Jazz and Die (7 page)

‘Sure,’ I said. My cheese omelette was already a distant memory. ‘There’s a great fish and chip restaurant right on the front, highly recommended.’

‘I know the place, the one on the corner? It serves round the clock. And get a taxi. You’ll be soaked in this downpour.’

Maddy was valiantly helping Ross to carry his gear out to his van. I saw her disappear through the tent flap with some of the drum stands. Next I heard a scream. It was indeed a scream that could stop traffic.

I ran outside, half blinded by the rain. Maddy was standing in the middle of the field, her arms outstretched in terror. She had dropped the stands. Huddled at her feet was a heap of black and white material and a seeping puddle of red.

It took me a few seconds to recognize that it was a woman. It was the black and white umbrella woman on the street parade this morning. But now the sharp ferrule of the decorated umbrella had been planted into her chest. The seeping red was blood.

I
rushed over to the woman and knelt down onto the grass. I felt for a pulse in her neck. It was faint but it was there. I didn’t touch the umbrella.

‘Where’s your phone?’ I said to Maddy. I’d left my bag under the bar. But she was still screaming hysterically, unable to do anything except open her mouth. I pulled her back into the marquee, grabbed my phone out of my bag and dialled 999.

‘Ambulance and police,’ I said. ‘The top field near the seafront where the jazz festival is being held. Swanage. A woman has been stabbed. She’s still breathing but only just. Hurry.’

I didn’t wait to give them my name and address. I wanted something to cover the woman to keep in her body heat. My new silky top was hardly suitable; neither were Maddy’s T-shirts. There was a sleeping bag rolled up behind the bar, stored from the previous night’s vigil. I hauled it out and hurried outside to the woman. A crowd had gathered, undeterred by the rain.

‘Don’t touch anything!’ I shouted. A man was on his knees, trying to remove the umbrella. ‘Don’t touch it!’ I shouted again. ‘You could do more damage than good. Leave it alone.’

‘But shouldn’t we try to get it out?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Let the medics do it.’ Didn’t he ever watch those helicopter rescue shows on television? Latching police had always been glued to them. I unrolled the sleeping bag, carefully easing her into the recovery position, covered her so that at least there was some warmth. It was sleeting now, the wind flinging the rain
into horizontal shafts. I was soaked through although I didn’t notice until later.

‘Close the gates,’ I said to today’s chief steward, the short harassed one. He was even more harassed now. He was white-faced and sweating. ‘No one should leave. There might be a witness. The police will want to question everyone.’

‘The police?’ he mumbled. ‘What about the festival? Will they close it?’ He had already forgotten all the emergency and first aid training given to the stewarding group. I’d read the rule book and hand-out given to every steward.

Patience, Jordan, I said to myself. Keep calm. ‘The police and ambulance are on their way. I suggest you ask everyone to return to the marquee and sit down and wait. No point in everyone getting drenched.’

Maddy. I’d forgotten all about her.

‘That’s Elsie Dunlop,’ said someone. ‘She’s a regular on the parade with her umbrella.’

‘Will you stay with her for a moment?’ I asked the same onlooker. He looked steady and reliable. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

‘Certainly, miss.’ He put up a striped golf-size umbrella to keep some of the rain off Elsie Dunlop and himself. ‘Anything you say.’

I went back through the flap, dreading what I might find. Another stabbing? But Maddy was sitting on the stage, being consoled by Ross. He was patting her hand, if you could call that consoling. She was sniffing and sobbing, mascara on the run again.

I hurried over to him. ‘Thank goodness. Keep her warm, keep her calm, give her something to drink and don’t let her out of your sight.’

‘It’s my turn to babysit, is it?’ he said. ‘Is the woman outside going to be all right? Looked pretty lethal.’

‘We don’t know yet. Hardly all right with an umbrella in her chest. Must go. I can hear the sirens coming up the hill. They were pretty quick.’

The field was suddenly a mass of lights, police and paramedics
arriving at the same time. The Scenes of Crime Officer was already unrolling his tape. No music in the marquee tonight. They would dust every blade of grass for prints.

A female detective inspector had arrived in the first police car. She was slim and short with raven black hair cut smoothly to frame her face. She was wearing a navy waterproof with a high collar. She flashed her ID card at me but I couldn’t catch her name. She was high-octane efficiency.

‘Did you find the victim?’ she asked me curtly.

‘No, it was Maddy Peters. She’s inside the marquee, very upset. I made the 999 call.’

‘You’re supposed to give your name and address. It could have been a hoax.’ She was quite abrupt, standing feet astride.

‘I thought it was more important to take care of the stabbed woman. There was no time to waste on details. You can have my name and address now.’

‘Where’s this Paddy Peters?’

‘Maddy Peters. She’s in the marquee. She’s only fourteen.’

‘Then I need an adult present before I can speak to her.’

‘There is an adult with her now. His name is Ross Knighton. He’s a drummer with the festival.’

Her expression said that anyone who was a drummer could hardly be an adult too. Did DCI James have to work with this woman? I began to feel a certain amount of sympathy.

‘He’s taking care of her.’

The paramedics, as efficient as always, were working on Elsie Dunlop, fixing an oxygen mask on her face, putting her on a saline drip. They were wrapping her in foil, the umbrella still in place, wondering how to get her into the ambulance with the attachment. It was a big umbrella.

‘We could saw off the handle,’ one suggested.

‘Too much friction,’ said the other.

‘You need a cradle for it,’ said the same sensible onlooker who had recognized Elsie Dunlop. ‘I’ll make one in a jiffy.’ He went back into the marquee and returned with several empty crates and a roll of duct tape. ‘Will these make a cradle? A bit on the
makeshift but the best I can do.’

There was hardly any room in the back of the ambulance once they got Elsie on a stretcher, the umbrella cradled in crates and the medic beside her. I was glad when the doors closed. The sleeping bag was left on the grass. It was still only afternoon. It felt much longer.

Her name was apparently DI Ruth Macclesfield. She and her officers were marshalling everyone, efficiently but without making many friends. She wanted every name and address.

‘But when can we go? I’ve got a stroller ticket. Another gig to go to.’

‘No one is leaving yet.’

‘You also need to ask where they are staying in Swanage,’ I said to her in passing. ‘They have come from far and wide for this festival. It’s famous. You might want to speak to some of them again before they go home.’

She glared at me and said something to a nearby constable.

‘And who are you?’ she asked. ‘Fast lady to the phone, but reluctant to identify yourself. Name and address, please.’

‘My name is Jordan Lacey. I’m staying at the Whyte Cliffside Hotel.’ My new flat’s address in Latching was barely imprinted on my memory. I couldn’t remember the exact postcode. I could only remember the vertigo.

‘Home address?’

‘Currently moving,’ I said. Now that sounded really suspicious. I rummaged through my shoulder bag to see if I had written anything down anywhere. There was no letter or card and nothing attached to the front door key, except a blue plastic dog tag with eyes that swivelled. I could hardly say that I had forgotten the exact address, having bought the flat in a hurry, but that it was on the fourth floor, facing the sea, above a well-known supermarket and restaurant.

‘I can vouch for this young woman,’ said DCI James, not betraying by the flicker of an eyelash that he had once kissed me quite passionately in a fishing boat. That had been a happy day.
‘Her name is Jordan Lacey. I have known her for three or four years from my previous deployment in West Sussex. She was a police officer, now retired from the force.’

‘If you say so, sir,’ said DI Macclesfield dubiously.

‘Carry on, Ruth. You’re doing a good job.’

He turned to me. ‘What can you tell me, Jordan? Is Maddy all right? Where is she?’ He led me to an almost empty row of chairs. I sat down with relief. My legs were beginning to feel the strain and I was very wet. My jeans clung to my legs. Thank goodness my hat wasn’t soaked, too. Cowboy hats had a certain resistance to the weather.

I told James all that I knew, which wasn’t very much. I hadn’t noticed Elsie Dunlop sitting anywhere at the gig although I had been pretty busy at the bar. Nor had I heard her scream. I’d only heard Maddy screaming.

‘Is there any possible way that the attacker could have mistaken Miss Dunlop for Maddy?’ James asked.

I shook my head. ‘They don’t look alike at all. They weren’t dressed alike. No way. Maddy was on the field, carrying gear out to Ross’s van,’ I said. ‘Our Maddy isn’t similar to Miss Dunlop in any respect: different age, height, clothes.’

‘I’ll have a word with Ross.’ James returned moments later. ‘Apparently Miss Dunlop had spoken to Ross afterwards, but only briefly, saying how much she enjoyed his “Sing, Sing, Sing”. So she was in the marquee for the show?’

‘Her last words,’ I said forlornly. ‘If only she hadn’t spoken to him. Maybe somehow the attacker confused the two of them.’

‘Or deliberately confused them. Maybe it was another warning to Chuck Peters. Pay up or this is what will happen to your daughter.’

‘Pay up? Has there been another demand?’

‘Did he tell you?’

‘No, nothing about another demand. And another weird thing. It was pouring with rain but her umbrella wasn’t up. It was unfurled.’

‘Perhaps Miss Dunlop didn’t want it to get wet. All those
elaborate decorations. Not for normal usage.’

I couldn’t imagine it. Her hair, her hat, her smart dress. Surely her first thought would have been to protect them from the rain?

‘I think someone stole or borrowed her umbrella,’ I said. ‘Find that person and you may have her attacker.’

DCI James sighed. ‘You make life so much fun, Jordan,’ he sighed. ‘I love your priorities. Now I’m looking for a lost umbrella. I shall be at Poole Hospital all evening, in case Miss Dunlop regains consciousness. If she could give us a description, we’d have something to work on.’

He went over to talk to DI Ruth Macclesfield. ‘Are you sure?’ I thought I heard him say. Maddy was calming down now. Ross was agitated, checking the air for me. He waved me over.

‘Hi, Jordan. I have to play at the con club in fifteen minutes with the Wilson Boys Trio. It takes me that long to unpack and set up my kit. I have to go. They are my mates. I can’t let them down.’

The marquee was almost empty. It looked forlorn.

‘Of course not, Ross. You go off and do your stuff.’ I nearly commented on his brilliant ‘Sing, Sing, Sing’ but thought it might be tempting fate. Last words and all that. ‘Break a leg.’

‘I need the loo,’ Maddy whimpered. I knew she would refuse point blank to use the portable loos lined up at the end of the field. I didn’t blame her. They were always damp. And it was still raining.

‘I don’t have a magic wand,’ I said. ‘I can’t produce a sole-use en suite for you in the middle of a field. You’ll have to wait.’ It was all those diet cokes she drank.

‘Think of something,’ she said. ‘Fast.’

‘My hat?’

This brought a glimmer of a smile to her wan face and took her mind off her bladder. She should have strong muscles at her age. DCI James came strolling back, looking grave. His short hair was silvered with raindrops.

‘No one seems to remember Miss Dunlop even being at this afternoon’s session,’ he said. ‘That’s puzzling. She’s a striking-looking woman. No one sat next to her or behind her. Do you
remember seeing her?’

‘I was chained to the bar, remember?’ I said. ‘Perhaps she was waiting outside. There was a queue.’

‘Oh yes, you were the new serving wench.’

‘What’s a wench?’ Maddy asked.

‘Archaic word for servant,’ I said. ‘My customary role.’

‘I could give you both a lift back to the hotel so you can get into some dry clothes but DI Macclesfield wants you to go to the station first and make a statement, Maddy,’ said DCI James, refastening his waterproof.

‘I need to go to the loo,’ said Maddy anxiously.

‘I believe they have several at the police station. All mod cons.’

It was not a pleasant drive to the police station in the patrol car. The shiny inside smelt of fear and vomit and disinfectant. Maddy huddled into a corner on the back seat, not looking at anything. The driver hardly spoke, but he did offer back a tube of Fruit Gums.

‘I only like the red ones,’ she said petulantly.

‘I’ll have the green one,’ I said, always ready to oblige. ‘The next one looks like red. Thank you.’

I’d seen so many police stations in my life. This one looked no different. Austere concrete and brick surroundings, grey plastic chairs, awful green paint and a tiled floor. But it was equipped with the latest in technology, computers, scanners and printers on desks and coded locked doors.

Maddy followed me reluctantly.

‘Could you direct us to the nearest cloakrooms?’ I said to the desk sergeant before Maddy could get her demands in. ‘It’s rather urgent.’

‘Through the swing doors, first on your left. I can’t spare a female escort.’

‘We don’t need an escort,’ I said, steering Maddy through the swing doors. ‘I’ll look after Maddy.’

The loos were as bleak as always. Chipped white tiles and scratchy paper towels. Four cubicles. We both used them. Maddy changed into her new polar bear T-shirt and busied herself
repairing her face. The Passionate Peach came out again. I could hardly put on my black silk so I stayed damp.

The statement didn’t take long. What could Maddy say? I sat beside Maddy, being the required adult present. She gave her name, address and age.

‘Tell me in your own words,’ said DI Macclesfield, her eyes like peanuts. Perhaps she had missed her lunch.

‘I came out of the marquee with the sticks pad to take to Ross’s van. I’d been helping Ross. I’m his assistant. It was raining and I could hardly see where I was going and then I nearly fell over this woman. She was right in my way,’ Maddy added truculently. ‘There was blood everywhere. It was h-horrible.’

She began to cry again but not much because the mascara was fresh. Cosmetic firms must make a fortune out of her, I thought.

‘Did you see anyone running away?’ asked DI Macclesfield, leaning forward. I could see a tan make-up smudge on the neck of her white shirt. It was the wrong shade for her skin. Very unprofessional. I had always kept a spare white shirt in my desk and spare underwear. You never knew when you might need a quick change.