliest. Don’t worry, Mr Taylor. I shall then be able to devote my entire time to your case. Half past ten tomorrow.’

‘I suppose I shall have to make do with that, then. Or I could find another detective.’

‘It’s entirely your choice,’ I said politely. I was beginning to dislike him already.

We had a quick breakfast of muesli and sliced banana, sitting on the balcony in the early-morning sunshine. The novelty was enough to keep Maddy absorbed in the panorama below, cruising the promenade, cyclists, joggers, dogs being walked, prams being pushed.

‘Look at all those dogs. I’d love a dog, a little fluffy one. We can’t have a dog because pets are not allowed at our flats. We live in a modern block in Hampstead. No decent view at all. Can’t even see the Heath.’

I had sorted the new wares for my shop and they were bagged ready to carry. I didn’t want to take the car. It would be quicker to walk.

First Class Junk had a deserted look. The corner shop needed a dust and fresh air. Even the two small window displays had a tired feeling. People had stopped looking at them. They looked boring.

‘I can do a window,’ said Maddy. ‘Let me do a window. I’ve always wanted to be a window dresser.’ Her ambitions had no limits.

‘All right. You do the side window. I’ll do the front. Keep it simple. No clutter.’

‘Simple and classy,’ she sang out, beginning to remove the unsold items. ‘I need a theme. We learned that at school.’

She had learned something at that expensive school. Not all of
Chuck’s money had been wasted.

I checked that she was handling everything carefully and left her to it. I was no expert. My talent was entirely amateur. I went purely on instinct and what was available.

She put a row of the Disney Wade figures at the front. At the back she stood a
Girl’s Own Annual
, circa 1950. Then at one side she put an Elizabeth II Coronation mug and four un-matching silver teaspoons.

‘That’s pretty good,’ I said. ‘For a first-timer. I like the un-matching spoons, a nice touch.’

‘I don’t know why. It seemed right to put something that didn’t match.’

‘So what is your theme?’

Maddy thought about it, screwing up her face. ‘Childhood. The un-matching spoons are parents breaking up.’

I said nothing. Maddy was talking from experience.

I had two choices when Mr Taylor arrived. Leave Maddy in charge of the shop or close it for the duration of his interview.

‘I can do it,’ said Maddy. ‘It’ll be a doddle.’

‘Any problems, please come back and ask me.’

‘Sure,’ she said. She was busy dusting everything in sight with my special magnetic feather duster. It was supposed to collect the dust, not merely distribute it.

‘I can cope. And I’ll do the right change.’

‘Brilliant.’

I knew it was Mr Taylor, the moment the man arrived. His appearance matched his voice, disgruntled and annoyed. His sandy hair hadn’t seen a comb. His raincoat was not fastened properly and he didn’t own a pot of shoe polish.

‘Come in, Mr Taylor. Come into my office,’ I said, putting on a welcoming smile which was entirely false. It hurt my face.

‘I’m on time.’

‘Excellent. I like a punctual person.’

He sat down on my Victorian button-back chair without being invited. The coffee percolator was already giving out its wonderful aroma. I didn’t use my best bone china mugs in case
they got broken. Two sturdy pottery ones were filled instead.

‘How can I help you?’

‘My wife has left me. I want her back.’

I was not surprised. Any sane woman would leave him if he was always like this. Still, there were always two sides to every story.

I drew up a lined pad. ‘Please give me the details. Everything that you can remember.’

‘Her name is Doreen Taylor. She’s forty-three, that’s ten years younger than myself. We’ve been married fifteen years and have a semi-detached house in Farm Road, north of the station. I’ve done everything for her: never short of money, nice house and furniture, nice car. Holidays, everything. She wants for nothing. But she’s walked out on me. No reason, no letter, nothing.’

‘What did she take with her? And when was this?’

He looked stunned for a moment, as if he had not properly checked around. ‘Nothing, as far as I can see. No clothes, no savings book, no jewellery. It was a week ago. I remember the day exactly because I had to go out in the evening and there was no supper ready.’

‘So she might not have walked out on you. There might be another reason for her disappearance. Have you checked the hospitals? People can fall, get concussion and lose their memories.’

‘Of course I checked the hospitals. Do you think I’m stupid? There’s no trace of her.’

‘Did she take her handbag?’

‘Her handbag has gone. And a photograph of her parents. Don’t know why she took that. They died years ago.’

‘What was she wearing?’

‘I don’t know. She normally wore jeans and a T-shirt of some sort. A fleece or a windcheater. She always looked a mess. I kept telling her to smarten up. It wasn’t as if I didn’t buy her clothes. Always the best.’

‘You chose her clothes?’

‘She had no taste.’

No taste in men either, by the look of it. ‘And what did Doreen look like?’

Again, he was stunned for a moment, as if he didn’t remember. ‘She’s thin even though we have the best of food. Brown hair tied back in a ponytail. I don’t know why she didn’t go to a hairdressers and have it properly cut and set. Eye colour? I don’t know. I never looked.’

But how many husbands do know their wife’s eye colour? This was not unusual. He had watery eyes, no colour at all.

‘Have you brought a photograph of Doreen?’ I kept mentioning her name before she disappeared into the mists of the unknown, the unremembered.

‘Of course I’ve brought a photograph. It’s a holiday snap, last year at Margate. On the beach. It was one of those annoying photographers. We had to buy a copy to get rid of him.’

They were sitting in deckchairs so I couldn’t see Doreen’s height or build. But I could see her face. She had a certain frail prettiness which had long been dampened by sadness. Reg Taylor, on the other hand, was a picture of annoyance, stiff with disapproval.

‘I’ll keep this, if I may. I’ll get it copied and circulated. Someone may have seen your wife.’

‘I want her back.’ He hadn’t touched his coffee. Perhaps he preferred instant. ‘I can’t manage on my own. She’s got to come back.’

I took out a contract form. I was nothing if not businesslike. ‘My rates are ten pounds an hour or fifty pounds a day. The day rate is a bargain. A whole day and often half a night.’ I tried to lighten my voice, turn it into a joke.

Reg Taylor was also a miser. I was not surprised. ‘Ten pounds an hour? That’s outrageous,’ he said.

‘Cleaners get paid more than that these days.’

‘Fifty pounds a day? Do you think I’m made of money? How many days will this take?’

‘It depends on where she is and what has happened to her. I’m not a medium. I can’t see into the past.’

Maddy put her head round the door. ‘Sis? A moment, please.’

‘This is the contract, Mr Taylor. Please sign it if you want me to find your wife.’

I went out into the shop and leaned on the counter, taking deep breaths.

‘I thought you needed a break,’ said Maddy. ‘I’ve sold two Wade figures already. The money is in the drawer. Do I get commission?’

I had to laugh. Maddy was looking really pleased with herself. ‘I’ll think about it. You may put me out of business.’

‘A nice lady called Doris came into the shop. She brought some fruit for you. She’s going to bring me some Pepsi. Her shop sells food and drink and lots of things.’

‘That’s great. I’ll thank her. Doris has a shop a few doors down. I must go back to Mr Taylor. He may have changed his mind about employing me, in which case we are back on the breadline.’

‘Not exactly,’ said Maddy. ‘You’re forgetting my dad’s card.’

She seemed to think that her dad’s card was the answer to everything and I suppose it was.

Reg Taylor had filled in the details, signed the contract and thrown ten crumpled notes onto my desk. ‘There you are, two days’ full money. That’s all I’m going to pay. And I expect results in that time.’

‘Is that all Doreen is worth to you?’ I could not stop myself asking.

‘I’m not made of money. And you can’t count this as a whole day.’

I had forgotten to ask Reg Taylor what he did for a living, what bought the nice furniture, the nice car, the nice holidays. But it was too late now. He had stalked out of the shop, slamming the door.

‘Are all your clients as nasty as that one?’ asked Maddy. She was sorting through books and had put one aside that had glossy photos of current pop stars in it.

‘No, some are really nice. I found a lady’s lost tortoise. We are
still friends. Sometimes she brings me a cake.’

‘Probably a tortoise cake?’ Maddy fell about, laughing at her own dreadful joke. It was the first time I had seen her almost normal. She’d had a childhood without a mother, surrounded by jazz musicians, packed off to boarding school. Nothing normal. Except that her father loved her. That was obvious. ‘Can I have this book? It’s got some great photos.’

‘Yes. It can count as your commission.’

She looked at the price inside the cover. ‘That’s fair. Thanks.’

‘I think we both need some lunch,’ I said later. The copper tray had gone. I knew it wouldn’t stay long in the window. ‘I know a good Mexican restaurant just along the road.’

My dear Mexican friend, the owner, was not there, but his staff remembered me and we got the best of service. Maddy was careful. She had not had Mexican food before and some of it was very hot. The staff brought her a glass of iced water.

‘You know some nice people,’ she said, tucking into a chicken enchilada. ‘As well as some nasty people.’

I spent the afternoon rechecking the West Sussex hospitals and A&E departments. I did not trust Reg Taylor’s account. Doreen Taylor could be anywhere, concussed, blissfully tucked away from the dominating Reg.

But they had no record. I got the holiday snap photocopied and pinned them up around the town, followed by Maddy.

‘This is awful,’ she said. ‘It’s like those lost cat photos you see on lamp posts.’

‘We have to do it. Someone may have seen her. They need only get in touch with me. I’m a sort of middleman.’

‘Middlewoman.’

Maddy was flagging. She had never had such a busy day. It was normal for me. I was used to long hours on my feet. We headed back to the flat. It was still daylight. I felt the usual apprehension as we got out of the lift and began the trek along the open walkway. I did not look down. I still had to fetch the pink velvet stool.

‘Look, there’s your car,’ said Maddy, peering over the rail. It was no surprise. It was where I had parked it. ‘Can we go for a drive? What do you call it? The bumble bee?’

‘The wasp.’

‘But wasps have stripes. Your car hasn’t any stripes.’

‘The luggage rack has black metal stripes. And the engine buzzes.’

Maddy went into inventing new names for my car. It was a new game. She suggested banana, milkshake, yellow pepper, lemon and by the time she got to scrambled egg, we had reached my front door. As I put my key in the door, a tall figure emerged from the far end, where the walkway rounded a viewing corner. It gave me a shock to see him. He paused and then came striding towards me.

‘Hi there, Jordan. Maddy. Had a busy day?’

‘Jordan! It’s your nice dishy detective. He’s come to see you. That’s good, we can all sit on the balcony and drink wine. Have you got any wine?’

I was glad to see him but knew instantly this was not a social call. James wouldn’t have driven all the way from Dorset to find out how I was and drink wine on the balcony.

‘Hi there,’ I said. ‘How did you get in past the door code?’

‘One of your neighbours buzzed me in. She thought I looked a reliable sort of visitor.’ He caught my stricken look. ‘Sorry, Jordan, that’s not exactly true. She recognized me from when they had vagrants sleeping in the foyer and she called 999. I answered the call.’

‘Come in. I’ll make some tea,’ I said, bustling straight into the minuscule kitchen. I loved the light wood fitted cupboard doors and granite-style worktops. The microwave was installed at one end, my toaster at the other. I remembered my bedsit kitchen corner with its draining board and a tap.

‘Wonderful view,’ said James, looking out at the South Downs. ‘A bit different from your other place.’