Maggie crossed the room, all two paces of it, and put a protective arm round Moira. 'You don't need him any more,' she declared. 'Where was he when you really needed help? If he'd been so bloody keen to find you, why didn't he do it when you left? He's just being selfish. His career's a disaster area, and he wants you to get him out of the shit. You don't owe him anything, Moira.'
'Oh, I see,' I remarked. 'There's a statute of limitations on feeling guilty now, is there? Just because Jett didn't act right away, then he can only be out for himself? Is that it?'
Maggie glowered at me, but Moira actually smiled as she reached up to squeeze her lover's hand. 'He's really not like that, Maggie. He's one of the good guys. I didn't expect him to come after me. I'd been doing his head in for so long he must have been glad of the peace.'
'So what's it to be?' I asked. 'Will you at least listen to what he's got to say?'
Moira took a deep drag on her cigarette. Maggie looked as if she was holding her breath and praying. Moira blew two streams of smoke down her nose and nodded at me. 'I'll listen. When can you set it up?'
'The sooner the better. He's at home working on his new album. Believe me, he needs your help yesterday.'
Moira smiled, a wide grin that lit up her whole face and took ten years off her. 'I'll bet,' she said. 'What about tonight? Might as well get it over with.'
'But it's past ten o'clock!' Maggie protested. 'You can't go off there now.'
'Maggie, unless Jett has had a personality transplant, he'll be up watching videos and listening to music till three or four o'clock. He doesn't get up to listen to the Archers omnibus on Sunday mornings,' Moira replied, a gentle tease in her voice.
Maggie flushed. 'I still think you should leave it till tomorrow,' she said stubbornly. 'You're tired. You need a night's rest after the show.'
She still had a lot to learn, I thought sadly. Every performer I've ever met is so high after a show that they need half the night to come down to a point where sleep's possible. That's why so many of them get hooked on a mixture of uppers and downers.
As if reading my thoughts, Moira said, 'No, Maggie. Right now, I'm on a high. All that applause! Tonight, I feel like I could meet Jett as an equal. And if I sleep on it, I'll probably bottle out. Or else I'll let you talk me out of it.'
Moira got to her feet and put an arm round Maggie's waist. 'Kate, if you'll give me ten minutes, we'll meet you in the car park. Ours is the red 2CV. I'll have to go home and change into something more suitable,' she added, waving at her blue lurex dress and a jogging suit. 'If you follow us back there, then you can take me over to see Jett. If that's OK with you.'
'Fine by me,' I confirmed, feeling exultant. There's no better feeling in the world than the moment when you know you've cracked a difficult job. Moira wasn't the only one who was on a high.
An hour later, Moira and I were heading back down the motorway towards Manchester. “I
Moira chuckled. 'I'm sorry I've given you so much trouble,' she remarked.
'Oh, it's not just you. It's another case I've been working on. A team that's flooding the country with fake watches. You know, Rolex copies, all that sort of thing.'
Moira nodded. 'I know exactly what you mean. A lot of the guys in Bradford are into that kind of thing. It's a nice little earner. They do a lot of fake jogging suits and t-shirts. You know, any big thing like the Batman movie, or the Teenage Mutant Turtles. They just copy the legit stuff and flog it round the pubs and the markets. The guy I worked for in Bradford even had us selling fake perfume to Johns for their wives, can you believe it?'
I laughed. 'Wonderful. I love the psychology.' I put Everything But The Girl's
'So how did you track me down?' Moira asked finally as I turned on to the M6, heading south towards Jett's mansion. The home she'd never seen, I reminded myself.
When I got to the bit about Stick asking for his four hundred pounds, she laughed out loud. 'You know,' she said, 'if this does work out, I might just pay him back. Mind you, he'd die of embarrassment if word got out that he took me to Seagull. Stick the hard man! He'd never live it down.'
I turned into the gateway of Colcutt Manor and wound down the window and leaned out to press the intercom button. When it crackled back at me, I said clearly, 'It's Kate Brannigan to see Jett. Don't fuck with me, Gloria, let me in.'
As the gates opened, I caught Moira's expression out of the corner of my eye. She looked stunned. I headed up the long drive, and the house appeared in my headlights. 'Shit,' she breathed. 'You might have warned me, Kate.'
I pulled up at the foot of the steps that led up to the front door and said, 'You ready?'
Moira took a deep breath and said 'Ready as I'll ever be.'
We got out of the car and I led the way up towards the door. Three steps from the top, it opened and a pool of light flooded out. Jett himself stood silhouetted in the doorway. It took only a moment for him to realise I wasn't alone. Then he saw who my companion was. 'Moira?' he said in tones of wonder, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.
I paused, and she walked past me. 'Hi, babe,' she said, stopping a few feet short of him.
Jett's hesitation was only momentary. Then he stepped forward and folded her into his arms. Moira buried her head in his shoulder.
Me, I headed back into the night, trying to start the car as quietly as possible. Some things don't need witnesses. Besides, I had a huge invoice to dictate before I could sleep.
13
The sound of the phone jerked me awake. 'Kate? It's Jett. It's an emergency. Get over here right away.' Then the phone slammed down. The clock said 01:32. Happy Monday. I leapt out of bed and dressed on automatic pilot. I was halfway to the car before I remembered it had been six weeks since I'd stopped working for Jett. What the hell was he playing at? By then, I was awake anyway, so I figured I might as well drive out and see.
The gates stood open, and Jett was waiting for me on the doorstep. He looked stoned out of his box. I asked what was going on and he simply handed me the key and said, 'The rehearsal room.'
It was my first dead body. The private eyes in books fall over corpses every other day, but Manchester's a long way from Chicago in more ways than one. My first reaction was to get out of the room as fast as my legs would carry me and keep on running till I was safe inside my car.
Instead, I tried to fight my nausea by breathing in deeply. That was my second mistake. Nobody ever told me that freshly spilled blood has such a strong smell. My only experience with the stuff was when half a pound of liver leaked all over my cheque book. That hadn't been too pleasant either.
I tried to behave like a professional and forget that I knew the person who was lying dead on the polished wooden floor. If I was going to get through this experience, I'd have to convince myself it was no more real than the Kensington Gore in a Hammer Horror film.
Moira's body lay a few yards inside the door of the rehearsal room. Her limbs were splayed at angles too awkward for comfort. That alone would have been enough to show something was badly wrong. But there was more. The back of her head was matted with blood, which had trickled into a congealed pool behind her. A few yards away lay a tenor sax, its gleaming golden horn smeared with blood. I left it alone. My only direct experience with murder weapons was Cluedo, but even I knew enough not to mess with it.
I walked cautiously towards the body, and noticed that her face looked mildly surprised. I crouched down, forcing myself not to think of this as Moira, and noticed that her hands were empty, palms upwards. No clues there. Feeling foolish because I couldn't think of anything else to do, I picked up her wrist and felt vainly for a
