Jazz and Die (19 page)

We both got a couple more hours of sleep, Chuck flaked out on the sofa. Then Maddy was up, bouncing around, pleased to see her dad, telling him everything she had done. The sun was already up and we had a simple breakfast on the balcony.

‘Sorry about the tatty bamboo chairs and the table. Left behind by the last tenant,’ I said. Rolls, fruit, cereal and coffee. Simple was the word.

‘So pack all your things, sweetheart,’ said Chuck. ‘We’re off on our hols. We deserve a holiday.’

‘A holiday? Wow, that’s great. Is Jordan coming with us?’

‘Not this time. It’s just you and me.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘It’s a surprise. I’ve phoned for a taxi to pick us up in half an hour so you had better get moving. I’ve parked my car in the
multi-storey. I’ve left it in the long-stay bay and paid for two months. Then we’ll be back for when school starts in September. Maybe a new school.’

‘What about your instruments?’ I asked. ‘Your precious trumpets?’

Chuck waved towards an oddly shaped black leather zipped case, on its side in the hallway. ‘I never move without them,’ he said.

Maddy had forgotten about the shop in the excitement of a holiday with her dad. She flung her clothes back into her suitcase. It would barely shut. In no time the taxi driver rang my entrance bell and it was time for them to go. Maddy gave me a big hug. She was elated with the prospect of a flight to some holiday spot where she could get an all-over tan.

‘I’ll send you a postcard,’ she promised. ‘Don’t forget that holiday job. I’m coming back.’

‘Have a great time,’ I said, hugging her back. ‘Take care.’

Then they were both gone and the flat was empty. It was barely nine o’clock. The whole day seemed meaningless without Maddy. She had been the centre of my universe for the last week, every moment taken up with keeping her safe.

I stood in the kitchen, looking at the green expanse before me, now bathed in morning sunshine. The fields were dotted with specks of sheep.

Chuck’s envelope was tucked behind the tea caddy. I opened it. There was a wedge of ten pound notes. I didn’t count them. It seemed too mercenary to count them. Certainly enough to jazz up my wardrobe. And maybe buy new furniture for the balcony.

If I lived long enough.

DCI James seemed to think time was limited.

N
ow that Maddy had gone, I saw no point in staying in the flat or staying under cover. Maddy had been the target, not me. At least, I thought so. I needed to open my shop and be available for any new clients.

I let the air out of the airbed and put it away in a cupboard. It might come in useful if I ever had another visitor. In no time, all trace of Maddy and Chuck had gone. It took a bit longer to remove Maddy’s presence from the bathroom. She had left half of her cosmetics behind. I put them in a bag and stowed them on an empty shelf in the kitchen. Maybe she would come back one day.

I went out of my flat and locked up. For once I felt no waves of vertigo as I walked along the open walkway. It was like a new freedom. I even looked over the rail to check on the wasp. It was still in her parking place. All was well.

There was a lot of activity happening on the beach. Big screens were being erected on the two beach areas either side of the lido, lengths of cabling laid along the pebbles, being secured and covered. Had I missed something?

Then I spotted the scaffolding going up at the end of the pier and another big television screen, facing the shore. Maddy was going to miss the birdman event. She would have loved it. Two days of professional and unprofessional birdmen (and women) launching themselves off the pier in various winged contraptions for the £25,000 prize for the longest flight.

It would be such fun. Hundreds of people were already packed on the beach below. Not an inch of sand to spare. Coastguards were preparing their orange rubberized boat to go out to rescue birdmen who ditched in the water, dragging their flight machines back to the shore. They would be busy.

But I still had to work. I walked to First Class Junk and let myself in. Perhaps I ought to do birdman windows but Maddy’s windows were better. There were a few customers, mostly browsing. Another Wade figure went to a good home but that was all. Everyone was on the beach, mopping up the sunshine, waiting for the first contestant.

I decided I might as well shut up shop and join them. I hadn’t had a day off or a whole night off for over a week. It would do my mind good to clear it of all the grim clutter and take in some harmless amusement. There would be a police presence, on the lookout for pickpockets and other rogues who thought careless crowds meant good pickings.

There was barely an inch of sand or pebbles to spare on the beach and I only needed a few inches. A scattering of self-sown sea thrift clung to life. Thank goodness for the big screens. At least one got a close-up view of the terror on the contestant’s face as he launched himself off the scaffolding and into the air. This moderate easterly wind might carry contestants into range of the prize money.

‘Jordan? What are you doing down here?’ It was James, in plain clothes, a black T-shirt and washed-out jeans. But his heavy belt gave him away. It was strung with various technological gadgets. I wondered if he had a laser gun.

‘I’ve come to watch the birdmen,’ I said. ‘But I can hardly see a thing. There are so many people in the way.’

James put his hands on my shoulders and gently turned me round, away from the beach. ‘What’s that up there, perched in the air, facing the sea? Nineteen feet of what can you see?’

It was the block of flats where I lived and on the top floor, the fourth, my flat with its nineteen-foot balcony. My balcony. A pigeon was sitting on the rail, gazing down at massed humanity.

‘You’ve got your own view, free apart from the rent, hot and cold running food and drink, a chair with a cushion. I’ll even lend you my binoculars.’

I had forgotten all about my new flat. I thought I was still living in those two backstreet bedsits where the shingle was an imaginary front garden, the sea my pond, the sky my heaven.

‘I’m an idiot,’ I agreed.

‘And maybe Roger Cody is here, among the crowds. He doesn’t know that Maddy has gone. He might recognize you and that would not be in the interests of your safety. I’ll see you back to your flat.’

I gave up my whole one foot square of brown pebbles and a family immediately grabbed the space and set up their territorial signs. James steered me through the crowds, the sun bleating down, hot and relentless. Unprotected skin was already beginning to redden and burn. The St John’s Ambulance volunteers were going to be busy.

I punched in the code for the front entrance. James already knew it. I did not want to let him go. ‘Would you like to join me for supper this evening? Something simple on the forgotten balcony? I could rustle up spaghetti or a salad.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll bring the wine. Don’t open your door to anyone.’

‘Except you.’

‘Except me.’

‘You need a hat.’

James unfolded a black peaked cap from a back pocket and put it on. He looked like someone from a Mafia gangster film. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’

The view from my balcony was amazing. I was up above everyone and I could still read the television screens. James’s binoculars were terrific. If I wanted to make loads of money, I could have sold seats for a tenner a day, fifteen with refreshments. The balcony would take at least ten people before it collapsed under the weight. Note: money-making idea for next year. This could be the start of a big business venture.

A sun hat was essential. I had to root through several bags before I found mine. I had not unpacked even half of my stuff. No wonder Maddy thought my wardrobe needed jazzing up. She had only seen the current regulars.

It was so civilized on the balcony. I took out a tray with celery, radishes, nuts and some fresh water and settled to watch the display of nerves and ingenuity. There were standard winged gliders of different sizes and designs as well as crazy flying beds, tea trolleys, prams and a bicycle with wings. The contestants fell into the sea with regular monotony. I clapped each contestant as they were helped ashore and laughed along with the crowd though no one could see me.

It was a great afternoon, relaxing and healing, plus the bonus of James coming to supper. I would need to do a quick shop downstairs at the supermarket. Shopping list: three different kinds of cheese, garlic, lettuce and tomatoes, cook-in red pepper sauce, herbs, paper napkins and a pot of fresh flowers. I was pulling out all the stops for this man.

I took the safety catch off the door and started to unlock it but the key wouldn’t turn. I tried several times, different angles, different twists, different hands, both hands. The key was jammed in the lock. I couldn’t get out.

There was no point in shouting.

The number of the local Dial-A-Hubby was on my essential list no girl should move without. But the hubby had switched off his mobile. He was probably sitting on the beach, his bald patch going red. This did not merit a 999 call. A jammed lock would be classed as frivolous. I would have to wait till James arrived. Supper would be on the plain side. Would radish and cheese spaghetti pass as gourmet?

I made a fruit salad, laid the balcony table, washed my face and put on a clean T-shirt and waited. And waited. The crowds were drifting off the beach. I could smell the aroma from portable barbecues. Youngsters were staying on to party into the night. They’d brought sausages, loud music, swimsuits and a lot of cans.

By eight o’clock I’d finished the nuts and decided to phone
James. I didn’t know where he was. He could be out on some emergency.

‘Hi, James,’ I said. ‘Supper on the balcony? Remember?’

There was a pause. ‘You cancelled. I got a message.’

I shook my head. ‘No, I didn’t cancel. I didn’t send any message. I’ve been waiting here, except that I can’t get out.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘My lock is jammed. I can’t turn the key. I needed to do some shopping but it’s probably too late now. Maybe there’s still some supermarket open—’

James interrupted me urgently. ‘Don’t touch the key, Jordan. Don’t try to open your door. It could be booby-trapped.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There may be a device fixed to your door. With some explosive. If you open the door, it will blow up in your face.’

It was a very long evening. I hoped James was wrong. If he was right, then the killer knew where I lived, knew which was my car. We were both sitting targets and I was more concerned for the wasp than myself. I had already lost my ladybird. I couldn’t bear to lose another car.

I played some jazz but I wasn’t in the mood for music. I wasn’t in the mood for anything.

Even most of the beach barbeques had gone home before James arrived. He brought with him a squad of men wearing flak jackets. I watched from my kitchen window, ignoring James who waved me away.

A bomb expert, geared up in protective clothing, helmet and goggles, was peering at the door lock. He looked up, grinned, pushed up the visor of his helmet.

‘Blu-Tack,’ he said.

Someone had stuffed Blu-Tack into my door lock. Not exactly a high explosive but weird, to say the least. The expert cleaned out the door lock with a probe and nodded to me. The key turned and the door opened.

No explosion. Shreds of blue sticking to the key. That
threatening note had been fixed to the hotel door with Blu-Tack. Not exactly a vital clue.

The whole squad came in, searched the miniscule flat, planted themselves around on the balcony, ate the fruit salad, radishes, celery and nuts. I opened my last packet of biscuits. James followed with the bottle of wine but he kept it discreetly hidden.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘False alarm but it could have been worse. Home now, boys. Debrief tomorrow.’

I was shattered. Blu-Tack was not exactly high explosive nor was it friendly.

‘It was a warning,’ said James. ‘He’s not sure about you.’

‘I’m not sure about anything,’ I said.

‘I’m staying here tonight. Is that all right with you?’

Not exactly the invitation of a lover but I had to agree to second best. James opened the bottle of wine and we sat on the balcony eating whatever was left of Doris’s shopping. I didn’t care what I ate. I unpacked a box of glass and china and washed my two nineteenth-century twisted-stem wine glasses. They were too beautiful to sell in my shop. The cut glass shone in the moonlight. The glasses made any supermarket wine into a special drink.

The night air was balmy. The nightclub at the end of the pier was flashing neon lights to announce that they were open. Mini-skirted girls were streaming along the pier, hoping to meet the love of their life at a disco.

‘Don’t you wish you were young again?’ I said.

‘I don’t remember ever being young.’

‘I love dancing.’

‘I never learned to dance.’

I tried not to remember hearing about the tragedy of his wife and children. DCI James had suffered more than any human should suffer, yet had carried on working, determined to solve crimes.

‘I am only going to say this once,’ I said, ‘but I admire the way you have carried on. It can’t have been easy. It shows how much courage you have.’

‘It wasn’t courage,’ said James. ‘It was necessity or I would
have gone mad. I think I did go mad, for a while. Work was my only distraction.’ He stood up, yawning. ‘Where shall I sleep?’

It was a tempting question. ‘There are four options,’ I said, keeping my voice practical and steady. ‘You could sleep on the floor but it would be extremely hard. You could sleep on the sofa but you are rather too long for it. You could blow up the air mattress which takes a lot of puffing. Or you could sleep with me. A bit of a tight fit but possibly the most comfortable option.’

I didn’t dare look at him. It was the most brazen thing I had ever said to James over the years. He might be shocked or he might be laughing at me.

‘The fourth option is easily the most inviting,’ said James, not letting me see his eyes. ‘But a tight fit needs a special occasion so I’ll pass on that one and start blowing up your airbed. Where do you keep it?’

I hid my disappointment but I understood about it having to be a special occasion. Any closeness with James would have to be special.

I got out the airbed, put another clean pillowcase on a spare pillow, found a sheet and the sleeping bag. I was almost asleep in the fourth option before James had finished blowing up the airbed. I listened to his breathing and the blowing slowing down. He might have given up and made do with semi-inflation. At least I felt safe with James in the next room, my door left slightly ajar.

My dreams should have been all about James but instead I found myself jumping off the scaffolding at the end of the pier. My wasp had sprouted wings and took me far out to sea before ditching in the water. I gasped as the water rushed over my head and into my mouth.

The coastguard dingy was racing out to rescue me, bouncing on the waves. ‘Save my wasp, save my wasp!’ I shouted but they couldn’t hear me.

I woke up with a start, the words still on my lips. Dawn was filtering through the drawn curtains. I could hear quiet activity in the kitchen, water being drawn from the tap, cupboard doors
opening and shutting. Someone finding their way about a strange room.

James knocked on my door and came in with two mugs of hot tea. He put one on the bedside table and sat on the end of my bed, holding the other. He looked at home, relaxed even, with stubble on his chin and wearing a creased T-shirt and boxer shorts.

‘I learned something interesting last night,’ he said.

I struggled to sit up and still look decent. ‘Oh, what was that?’

‘You talk in your sleep.’

‘What was I saying?’

‘Save my wasp. I think the word was wasp.’

I relaxed. No intimate secret revealed. ‘So now you know. My car is special.’

He sighed elaborately. ‘And I hoped I was special.’

‘Second best to a car,’ I said. I wasn’t going to tell him first thing in the morning when my teeth needed cleaning.