Jazz and Die by Stella Whitelaw Read Free Book Online Page B

music half the night.
    It was a fine steady drizzle. I hoped James’s car was not too far away or I would be drenched. Thank goodness for my boots on the wet grass. I’d seen lots of women in open sandals. The cowboy hat was like a miniature umbrella, keeping some of my hair dry. But rain dripped off the brim like Aussie corks.
    ‘I don’t suppose you know where the Bull and Horn is?’ James asked.
    ‘I don’t know where any of the pubs are. You’re the police. Surely it’s the first thing you learn anywhere. The trouble spots.’
    ‘Just testing.’
    He was teasing me. It made a change. He was usually so serious and remote that I wondered if he had any normal social feelings at all. Perhaps he was glad to see me. He could hardlyrelax with his new colleagues when he had this castle murder to solve.
    I closed the car door, glad to be out of the rain. It was persistent stuff. Maybe Dorset rain had a relentless quality left over from its Jurassic days. Latching rain seemed softer unless it was blowing a force seven gale.
    I opened my shoulder bag and gave James the specimen bag. He read the threatening words through the plastic.
    ‘So it’s more of the same. Did Chuck show you the others?’
    ‘Very similar, although the countdown has changed. If that is a countdown.’
    ‘Don’t take any notice of that. He probably got it off a television show. I’ve seen other examples of a countdown time factor being used to increase the tension.’
    ‘It’s effective. It works.’
    He asked me a few other things about Maddy: what she was like, what was her relationship with the drummer. He drove carefully through the rain. The street lights were awash with haze, gutters splashing with rain running off the steep streets.
    ‘Adoration from a distance, I think,’ I said. ‘I don’t believe he’s interested in her. She’s useful to have around as a besotted little slave, carrying stuff.’
    ‘Watch him as well.’
    ‘Sure, I’ve got eyes in the back of my head. Hadn’t you noticed?’
    He drew up outside the pub. It had only been a few minutes but still I liked being with him in close dark confines. I turned to him, imaging the clear profile, the firm jutting chin, the bold nose and curving mouth. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’
    ‘I think one admirer is enough for you to cope with tonight,’ he said, meaning Tom Lucas. ‘You go in and enjoy yourself. But remember you’ve a long day ahead tomorrow. Jazz starts with the ten o’clock parade from the bus station, then it is relentless non-stop jazz till the last gig at midnight.’
    And I was tired already.
    I said good night to James and got out of the car, steppingstraight into a puddle. Water splashed up my legs. The pub was all lights but it looked solid and workmanlike, loads of red brick and beer signs. Rows of wet benches sat outside on the pavement but they were empty of their normal clientele.
    I went inside, shaking the rain off my cowboy hat. The bar was packed. I couldn’t see a face I knew. No sign of Maddy. They did say all the pubs were in walking distance but that could be wishful thinking.
    ‘Hey ho, here comes a new face,’ said a voice close beside me. ‘It makes a change to have a new steward, instead of all the old faithfuls. So where do you hail from, little lady? Texas?’
    ‘South of West Sussex,’ I drawled.
    ‘Did you come on your horse?’
    I’d been lassoed by the joker from this afternoon’s steamer trip. I recognized the voice and the tireless joviality. There was nothing wrong with a jolly soul but I was too tired to respond or be receptive.
    ‘Yeah, he’s tied upside outside,’ I drawled. ‘I’ve come in to buy him a bundle of hay.’
    He laughed heartily and I managed to side-step his approach. I was not going to be saddled with him half the night. Maddy had appeared, wet and wistful, standing on her own at the edge of a crowd. The drummer was surrounded by admirers and he was drinking. Perhaps he was dehydrated, sweated a