Jazz and Die (8 page)

‘No.’

‘Did you see anyone acting suspicious at all?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Anyone who looked different.’

‘You mean anyone with vampire teeth or a neck covered in blood?’ Maddy was recovering her wits quickly.

Ruth Macclesfield was not amused. She had a seriously injured woman in Poole Hospital and a vicious attacker at large. I had a fellow feeling for her but said nothing. She didn’t generate sympathy.

‘You must remember something.’

‘All I remember is masses of blood.’

‘That’s all for now but if you think of anything, please let me know. I’ll get your statement printed out and when you have signed it, you can go. I take it you can read and write?’

Ouch. Below the belt, DI Macclesfield. And hardly necessary.

‘Miss Peters took her mock GCSE exams this year,’ I said. ‘We will forget you said that. Discriminatory remark.’

DI Macclesfield made no comment but left the room with the laptop.

‘What did I say?’ Maddy was bewildered.

‘Nothing. Don’t worry. She’s stressed out. She’s got an attempted murder on her hands and no clues.’

I phoned for a taxi. We didn’t want to arrive at the hotel in a police car. The sooner we got back to some sort of normality, the better. As I suspected, Maddy had no intention of missing the evening gig in her new self-appointed role as assistant to Ross.

Whyte Cliffside Hotel appeared out of the rain, a haven of peace and civilization. The manager met us in the foyer; word had spread fast. He appeared quite concerned.

‘Please ask for anything that you want,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you would like room service in your room, some privacy. People can be so intrusive.’

‘Thank you, that’s very kind,’ I said. ‘We’ll order a late tea or early supper or whatever is on the menu.’

‘I have to go to Dad’s evening gig in Marquee One,’ said Maddy. She was recovering fast from her fright.

‘First, a hot shower, a change of clothes and something to eat,’ I said firmly. ‘And lock your door. Only open it to me. I will bring your room service order.’

She looked as if she was about to object but then saw the sense of it. ‘OK, Jordan, if you say so. I’ll only open the door to you. But I still want to go out this evening.’

I pushed her towards the lift. ‘First things first,’ I said firmly. I was the one who was desperate for a hot shower and some dry clothes. I was damp and clammy and harrowed by events. That comfy bed beckoned me. Half an hour with my feet up and I would be as right as rain.

Wrong word. It was raining hard. But the jazz enthusiasts would still turn up in hoodies and waterproofs, no doubt about that.

Maddy ordered a cheeseburger, diet coke and a banana split. I
took the tray in to her. She opened the door carefully, wrapped in a big towelling robe. She’d washed her hair as well. It was rolled up in big rollers.

‘Don’t leave without me,’ I said. ‘We’ll go together. We’ll go in my car.’

‘I didn’t know you’d got a car.’

‘Wait till you see it, Maddy. You’re in for a surprise.’

‘As long as I don’t have to push it,’ she said, with a surprising touch of humour. She closed her door and I heard her locking it.

The hot shower was a dream. I stood under it, mesmerized. My supper tray arrived. I had ordered a crab salad, roll and butter and a fruit yogurt. There was also a miniature of three-star brandy on the tray which obviously the manager thought I might need. He was right. A few sips warmed me up immediately.

I sat on the comfy armchair re-reading the rules and hand-out which Tom Lucas had given me. It was all there: what to do in an emergency. But nothing actually covered someone being stabbed with an umbrella.

My supper was delicious. I ate the lot. I could have nodded off so I made some black coffee to keep myself awake. My phone rang. It was probably Maddy demanding to be taken somewhere.

But it was James. His voice went straight to my heart. The man held my happiness in his voice, in his eyes, in his smile. But he didn’t know it.

‘I’m calling from Poole Hospital. Are you both all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes, the dragon didn’t eat us. Plenty of spitting fire. A bit scorched round the edges.’

He absorbed this information, then he chuckled. The sound I loved. ‘I get bitten every day.’

‘Why don’t you take her out for a drink? Get her drunk. She might mellow.’ But I didn’t mean it. I didn’t want James to have anything to do with his soulless detective inspector.

‘I think it’s been tried,’ he said with resignation. ‘She has a concrete-lined stomach.’

‘That explains the frozen face.’

‘Jordan, I have something to tell you which I think you ought to know. It is relevant to the unfortunate attack on the field this afternoon.’

‘Oh no, poor soul, has Elsie Dunlop died?’ The words caught in my throat.

There was a pause. ‘It’s not that she has died. But she’s not Elsie Dunlop. She is a
he
.’

‘What? I don’t understand. What do you mean?’

‘Elsie Dunlop is a man.’

That explained all the make-up.

M
addy was impressed by my wasp. She walked round the car as if the yellow beauty was something beamed down from outer space.

‘This is actually your car? You own it?’ She ran her hand over the wet and gleaming yellow bodywork. ‘It’s fabulous. I wish Dad would get something like this. He drives a stupid, middle-class black Saab.’

I won’t hear a word against Saabs. James drives a Saab. It suits him; solid and reliable but with a hint of speed when necessary. It could ram a tank.

Maddy was done up to the ears in a red parka with fur-trimmed hood. She looked like a little animal peeking out from under the fur. It was still raining. Where had the glorious morning gone? It was a different country, sodden with water, an empty beach with pock-marked sand, boats moored, but the restaurants, cafes, theatre and jazz venues were packed. Dark clouds swarmed over the sky as if in combat for the grimmest face. I heard a distant rumble of thunder, saw a far crack of lightning. The sky had got indigestion.

I unlocked the car and climbed in before my newly washed hair got a second rinse. Maddy was fast after me, sliding in, not finding the slow-slung roof any problem. She shook off the rain once inside. I hoped the wasp would start after its lonely wait in the headland hotel car park.

The car responded immediately, sweet thing, with a low throb.
Obviously longing for something to do, somewhere to go. She needed taking out every day. Tomorrow I would give her bodywork a loving polish. Shopping: buy best polish, soft cloths.

‘Let’s go,’ said Maddy merrily. ‘Shame we can’t put the roof down. That would be fab.’

I had never put the roof down yet. It was not automatic. You had to unfasten clips, do some folding thing with the windows and unzip something else. Mike Reed had explained but I had only been half listening, dazzled by the prospect of imminent ownership.

I reversed slowly out of the car park, hardly able to see in the rain-splashed mirror. It was not a long way down the hill, then along the coast road and take a right up towards the jazz fields. Five minutes at the most. It would take longer to find a parking space.

‘Let’s go for a spin,’ said Maddy excitedly. ‘We’re quite early. Ross can set up his own stuff for once. I’m not his slave, his wench.’

‘OK,’ I said. I didn’t argue with her. James had given me a map of the area. I would have to drive carefully because of the recent miniature brandy. I didn’t want to collect any points. ‘We’ll go up to the top of the headland, towards the golf course and Langton Matravers. There’s a special quarry site called Dancing Ledge that looks like a long cliff walk from the road. Another time, perhaps. And there is the Great Globe at Durlston Country Park. All worth a visit.’

‘I’m not into history much,’ said Maddy, pulling down her hood. Her newly washed hair was still in big rollers.

It was a steep climb; the road seemed almost vertical. I had to go into the lowest gear. The wasp responded with a rasping growl, her wheels gripping the wet road with confidence. The road was lined with guest houses and small hotels. Thank goodness we weren’t staying here. The walk uphill would have killed me.

‘Wow, what a hill,’ I said. ‘Maybe one in four?’

On the top of the headland the air was clearer; it was still
raining but the wind was blowing it inland. We could see misty miles of rolling white-topped waves, each crested and tumbling towards the cliffs. Even Maddy seemed mesmerized by the surging power of the sea, thrashing against the rocks.

‘Nature’s open book, this is called,’ I said. ‘There have been a lot of shipwrecks along this coast. I saw a whole history of shipwrecks in the library.’

‘Not much of an open book today. Can hardly see a thing.’

‘I think we ought to go back soon,’ I said. ‘We don’t want your dad to get worried about you.’

‘He worries about everything,’ said Maddy. ‘He thinks I’m five years old, still playing with plasticine in kindergarten.’

I asked what I had been wanting to know but had been unable to find out. ‘Is your mother still around?’ It had to be carefully worded. She might have died from one of the dreaded female illnesses.

‘You bet she’s still around but not around for Dad or me.’ Maddy almost snorted. ‘She went off with some jazz musician, not even a famous one. They are always broke, live in a caravan half the time, play at one-night gigs in pubs. I once saw him playing his sax in the street with a hat on the pavement. There was about fifty pence in it. I nearly died of embarrassment.’ She paused, then added: ‘But he did play well. Good clear notes, good control.’

‘Did he know you?’

‘No. I’ve never met him, thank goodness. I might spit in his face.’

I was sorry I’d brought up the past. I turned the car carefully in a lay-by and headed back toward the town. ‘Is Ross playing tonight?’ I said, changing the subject. Maddy’s thoughts switched immediately.

‘You bet. Ross’ll be there. Acid jazz tonight. Acid jazz digs the new breed, you know. Wait till you hear it.’

Acid jazz was not part of my scene. I liked mainly swing and blues and big band jazz. I wasn’t even sure what acid jazz was.

The wasp climbed the shorter hill to the jazz field and I
let Maddy out after she had removed her rollers and brushed through the big waves. Marquee Two was still cordoned off with SOC tape, definitely not in use. Only Marquee One was functioning tonight. Stewards had laid coarse matting across the grass to the entrance to prevent mud being stamped inside.

The field was already a swamp. The rain wasn’t draining away down to the sea as it ought to. The field must be sitting on rock. Maybe Jurassic rock. Maybe the dinosaur bones were getting a shake-up with the jazz rocking.

The wasp was small enough to fit in a tiny parking space that had been overlooked by bigger cars. She backed in easily and the engine died with a sound that almost asked me not to leave her too long.

‘Won’t be long,’ I promised. Now I was talking to a car.

Tom Lucas caught sight of me from the booking office. ‘Thank goodness you’re here. We have twice as many people coming because of the cancellation next door. We’re going to put in some extra rows of seats. No leg room for anyone tonight. Can you help?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Let’s get it done.’

Nobody wanted to move once they had got a seat. It took all my persuasion and wacky charm to get the extra rows in. ‘There’s a special prize tonight,’ I improvised. ‘It’s hidden under one of these extra chairs. It’s a voucher for Chuck Peters’ latest CD.’

It got people moving. There was an immediate shift.

Tom was amused and grateful. ‘I’ll pay for it,’ he offered. ‘No need for you to fork out. Do you know how Miss Dunlop is?’

I shook my head. I didn’t want to say too much. DCI James had told me in confidence. ‘Still unconscious, I think. She’s under guard at Poole Hospital.’

‘Oh dear, poor woman. I wonder what caused such an awful attack.’

‘We might never know.’

I had my own theory. She/he had recognized someone. Someone who did not want to be recognized. Someone from her/his previous life. That might be the answer. Clear as soggy mud.

‘We’ll know when she regains consciousness. She may be able to give a good description of her attacker.’

‘It hasn’t stopped the crowds coming in. I thought there might be a drop in numbers but all the venues are reporting a big turnout. Thank goodness. We have to cover costs. The festival gets more expensive every year and we don’t want to put ticket prices up.’

I agreed. ‘People can’t keep paying more and more. There is a limit to their pockets, especially these days.’

The marquee was swarming with people, body heat, wet clothes, muddy feet. It would soon be steaming. It was like being in a sauna.

I asked around about acid jazz. I got a variety of answers. It was infectiously catchy early hits. It came to life on the dance floor. It had party energy. It united style tribes. I was beginning to like the sound of it, whatever it meant. I was no wiser.

‘We’re packed. Healthy and safety,’ said Tom, sweating.

We had to close the entrance, only allowing people to leave. But no one wanted to leave once the Chuck Peters band began playing. He started with the lively but haunting ‘Night And Day’. There was a patient line outside, waiting under dripping umbrellas, ready to leap inside if anyone left. They could still hear the jazz but it was damply uncomfortable.

Maddy was sitting on the edge of the stage, near a tangle of electric cables. Hardly safe, I thought, but if I moved her, where else could she go? I leaned against a bin in a far corner. It was killing my back but this was what I was being paid to do. That reminded me that my fee had not been finalized. Would it be enough to get my new flat redecorated? Nothing had been written down. So much for efficiency.

My thoughts drifted to James and his new responsibilities since he had been promoted. This poor girl whose body had been found in the grounds of Corfe Castle was also only fifteen, almost the same age as Maddy. Her parents would be distraught, even though it was three years ago. The pain would never really go. I wondered if his investigations were progressing.

James would have no time now for a glass of wine with me. Or a fish and chip supper at a local restaurant down on the front. The Gorgon would have her sights fixed on him, day and night.

Chuck was echoing the tune of ‘Fascinating Rhythm’ (Gershwin, 1924) with his tenor saxophone, taking it to new heights. It was magical music. If only James could be here to share it with me. It would take his mind off the disasters of the world, the realities of police work.

We were supposed to have our phones switched off but occasionally one began ringing, much to the owner’s embarrassment. Sometimes the phone belonged to a musician on the stage but they were never fazed. They answered the phone with one hand and went on playing at the same time, as if nothing had happened.

When my phone went off, I dived out of the marquee as if I’d been stung. There was a scurry of amusement, also some annoyance. I took no notice. I held the phone under my anorak. I could hardly test its weatherproof properties.

‘I can’t hear you,’ I said.

‘I can’t hear you at all.’ It was James.

‘I’m standing in the pouring rain, outside the marquee.’

‘Can’t you find … somewhere quieter?’ he shouted.

There was a big oak tree in a corner of the field. I squelched across the mud to the shelter of its sturdy branches and canopy of leaves. Although I was almost out of the rain, the tree provided a different cascade of big drops falling from the laden leaves. It was darkly green, luminescent, Jurassic.

‘Is Maddy all right?’ he asked.

‘She’s pretty resilient, recovering well. Nothing deters her from Chuck’s gigs and Ross’s company. Maybe she’ll have nightmares tonight.’

He didn’t ask if I was all right. I’d seen enough unpleasantness since I’d been a private detective. That nun on a meat hook had been pretty nasty. ‘Is Miss Dunlop stable?’ I asked. I didn’t know what else to call her. ‘Has she said anything yet?’

‘Unfortunately no. And she is not going to be able to tell us
anything. Elsie Dunlop died an hour ago. The ferrule had pierced a lung. There was copious bleeding. The surgeons couldn’t do anything to save her.’

The drops falling from the leaves were cold and invasive. They went down my neck, trickling onto my warm skin with icy fingers. I froze onto the ground. I did not want to feel dead.

Death had come to a happy place. Jazz was always happy. Death had no right to disturb the happiness.

‘That’s so sad. I’m sorry. Have you anyone you can contact?’

‘There’s no one apparently. No family. But I need to interview some of the other umbrella ladies. Can you get me a list of names?’

So I was working for him now, was I?

‘Maybe. I’ll try. If I can take my eyes off Maddy for ten seconds.’

Would there be a pauper’s funeral? I had never been to a pauper’s funeral. Mozart had one, didn’t he? Before they dug him up and put him somewhere else.

‘If anyone asks, what shall I say?’ I asked.

‘You can tell them the sad news. There’s no harm. I’ll be in touch later. By the way, find out what school Maddy goes to. Just a thought.’

I went back to the marquee, wet and soberly. So Elsie Dunlop had died. End of story. It would be pretty difficult to track down her killer now. No clues. No forensic evidence. The umbrella had been washed clean by the rain. But it was not my problem. Maddy was my problem.

She was half asleep, sprawled on the stage, looking almost like the five-year-old who used waddle up on the stage in her pyjamas to say good night to her father, still playing his brass. She was curled up, head on her arms.

The music was talking to my soul. Jazz does that. It moves some of us but does nothing for others. Some people don’t like jazz but I’m beyond understanding why. Perhaps they don’t have souls. They have a lump of stone, or maybe a sponge.

I was keeping an eye on Maddy. What else could I do? Chain
myself to the belt of her jeans?

They were playing ‘Swanee’ (Gershwin, 1919). Where did they get these great arrangements?

‘So Miss Dunlop has died, has she?’ It was big Tom, at my side. He looked bulky and reliable. How did he know? I’d said nothing.

‘Yes, so sad. She never came round,’ I said. ‘How do you know?’

‘Grapevine,’ he said. ‘Some of the police lads get a few free tickets. It’s nothing special. They check on the parking.’

‘No one is supposed to know yet.’

‘You can’t keep anything secret these days. You look cold and starved. Have you had any supper?’

‘I don’t exactly remember. Yes, I had a crab salad but it was ages ago.’

‘We’re all going for a pizza after the show. Do you want to come along? Nothing special. Just a gang of us.’

‘I’ll let you know,’ I said. ‘It depends on Maddy.’

Tom grinned as if he understood. ‘Maddy. I guess she’ll come along if Ross is coming.’

‘Do you know any of the other umbrella ladies?’ I threw in.

‘Quite a few. They are regulars. They spend all year decorating their umbrellas. Different design every year. There’s one of them over there – the woman with the big white straw hat.’