Mixing With Murder

by Ann Granger

  ‘It wasn’t her fault; he was stupid to do that!’ I hissed to Harry.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Harry quietly. ‘But old Ivo there is a head case. You stay clear of ’im.’

  As it was still early, the club wasn’t open for business but getting ready for action later. The foyer smelled of cigarettes, alcohol and sweat mixed with that of commercial disinfectant and lavender air freshener wafting from the toilets. It was decorated with large glossy pictures of the entertainment on offer, every kind of female body beautiful available thanks to plastic surgery and bottled hair colour. In stark contrast, an elderly woman pushed a vacuum cleaner back and forth across the carpet. She had a wrinkled darkly tanned skin and in her broad flat expressionless face all hope had long since died. She didn’t look up as we passed by her, but worked on bringing a note of mundane reality to that world of lip-gloss and hairspray.

  The curtains over the arched entrance to the main part of the club had been looped back. Through them I could see the stage and, standing on it, a black-haired girl in a shocking pink leotard with her hands on her hips. She was glaring down at a small bald man who was yelling up at her.

  ‘Try and make it look sexy, can’t you? You look like you’re in a perishing aerobics class!’

  Before I could hear the girl’s reply we’d turned into a side corridor. I lost sight of the stage but I heard a piano strike up, followed by the clumping of feet on the wooden boards and wails of despair from the bald répétiteur.

  Mickey Allerton was waiting for me in his office at the end of the corridor. He was a well-built, well-groomed man in his fifties with the softest-looking skin I’d even seen on an adult, male or female, like a baby’s. His back was to me and he was watching one of the three CCTV screens behind his desk. It was the one showing the stage on which the girl was dancing. She had energy if not grace.

  ‘She’ll have to go,’ said Allerton as we came in.

  ‘Fine,’ I said in relief, turning back to the door.

  I cannoned into Harry who gently but firmly turned me back again to face the desk.

  Allerton swivelled in his chair to face me. His eyes were silvery grey, like fish scales. ‘Not you,’ he said. ‘Her.’ He jerked a thumb at the screen behind him. ‘No talent, that one.’ He nodded at a chair. ‘Sit down, Fran. Why are you holding that dog?’

  ‘She bit your doorman,’ I said. ‘Look, I haven’t got that kind of talent, either.’

  I put Bonnie on the ground but imprisoned her between my legs. I wasn’t risking her snapping at Mickey if he came out from behind that desk. She was still in combative mode with the ruff of hair at the scruff of her neck standing up stiffly.

  Allerton ignored the information about Bonnie biting the doorman. That was Ivo’s lookout. ‘Is it likely,’ he asked in a weary voice, ‘that I had Harry bring you here because I wanted to hire you as an artiste?’

  ‘No,’ I admitted. I’m on the short side and have the kind of figure my grandma described as ‘gamine’. Other people have been less tactful. The girl out there on the stage might not be ‘talented’ but at least she looked right.

  ‘Then don’t talk stupid. Harry, go and get us some coffee.’

  I was sorry to see Harry go. He was Allerton’s heavy but I still felt safer with him there.

  ‘Well, Fran,’ said Allerton, leaning back in his chair and placing his well-manicured hands palms down on the desktop. He wore a large ring with some kind of gold coin set in it. ‘Long time, no see.’

  It wasn’t that long a time but, as far as I was concerned, it couldn’t be long enough. I gave him a sickly smile.

  He didn’t return it. Allerton didn’t waste smiles. But he extended opening courtesies with a vague gesture of his beringed right hand. ‘How are things? Got a job?’

  ‘Not at the moment,’ I confessed. ‘I was working as a waitress but the place was closed down.’

  He nodded. ‘I heard about that. They were working some kind of wine scam, weren’t they?’ He tapped his fingers on the desk. ‘I’m very careful where I buy wine for my establishments. I’ve got a reputation.’

  Yes, he had. I bet no one would dare to try and sell him plonk bottled up under an expensive label.

  ‘I’m glad you’re free at the moment,’ he went on. ‘I’ve got a little job for you. You’re still in the private detection business, aren’t you? Part-time, as I understand.’ Now he grinned briefly. ‘I heard about the play, too.’

  There seemed to be nothing about my recent activities Mickey Allerton didn’t know. ‘I’m sort of still in the private investigation business,’ I said. ‘But I haven’t got the facilities to help you, Mr Allerton. I’m on my own.’

  ‘Facilities?’ He mimicked my voice and looked amused. ‘You don’t half come out with some winners, Fran. I don’t need any facilities, whatever they are. I just need you to do a little job for me.’

  ‘Susie Duke is still running her detective agency,’ I said desperately. ‘Perhaps she’d be better—’

  ‘You don’t know what I want, do you? So shut up and listen,’ he invited me. ‘Susie Duke isn’t suitable for this one. You are. Just the ticket, in fact.’

  Harry brought in the coffee at that point. Allerton opened a drawer in his desk and took out a small dispenser of sugar substitute tablets. He tapped two into his cup.

  ‘Got to watch my weight,’ he said. ‘Doctor’s orders.’

  ‘Give up the sugar altogether,’ I suggested.

  He shook his head. ‘I can’t drink coffee without a sweetener. Tea, just possibly. But coffee? No way.’ He contemplated the steam spiralling from his cup.

  Harry handed me my cup and retreated to the back of the room. Bonnie, at my feet, had relaxed her guard and settled down. I waited for Mickey to tell me in what way I was just the ticket. He seemed to be taking pleasure in making me wait or perhaps I was just so wound up it seemed as though he was. He picked up a spoon, stirred his coffee, put the spoon gently back in the saucer. At long last he looked up. He opened his mouth. This was it. He was going to announce some awful shattering news. I held my breath.

  ‘I tried that Atkins Diet,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, yes?’ This was hardly what I’d expected and it threw me completely. Probably this was Mickey’s intention. I tried to sound normal but my voice was like something issuing from a computer. ‘How did you get on?’ I croaked tinnily.

  He shook his head in sorrow. ‘I like roast potatoes with my Sunday lunch and chips with my steak. I found it difficult to give them up. Besides, my doctor said it wasn’t right for me.’

  An Achilles heel! Was Mickey Allerton, whom I’d been inclined to view as omnipotent, in thrall to his medical adviser? I wondered if he might be a hypochondriac. The most unlikely people are. Still, any sign of weakness in him was to be stored up in memory. You never knew, it might be useful one day.

  ‘It’s not so much a job I’ve got for you,’ he said. ‘It’s more an errand. I want you to take a message to someone for me.’

  I didn’t ask him what was wrong with the phone, e-mail or snail mail. But I was reminded of that poor Greek bloke who ran miles with the news of some victory and once he’d delivered it, dropped dead - and he’d brought good news. I had a funny feeling Allerton’s message would bring the recipient bad news. The ancient custom, as I’d heard it, was to kill the bearer of such tidings. Either way, being a messenger isn’t a job with good long-term prospects.

  Allerton had resorted to the desk drawer again and now drew out a glossy photograph. He passed it to me across the desk. I took it gingerly.

  It was of one of his artistes, a promotional picture like all the others tacked up on a display board in the foyer. This one was a pretty girl of about my age. She wore an outfit which tipped the nod towards the cowgirl style, more rhinestones than it seemed possible to attach to so little material, dinky boots with high heels and completed by a little white Stetson atop her mass of blond curly hair. Her face was plastered with too much make-up, a lot of pearlised mauv
e eyeshadow and glitter stuff on her eyelashes. She was giving the camera a come-hither look while clinging to an upright pole.

  ‘Lisa Stallard. Dancer,’ Mickey passed out his information in laconic, bite-sized snippets. ‘Good one.’ He leaned back. ‘She walked out,’ he said.

  There was a hint of surprise in his voice. Artistes didn’t walk out on him. This was probably a first. He still couldn’t quite accept it.

  ‘I want her back. Customers liked her.’

  I had every sympathy with the girl who’d walked out of this seedy dump. She had courage. If Mickey wanted her back, I decided, he could go and find her himself. I wasn’t going to do it for him.

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘If she doesn’t want to work here, well, I expect she’s got a reason.’

  The fish-silver eyes fixed me unpleasantly. Behind me Harry gave a faint warning cough.

  ‘It could be anything,’ I ploughed on in an effort to retrieve my social gaffe. ‘I mean, a sudden departure doesn’t suggest she didn’t like it here. Perhaps she’s got a family emergency at home.’

  Allerton leaned forward slightly. ‘She went without a word. I paid her good money. She’s not gone working for anyone else. I asked around the other clubs. But you’re right about her going home. That’s what she’s probably done. One of the other girls told me.’

  He jerked a thumb at the CCTV camera behind him. On it the girl in the pink leotard was sitting on the edge of the stage, drinking a bottle of water.

  ‘That one,’ said Allerton. ‘The stupid talentless bitch,’ he added ungratefully.

  The pink leotard girl was a snitch and the runaway had been foolish to confide in her. If you’re going to do something Mickey Allerton won’t like, at least don’t tell anyone else working for him what you intend.

  He could see what I was thinking and shook his head. ‘I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Fran. I could send Harry here after her. But she’d misunderstand. I don’t want to put the frighteners on her. That’s why I want you to go. I want you to ask her why she left. So that we can sort things out and she can come back. She’s not in any trouble as far as I’m concerned. I’m on the level with this. All I want is for her to come back. I told you, I was paying her good money, but I’ll increase it. You’re about her age. You’d know how to talk to her. She knows you don’t normally work for me. You don’t look frightening.’

  ‘I don’t like it!’ I burst out. ‘It’s up to her what she does. It’s supposed to be a free country!’

  ‘That girl,’ said Allerton, ‘could go far. I had plans for her.’

  I was afraid of that.

  Again, prompted by the misgivings in my expression, he leaned forward. ‘No, not those kind of plans! I’m opening a new club on the Costa del Sol. I was intending to send her out there and put her in charge of the acts. Make her a sort of artistic director, if you like. She wouldn’t have to get out there on the stage if she didn’t want to. Of course, it’d suit me if she did. I told you, she’s talented. But really I want her to scout for other girls. Make sure that the club puts on a really classy show. I’m going upmarket. She’s the right sort of girl for that, nice spoken, like you. Probably went to a proper school for young ladies, like you.’

  I’d never told Mickey about my schooldays but clearly someone had. I ran quickly through a list of my close acquaintances in my head, wondering which one had passed out private information on me. But it could be anyone, really. In the past, when I’d shared squats with people, we’d often sat round of an evening chatting about this and that. Perhaps it hadn’t been so hard for Mickey to run a background check on me, after all. In future I’d keep my mouth shut about my past. Like the runaway pole dancer, I was finding that a little innocent detail could turn out a weapon in the wrong hands.

  My dad and my grandma Varady scraped together the money to send me to a private school. I think they were compensating for the fact that my mother had left us. I was a messed-up kid and I messed up being at the school. Eventually I was expelled. When I remember the struggle Dad and Grandma had to keep me there I’m not proud of this. Grandma did home sewing, making wedding dresses and so on. She sat up late into the night at her old treadle machine; her swollen feet pushing the plate monotonously back and forth with a faint squeak at every move, working away for me to have a better future. I think I must have been a particularly odious brat. They loved me and I took their love and tossed it aside like it was nothing. If life has sometimes treated me harshly since then, I look on it as a sort of penance. (That’s what comes of being educated at primary school level by nuns.) But one thing I did learn from them, there’s right and there’s wrong. If you believe that, sooner or later you have to make a stand.

  I swallowed. ‘Mr Allerton, believe me, I’d like to oblige you. But I honestly don’t think I could persuade this girl to come back. Why should she listen to me? Suppose I found her and she refused? What would you say when I got back? You’d blame me.’

  Allerton was shaking his head. ‘No, no, Fran. You’ve got it wrong. All I want you to do is go and find Lisa and explain to her about the job I’ve got lined up for her in Spain, right? Tell her I’m not angry. I’m disappointed that she didn’t confide in me and tell me what was wrong. I really don’t know why she took off like that and I’d like to. It’s good business to have the staff happy. If she had a problem, we could probably have fixed it. I just want her to come back to London, sit down here and talk it through with me - just like you and me are doing now. Friendly.’

  ‘Do you know where her home is?’ I asked, hoping it might be some out-of-the-way place I couldn’t possibly be expected to find.

  ‘Sure. Oxford. I’ve got the address.’ His tone was brisk. He thought he’d talked me round.

  Not yet, he hadn’t. ‘I can’t just go to Oxford for an unknown length of time,’ I said. ‘What about my dog?’

  Now Allerton smiled. It was a wide slow smile which showed such excellent teeth he must have had them fixed. I was reminded of a shark. I realised too late that I’d handed some sort of advantage to him. I shouldn’t have mentioned Bonnie.

  ‘No problem,’ he said easily. ‘Harry will look after her. Harry’s good with dogs, aren’t you, Harry?’ He looked past me to his sidekick, invisible behind my back.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘We always have a dog at home.’

  ‘What, a pit bull terrier?’ I snapped. My grip on Bonnie tightened and she squeaked protestingly.

  ‘No,’ said Harry regretfully. ‘My missus don’t like them. We got a couple of them hairy little buggers, Yorkies.’

  The thought of Harry walking a pair of animated hairbrushes silenced me for a moment. But while I floundered, seeking some argument against Mickey’s proposal, Allerton moved on.

  ‘See?’ he said smoothly. ‘All laid on. Of course, if you’re not satisfied that Harry could look after the little tyke, I could ask Ivo. She bit him, you said?’ The shark’s teeth flashed at me again.

  I felt sick. The message was clear. I went to Oxford and carried Allerton’s message to Lisa, or Bonnie was handed over to Ivo, the muscular psychopath with the grudge. I didn’t like to think what he’d do to her.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘But promise me, Ivo doesn’t get near her. Promise! I want your word.’

  Allerton’s word probably wasn’t worth much but I could ask.

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ he soothed me. ‘We understand one another. Now then, here’s her address.’ He fished a piece of paper from that desk drawer and then a fat envelope. ‘And here’s some cash for expenses. We’ll settle your fee when you get back. I’m a generous man. You’ll be all right.’

  ‘And if I don’t bring her back with me? How will you know I’ve even seen her?’

  He frowned. ‘Get her to give me a call. I’d call her but she’d hang up on me. She’s gotta call me.’

  I understood his reasoning. Lisa had had the courage to walk out and probably had the courage to put the phone down at the sound of his voice. Re
ckless courage. Allerton couldn’t afford to let people show him that kind of disrespect. Any sign of weakness in a man in his position gets known. He’d be obliged to do something about it. Just now he seemed anxious to avoid the rough stuff and had called me in. But all that could change. It was up to me.

  ‘No e-mails or text messages! I want to hear her voice. Understood?’ The silvery eyes glittered at me.

  ‘I wouldn’t try that kind of trick!’ I said, irritated.

  ‘No, love, of course you wouldn’t. Because I’d find out, wouldn’t I? I’ll give you my mobile number so she can find me, any time. So can you. Keep me up to date. Give me a progress report. Of course, I’d prefer it if she comes back with you. But I’ll settle for a personal call from her.’ The fish-silver eyes were cold. ‘But you don’t get paid any more than is in this envelope.’ He tapped it. ‘Not unless she gets in contact, right? I pay for results. I don’t pay for failure. If you were to persuade her to come back to London with you, well, then you’d be in line for a nice little bonus. Remember that.’