Amphetamines and Pearls (9 page)

‘And whatever it is is keeping him pretty busy?'

‘Why, yes, he's often late home, but what with his work in the library and this new thing
…'

‘How long has it been going on?'

‘What do you mean?'

She looked alarmed and stood off the cabinet: her nipples were firm once more and she seemed to be breathing more strongly.

I stood up and faced her: I felt safer that way.

‘Come on, Vonnie, calm down. I mean Martin having to stay out working late for his new job?'

She relaxed a little: ‘Oh, I don't know, Scott. Several months. But why do you ask?'

‘I just wondered how long a pretty girl like you had been on her own at nights. You could have called me, Vonnie. I would have kept you company—unless someone else was doing that job?'

The colour returned to her cheeks.

‘Scott, that's not a very nice thing to suggest. Besides,' she came and stood so close that if I breathed outwards a little harder I would have pushed her backwards, ‘you know that I was always the little stay-at-home. You can remember that, Scott, surely?'

I could but I didn't want to remember it; not then with her that close to me. With the memory of her sister so close too. Memories of Ann—of Candi.

‘What about Martin, Vonnie?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Are you sure it is always work that keeps him out late? Not somebody else?'

She was not quite so close to me now, but still close enough. She laughed up into my face and her breath was sweet and warm.

‘But Martin's a librarian!'

She said it as though being a librarian shrouded him in a cloak of purity. She and I had obviously known different librarians: but that's another story.

I looked at my watch. I said, ‘It's nearly lunchtime, Vonnie.'

She reached out and took my arm in hers.

‘Does that mean you're offering to buy me lunch, Scott Mitchell?'

I gave her arm a squeeze with mine. It was slender and small within my grip.

‘I'd love to, but I already have a date for lunch. Maybe some other time.' I bent down and kissed the top of her head lightly. ‘Maybe the next time you're checking on my progress.'

11

Today she was wearing a pink velour top and a brown skirt; a beautifully open smile and the badge that said ‘Jane'. I waited a while and she finished putting photographs and duplicated biographies into brown envelopes. She stood up and a large brunette came and took her place: strictly second division.

I held back the dragon and we walked out on to the busy street. It was good to pace alongside her as we cut through the crowds and made for lunch and an hour of getting to know each other. Something in the youth and vigour of her stride got through to me, something in the way she smiled at those who jostled past her. My blood pressure quickened, my ego jumped, my whole body felt as though it was fresh back from the health farm.

She took my arm as we turned the corner into Greek Street and as she did so the car swung hard towards us. I saw its sudden movement from the edge of one eye; I had probably heard its engine a second sooner. Whatever it was that warned me, I acted, and fast.

Jane I pushed into the doorway of a café; I pushed her and leapt backwards away from the spot the driver had calculated. The front slid across the pavement and the nearside bumper rammed itself into the wall. It dragged plaster for ten or fifteen yards, then pulled back and on to the road. The car accelerated and was gone into the lunchtime traffic.

I looked up from where I was sprawled on the pavement: a crowd had already begun to gather round me. It was incredible that no one else had been hurt: incredible that someone would try to make a hit at that time of day and in that way.

Somebody, somewhere must be getting very scared.

I allowed myself to be helped up and muttering thanks and platitudes about stupid, drunken drivers went into the café to find Jane. She was sitting at a table, with the Italian waiter doing a great job of restoring her confidence. She didn't look any the worse for wear.

I went over and sat down beside her. The waiter hovered for a moment longer then went away. I held her hand and gave it a squeeze; I tried my drunken driver routine but it wouldn't work on her.

‘Listen, someone was driving that car with a purpose so don't try to tell me that it was an accident. Somebody wanted to hurt you badly … to kill you.' She held my hand more tightly and looked hard at my face. ‘Just what sort of a man have I agreed to come out to lunch with, anyhow?'

I took one of my cards from my wallet and gave it to her; she didn't exactly look impressed.

‘And I said you'd never make a detective! I thought your reactions back there on the pavement were pretty quick. Were you expecting that?'

‘At that particular moment in time, nothing was further from my mind. I was an ordinary guy taking an extraordinarily attractive girl out to lunch and feeling pretty pleased with himself into the bargain. I must have moved out of instinct.'

She gave my hand another squeeze: ‘Most people's instincts are so slow that they would be on the way to the hospital by now. And so might I.'

She leaned across and kissed me. It sure was my day for getting a lot of attention, one way and another. The waiter was back by the table and for a moment I thought he was going to break into a bit of an old Italian love song. Instead he thrust a menu into my unoccupied hand and asked if we would like to see the wine list. I said no, ordered a carafe of red and freed my other hand for the important business of choosing a meal. Two meals. She was still there, after all. Many a young girl who had been pushed into the restaurant that way would have got up on her high horse and ridden out. Or would still be too nervous to order Uova Tonnate, followed by Vitello alia Genovese. I hoped my Lasagne would be as good as usual.

When we were drinking our coffee I asked her what she knew about Candi.

‘You were the man who found the body, weren't you?'

I was getting so famous I could become the next Burke or Hare—or both rolled into one.

‘I realised as soon as you showed me the card,' she went on. ‘I hadn't connected you before. Though we've all talked about it a lot at the office, of course.'

Of course. But had she heard anything that sounded interesting, anything that anyone wouldn't have read in the papers?

‘No-o, although a few people did say she might have been asking for it.'

‘What did they mean by that?' I asked.

She thought about it while she was taking her next sip at the coffee. It didn't look as if she was in any hurry to get back to work.

‘Well, you must realise that I didn't have much to do with her. She usually went straight past my office and up to see Patrick. But you get to hear things, you know.'

‘What sort of things?'

She was obviously unsure of how much she should say.

I assured her that it would be all right so she went on.

‘There was a tour all set up, for the States, I don't know if you knew anything about that?'

I nodded.

‘Well, I heard Patrick saying to somebody that he doubted it would ever go ahead. He doubted if she would be able to make it.'

‘Drugs?'

‘I don't know. It may have been that. Patrick didn't say; but he did say she had been acting very strangely. Very difficult, apparently, whenever it came to doing recordings or getting anything together at all. I think he had a soft spot for her and that's why he put up with it. But it sounded dreadful: as though she were throwing sudden fits in the studios and shouting out that everyone was trying to ruin her career. Just horrible things she would say sometimes. Then the next minute, almost, she would apparently forget about it all.'

I asked: ‘Do you think she would have made any serious enemies doing that?'

Jane thought for a moment. ‘No, I don't think so. I mean, it wouldn't have made her many friends. But we're used to pretty crazy people in this business. No one would have hated her for what she did, not enough to want to kill her, if that's what you're thinking.'

I paid the bill and offered her a brandy to compensate for the shock. I looked very carefully both ways, crossed the road with her and went into the pub opposite.

‘I imagine that if she did want to get hold of some dope of one form or another—more than just grass, say—it wouldn't be too difficult for her to do so?'

Jane swirled her brandy round at the bottom of her glass.

I don't know how but she managed to make that quite innocent gesture into something that was very sensuous. Or maybe that was a reflection of what was going on inside my head.

‘Some of the musicians who come in are on junk—I think—but she probably wouldn't be able to get hold of it as easily. Though there are always people willing—aren't there?'

She looked at me with hesitation, as though afraid of showing that she knew more than perhaps at her age I would have thought she should.

I shrugged my shoulders and she went on.

‘There are always big parties at weekends. Well, not so much big as strong
…'
She faltered.

‘Strong?'

‘Yes … well, they have quite a sex scene going, so I'm told, and there's blue movies and that sort of thing. There must be a lot of stuff pushed there … I suppose?'

She looked oddly innocent, as if the things she was talking about were things she knew of but didn't know. It was as if the world that surrounded her had just bounced off her so far: or was that what I wanted to think?

‘You said, “so I'm told”. You've, never been then?'

‘Certainly not! Though it's not for want of being asked. Patrick is always on at me to go. He gets on to all the girls who work there to go—to fill out the numbers, not to get involved. Although no one would complain if you did.' She laughed. ‘This girl Susan who works in the imports office, she went to one and she looks the least likely girl to want to join in with anything like that. Apparently it took three of them to keep her quiet! Normally they pay girls from outside to do that sort of thing.'

I was very interested but I didn't want her to think it was for the wrong reasons. Though had she known my real reasons she might have preferred good old-fashioned lust.

‘What sort of people go to these parties?'

‘Music people. Disc jockeys, singers, producers—anyone who Patrick wants to keep on the right side of, anyone he wants to sweeten up.'

‘With a spoonful of sex all provided free,' I suggested.

Jane nodded. Her brandy glass was empty. I offered her another but she said she had to be back at work.

‘How often are these parties held, Jane?'

‘Almost every weekend, as far as I know. I've been taken off the invitation list, I think.'

‘Could you get back on to it again?'

I wasn't sure of what was going on inside her head and I wasn't clear what the change in expression in her eyes meant, though change it certainly did. It probably read: Oh, Christ, not another one!

‘I expect I could. But why?'

‘Because I'd like to go with you.'

‘Look,' she said, ‘if they ask me along it's because they want another free girl. I can't get invited, if I say I'm bringing a man with me.'

‘Then don't tell them I'm going with you until we arrive on the doorstep. Then you can tell them you had misunderstood. They won't keep us out once we've got that far.'

Or so I hoped.

I took Jane back to the offices of Dragon Records. She promised she would do her best for the coming weekend and then call me: and she thanked me for a nice lunch. She didn't say anything about the hit-and-run, though. Perhaps it had gone clean out of her mind.

I had to make two phone calls: the first was to Sandy. She was in and in a good mood. I made pleasant noises for a few minutes and then got down to business.

‘Anything about the Thurley girl?'

‘Something, but not much that's any use. She tried to get a job in one or two strip clubs but no one would take her on. She looked young and one place thought she looked pretty high. But nothing else. Do you want me to keep trying?'

‘Uh-huh. Listen, Sandy, if she couldn't get a job anywhere dancing what might she have to do?'

‘Well, she could go on the game, if she could get the connections—not that that would be difficult. They're out waiting for kids like her. Or she could model. At least that's what they call it. Dirty pictures—stills, movies, anything like that.'

‘Can you ask around then, Sandy? It might be important.'

Her voice was getting less good-humoured by the minute.

‘That's what you always say … and have you still got my car in one piece?'

‘Sure. Can I borrow it for another day?'

I said good-bye before she could change her mind. Then I hung up and dialled the number of the Holborn Library. I asked to speak to Martin.

When he came on the phone he sounded the busiest man in the bibliographical world. When I told him who it was he slowed down and sounded surprised and a little intrigued. When I said I wanted his advice about a book he sounded amazed. I don't think that his picture of a private investigator included the reading of books. He probably put me down as a sub-species that couldn't read at all.

When I asked him to recommend me a good general work on drug abuse he was stopped short in his tracks. I heard a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line and when his voice came back on it sounded strangely high and almost quavery. But the professional in him won out. He named a couple of books and I asked if either was in stock. One was and he promised to leave it at the check-out point with a note saying it was all right for me to take it. I thanked him, asked him to remember me to Vonnie, and put down the phone.

I could picture him taking off his spectacles and wiping the mist clear. I bet that put his cataloguing back a little.

I pulled in at the motorway service station but didn't bother to try the coffee any more: it might prove to be addictive. Instead I opened the book on drugs and turned to the section on major stimulants.

Amphetamines stimulate the central nervous system. They cause mental and physical activity at an increased rate, including a marked increase in the rate of the heart; they depress the appetite and keep tiredness at bay. Prolonged use, though, causes mental depression or fatigue. Use of amphetamines may often result in a feeling very like paranoia, with visual illusions and ideas of persecution.

They are usually taken orally, though they can be injected. Severe reactions can occur after taking thirty milligrammes, but some addicted users have been known to need regular doses of as much as four to five hundred milligrammes.

I shut the book. That could be a hell of a lot of dope. And it could cost a hell of a lot of money. Martin had given me a lot of what I wanted. I hoped my return visit to Howard would give me some more.

The house was on one of the roads leading out of the city. It was large and stood in its own grounds, though a coat of paint would have done it no harm. It was not late but there were no lights to be seen from the windows. Yet I understood that Howard was at home; that when the club was closed he was always at home. I drove past the house and parked the car. With a torch in my pocket I walked back.

The back door was easy. I pushed it shut behind me and tried the torch. A small rear hallway with a pantry down some stone steps to the left. I went on and tried the handle of the door at the far side of the hall. It turned quietly and a quick flash of the torch told me I was in the main entrance hall. More stairs, carpeted and to my right. Closed doors to left and right. No sign of any other light.

Then my ears grew accustomed to a dull thump, a rhythmic bass that moved my foot slightly in time as I stood waiting. Waiting for what to happen? Christ knows!

I tried the stairs: slow and easy does it. As I climbed the sounds grew more distinct. The first pulse was joined by the distant noise of a voice. Male, wiry, strong yet mournful; muffled by the doors and walls, by whatever was keeping it in. Slowly from door to door, listening. Then, with no light still from under or round it, I found the right one. And now I could hear the song. A black man singing the blues.