Jest and Die (Jordan Lacey Mysteries Book 5)

by Stella Whitelaw

  ‘And all the gifts?’

  ‘She sent them but I paid for them. I was annoyed about the Stilton.’

  ‘Was she acting the part when she spotted you on the stairs in Chapel Court?’

  ‘No, that was a damned nuisance. I wondered if she had seen me so I got out fast. No, dear Sheree is not yet aware of my sad departure from this world. I’ll have to confuse the timing somehow. Send her a farewell suicide note dated today. That might work. She’d never check with the morgue.’

  ‘But you haven’t departed, have you? You are very much alive.’

  ‘No one else knows that, Miss Lacey. In fact, you are the only person who knows I’m alive. Isn’t that interesting?’

  I felt a twinge of apprehension, an edgy sense of danger. It was dangerous to be the only person who knew. I did not like the cool gleam in his eyes.

  ‘You really fooled me,’ I said, changing the subject fast. I had to keep him talking. Perhaps someone would come in. ‘I was really taken in. A wonderful performance from you in particular. You should be an actor.’

  ‘I think so too. It’s time for a career change. I’d make a great James Bond. The height, the looks, the comic timing. They’ll be looking for a new one soon. Pierce Brosman can only make a couple more films.’

  ‘So why the elaborate disappearance trick?’ I asked, veering away from the body in the morgue. ‘What was the reason for it? Why involve me? After all, you don’t know me from Adam.’

  ‘But I know an awful lot about you and your other case. Weedkiller, isn’t it? One of the six banned chemicals. You see, Jordan, you’re the one who has been stalked. I’ve been watching you for weeks. Pity you fell out of that tree. And what a shame about the unpleasant story in the Sussex Record. I wonder who tipped the reporter off with all that garbage? In fact, I had another nice little scandal up my sleeve for the aftershow party, but my new girlfriend departed home to bed before it started.’

  I said nothing. He looked malicious, eyes narrowed, and he was sweating. I had to get out. The dressing room was so small. There was no way I could get past him.

  ‘I admit it was a pity about Anne but she was getting a mite too greedy. Always wanting a bigger and better cut. Women are never satisfied. The funny thing about the garden shears is that when forensic get their act together, they are going to find your prints on the handle. Isn’t that amazing?’

  I was starting to feel sick. Had he killed Anne? Had the cadaveric spasm clutched his ponytail? ‘How did you manage that?’ I croaked. George laughed again.

  ‘All those lovely cups of coffee you drank in the kitchen at Denbury Court. It only took a pair of free theatre tickets and Joan Broseley removed a couple of mugs after one of your visits. I didn’t tell her why. I said it was a silly joke I was going to play on you. She was quite taken in.’

  ‘She would be,’ I said faintly. ‘She’s a very trusting woman.’

  ‘I have friends in the trade who can transfer prints. It’s a tricky procedure but it can be done. Cost me a packet.’

  ‘So you know Anne Steel?’

  ‘Known her for years. We go way back. A platonic business arrangement, you understand. I was the brains. She was the accountant.’

  ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me now that you have been vandalizing the garden at Denbury Court and somehow incriminating me.’

  My voice sounded pathetic. I was really frightened. No one knew I was here except the taxi driver. I put my faith in him. He was going to charge for the double fare. But how long would it take him to claim the money?

  ‘No, I never thought of that. Not into weedkiller, not my style, but sorry about the footprint on the verge. Clumsy of me, wasn’t it, ruining your only bit of evidence.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve got Anne’s white car?’ I went on prodding, more out of habit. ‘It’s disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared under a spray job and rehomed with a family man. It didn’t take long and I needed the money. A top-of-the-range car. But I need that cash urgently. Where is it, Jordan?’

  ‘The police confiscated it. It’s probably locked in a cell.’ His eyes narrowed with anger. ‘Not funny, Jordan.’

  ‘But what about the vandalism at Denbury Court, if it wasn’t you and I know it wasn’t me.’

  ‘Right under your nose, Jordan. Right under your nose. You’re supposed to be a detective. I’m not going to tell you who’s been doing it. You should have sussed that out weeks ago.’

  He was starting to get restless. I could see this conversation was not going to go on much longer. But I had to keep him talking. He did not seem to know about the diaries.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I said wearily. ‘Why me? Why this vendetta? You don’t know me and I never knew you till you walked into my shop. We’ve never met before.’

  He started rubbing his forehead as if he was getting a migraine. The new hair cut was not a barbershop version and did not suit him. He seemed on the verge of losing control.

  ‘No, I didn’t know you but my mother does know you, much to her regret. My mother, a sweet and beautiful woman, is at this moment languishing in a women’s prison, wasting her life away working in a laundry and it’s all your fault, Jordan Lacey. You could have left her alone to continue her life’s work, her vocation, but oh no, you had to interfere.’ He was clenching his hands, sweat appeared on his upper lip.

  The brain cogs were turning rapidly. A beautiful woman. Her life’s work. How many beautiful women did I know who had a vocation? A cog ground to a halt at a file labelled NUN.

  ‘Do you mean Sister Lucinda? From the hospice … ?’

  His mouth was working. Heat crawled from the four small walls. He was beginning to change. His eyes swivelled. My nerve cells were tingling with fear.

  ‘Yes, she was Lucy Grey, the most famous modelling face of the Seventies. The cover of Vogue. What a gorgeous woman, stunning. She’s my mother.’

  I had to tread very carefully. It had been a complicated case, and two other people had originally been charged with manslaughter of the dead nun found in the derelict hotel, Trenchers, on the seafront at Latching.

  ‘And you think I had something to do with your mother being arrested for the death of Ellen Swantry?’

  ‘I know you did, Jordan. It was entirely your fault and you can’t deny it. I heard your name myself in court. The police said they followed a tip-off from a local private investigator, Miss Jordan Lacey. The arresting officer was most particular about giving you due credit.’

  James. My James. But that was the kind of thing he would do. Never any credit to my face with a nice thank-you note and a bunch of flowers. But in an impersonal crown court, he would tell the truth.

  George was getting more restless. He looked at his watch, tapped his teeth.

  ‘Of course, I had several more fascinating activities planned which were going to backfire on you, but you have ruined those ideas and I’m going to fast forward a few things. I am not an unkind man, so while you are still here, you may use my bathroom. I know the bladder can let one down in moments of stress, and since we are going to be inseparable from now on, I’d rather you paid a visit now.’

  I was into the tiny loo in a flash. There was no window. An internal air extractor fan came on. A frantic search revealed nothing of any obvious use to me. I wrapped a small complementary soap in toilet paper and put it in my pocket. I folded more toilet paper into my bra. Then I used and flushed the loo.

  As I came out, George was right behind the door. He snapped a handcuff on to my right wrist and attached the other half to the leather belt of his trousers. Snap, snap.

  ‘I said we were going to be inseparable. Wherever you go, I go now. The nun was found hanging on a hook, wasn’t she? I thought you would have made the connection.’

  George couldn’t use his big carrier car. I was hustled out to a nearby carpark, his arm slung tightly round my waist as if we were buddies. He went to a small Ford and bundled me into it. I refused to hold on to his belt, so my hanging
right hand was half wrapped round the gear lever in a most uncomfortable position.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked. He did not answer.

  James might track me to the Regal Theatre but now he had no idea where I would be. My heart sank into despair. I looked out of the window, wondering if I could attract someone’s attention. There might be a police officer at a set of traffic lights. But there’s never one around when you want one.

  ‘Don’t try anything,’ George warned as he drove east. ‘I should have no compunction about knocking you out.’

  ‘I’m not going to try anything,’ I said, muffled in misery.

  ‘I hear you’re mad about the sea, always walking the pier and beach. You might like this. I thought we’d go for a little sea trip. Nothing fancy. Just a breath of sea air.’

  Newhaven. We were going towards Newhaven. There were cross-Channel ferries at Newhaven.

  *

  The handcuffs were rubbing a sore place on my wrist. It hurt a lot. I might never be able to write again.

  ‘Did you write on a card left in my car?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, I know it was a bit childish. Who’s next? I couldn’t resist it. You were so sure of yourself and everything you did. I had to puncture that confidence. Make you a little nervous.’

  ‘It didn’t work,’ I said grimly. ‘I thought it was some damned fool kid.’

  ‘The scarf worked though, didn’t it? You’ve been wearing one of my mother’s scarves. Doesn’t that give you a weird feeling now?’ He was grinning.

  I went cold. I thought the scarf had been a gift from the lady who had been so pleased about finding her mother’s umbrella and I’d worn it a lot. My skin cringed.

  He was following the signs to Newhaven Harbour. We were going on the ferry. I’m not opposed to a little shopping in a French supermarket, all those lovely cheeses, but I had a feeling that George had different plans.

  Assertiveness is a behaviour you can acquire. I remembered this from my training days. Showing too little concern for your captor is as wrong as showing too much. That was captive training. Keep a mental log of everything and everyone, we were told. Construct something positive in your mind. I would try to find out everything about the situation and George Hill’s mentality.

  ‘You must have had a lovely childhood with such a beautiful and famous mother,’ I began, being assertive and constructive.

  ‘Yes, it was. My parents had a fabulous flat in Bayswater. There were always people coming round. Sunday lunches were wonderful, rich and famous people from the media eating brunch in the garden, lots of laughter and talk and wine flowing. And, of course, everyone used to spoil me. And I could make them laugh. I was born to amuse people.’

  ‘Ah, an infant entertainer?’

  ‘You might say that.’

  ‘And did it continue to be wonderful?’ I knew it hadn’t.

  ‘Something went wrong. I’m not sure what it was. I was too young at the time.’ He was lying. He must have known something. ‘My parents split up and there was a scandal. I don’t know what it was all about.’

  Lucy Grey had been mixed up in some big financial scandal. I didn’t know the facts but it had been about then that she had vanished from the modelling scene. Perhaps no one would employ her. It was long before my time too.

  ‘What a shame. But what happened to you, George? You must have been very frightened, only a little boy, and your whole world changing … ’

  ‘Yes, I was. And no one would explain or tell me anything. I was bundled off to boarding school. My father remarried and I spent some holidays with them. Then my mother suddenly resurfaced and she was a nun in this grey habit and she was still the most beautiful woman I had ever seen … her face, her skin. I was enchanted by her.’ His voice drifted off as if remembering this vision of goodness.

  ‘Did she encourage your stage career?’

  ‘Yes, she was all for it. She was my mentor, my guiding light, my guardian angel … I loved her.’

  Oh dear, and I had removed her from the scene. I knew she received a long prison sentence. Time to change the subject.

  ‘The ferries are over there,’ I said, being friendly.

  ‘We’ve made excellent time. You are going to enjoy this, Jordan.’

  *

  The ferries ran frequently. We joined an orderly queue of cars and George drove the Ford into the bowels of the ship. There did not seem to be any point in yelling for help at this moment. Too much noise. He dragged me out across the driver’s seat, painful manhandling, and walked me on to an upper deck.

  ‘Enjoy the view, Jordan,’ he said with relish. ‘It’s going to be your last.’

  My pulse was pounding and I felt sick. I was not enjoying this at all.

  He made me lean on the rail in a companionable twosome. I did not have any choice. As the ferry slid away from the dockside and began the tossing and turning required to manoeuvre a tricky harbour exit, I realized that George was not a good sailor. He did not look well. I took advantage of his preoccupation to find the tablet of stolen soap, transfer some saliva from my mouth to it, and begin the process of saturating the handcuff on my wrist in soapsuds.

  It had not taken long to realize that the handcuffs were not regulation Sussex police force issue, but stage, Max Cornelius, fake show handcuffs. They felt different. They felt soft, pliable, light. I didn’t know how the stage trick worked but I was determined to find out.

  As George sighed and stared out at the watery depths, I smothered the cuff round my wrist with soap and with my free hand, i.e. the left, tried to manipulate the catch opening. There had to be one somewhere. I’d seen the show and Max had released the cuffs in seconds.

  ‘Why don’t you go and lie down?’ I said, helpfully. ‘Or have a brandy at the bar? I can hardly escape from you on a ferry in the middle of the English Channel.’

  ‘I know you, slippery as an eel,’ he groaned again, white faced. ‘I’m not letting you out of my sight.’

  The ferry was heading for the open sea and George was regaining his colour although not his stability. We staggered towards the bows of the ship. There were not many people about. It was going to be a rough crossing. Those easterly winds had blown up.

  The sea was not in a happy mood. Great waves surged towards the sturdy bows of the ship. She slapped up and down, burrowing a path through the deep troughs of water. The crew had put on waterproofs. Not a good sign.

  ‘I think it’s time you and I said goodbye,’ said George, the wind whipping his shortened hair all over his face, it’s getting pretty rough. You won’t last long in this.’

  From a back pocket he got out a black plastic bin liner and shook it open. This was not an easy manoeuvre. The wind flapped it away, the ferry heaved, I was attached to his belt and I was definitely not going to help.

  I was struggling with the handcuffs. There were only seconds left. I had almost felt the notch. George was too preoccupied with the flapping plastic bin liner to notice what I was doing.

  At the very moment that George managed to open out the bin liner and drag it over my head, I succeeded in sliding the cuff over my slippery-soaped wrist, find the notch and flip open the handcuffs, all at the same time. This took him completely by surprise as we flew apart and the ship gave a helpful lurch which caught him off balance. He fell hard against the rail, reaching out for a hold.

  ‘Damn and blast!’ he howled in pain.

  I ran the length of the deck, fighting to throw off the bin liner from my head. I didn’t know where to go. I knew I had to find the captain. Did a ferry have a captain?

  For a start I slid down steel steps, ran along corridors, put as much distance as possible between us. My breath was rasping. I ran into a women’s lavatory and locked the door behind me. This might be the first of places he’d look for me, but it was a breathing space. And I needed to get my thoughts and my breath together.

  I was on a ferry going to France. George Hill was trying to kill me, to toss me overboard to the fish.
I had no money, no phone, no identification. But I still had some wits.

  I slid out of the cloakroom and found myself near the cafeteria kitchen. I had no compunction in borrowing an overall from a hook and a cap-like head covering. Get rid of the hair and I’m a different person. I picked up some menus.

  The corridors were uncannily empty. Everyone was drinking duty-free in the bar. I walked down more gangways and found myself in the car hold, among rows and rows of cars. There was a big camper van, the kind with a sleeping area in a humped roof space. They had not locked the side door. I went in, shut and locked the door behind me and climbed up a tiny vertical ladder into the cramped roof space. I had to curl up my legs. I felt like a squirrel. The owners would get a surprise in France.

  It seemed as if I was there for hours as the ferry battled the waves and the cross-currents. I hoped George was feeling really ill. I must have dozed off. It was hot in the roof space and I needed a sleep.

  Then I awoke with a jolt, heard banging on the side of the camper.

  ‘Jordan! Jordan! I know you’re in there. For God’s sake, open up before I break the bloody door down.’

  It wasn’t George. Wrong voice. It couldn’t be Ben. It had to be James. I had to trust it was James and not George playing some trick on me. He might be able to do impersonations. I scrambled down and stood with my hand on the door lock, hesitating.

  ‘Who is it?’ I said, dredging up the last of my assertiveness. ‘Detective Inspector James, you fool. Open this door at once.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  ‘You don’t like my choice of cereal.’

  I could not open it fast enough and I tumbled out into his arms. James held me very close. I could feel his heart beating steadily, and his solid warmth. It was all I could do to stop myself from breaking into tears.

  ‘He was going to kill me,’ I said, choking. ‘He was going to throw me overboard in a bin bag.’

  ‘We know, we know,’ he said soothingly, patting my back. ‘We heard it all.’

  I leaned away an inch, but barely an inch, so that I could look at him. I did not want to leave his arms. ‘You heard what?’ He tapped my shoulder, half smiling. ‘Under the tab on your shirt. A tiny bug. The wonders of modern surveillance equipment. We’ve been tracking you all the way. But could you please take off that ridiculous hat. It doesn’t suit you.’