by Simon Brett
Probably a better option would be to stock up with Sunday papers and enjoy the relaxed, ungastrified pub experience on his own. He looked at his watch. Pubs wouldn’t open for another hour. And, to keep him going till then, there was a welcoming half-bottle of Bell’s back at his digs.
In fact he didn’t make it back there. While he was in a convenience store buying a Sunday Times and a Telegraph (Charles worried he was getting right wing in his old age, but he did find the Observer rather smug), his mobile rang.
‘Hello. Charles?’ A female voice. Pure cockney.
‘Sorry, who is this?’
‘It’s Kitty Woo … you know, the dancer from—’
‘Of course I know who you are. What can I do for you?’
‘Well, I just wondered if you’d heard anything from Jasmine … you know, Jasmine del Rio who—’
‘Yes, of course I know.’ Second time he’d been asked the same question that morning. ‘No, I’m afraid I haven’t. Not since we finished rehearsal on Friday.’
‘Oh.’ The girl sounded so desolated that Charles suggested they should meet up for a drink. A pub lunch, maybe …?
She sounded almost pathetically pleased by the suggestion. ‘That’d be great, Charles. So long as we sit outside.’
‘Oh. Why’s that?’
‘So that I can smoke.’
ELEVEN
CINDERELLA: Oh, I’m so lonely. Pushed and shoved By my two sisters, I’ll never be loved.
The weak early December sun didn’t do any of the things that the sun is supposed to do, like provide warmth, and Charles was glad of the ancient duffel coat he had once again wrapped himself in. Kitty Woo, in a short leather jacket and even shorter leather skirt, seemed impervious to the weather. She said at first she didn’t want anything alcoholic but changed her mind and had a vodka tonic. She said she wasn’t hungry either, but decided to have a prawn sandwich. Charles started with a pint of Harvey’s by way of rehydration (he’d move on to the red wine later) and ordered the full roast beef and Yorkshire pudding Sunday lunch.
There was no reticence about Kitty Woo. As Charles had observed during rehearsal breaks, she and Jasmine del Rio had talked incessantly to each other and the dancer proved herself just as proficient at monologue as duologue. She was one of those people who seemed to be distressed if a nanosecond of silence was allowed to go unfilled.
‘Thing is about me and Jazzy,’ she said, ‘we’ve been mates for ever. We met when we was both at Italia Conti – you know?’ Charles nodded. He was familiar with the children’s drama school and over his career had met quite a few of its products. ‘And we’ve kind of joined up together whenever we could – work and boyfriends permitting. There’ve been some big breaks obviously, like when she was working in the States for a couple of years, but whenever we see each other again, it’s like we can pick up the conversation straight away – you know, like one of us has only just walked out the room for like a couple of minutes. So it was like really good news when we found out we was both working on this Cinderella, because we have been in the same shows over the years but not that often … and we’ve both worked with Bix before because he, sort of, likes to work with people he knows, but in fact this was the first time Jazzy and me was in one of his shows together. And that’s great, ’cause we drove down here in Jazzy’s Figaro and—’
‘Sorry, what’s a Figaro?’
‘Little car. Really cute. Looks like a kid’s toy … except of course it’s full size. Jazzy’s is Mint Green. We drove down here in it together – really like a girls’ adventure – we’re sharing these really nice digs and we was looking forward to spending some time together … you know, specially like over Christmas, because neither of us have got anything in the way of family – well, not family we’re speaking to, anyway, and we’re both between boyfriends, so, you know, it was like really good.’
A momentary pause for Kitty to take in a gulp of air gave Charles the opportunity to ask, ‘But you haven’t seen her since Friday?’
‘No, like, we finished rehearsals and I was going to cook that evening for us, like full Chinese – not that muck you get in Chinese restaurants but real Chinese like my grandmother used to cook. And Jazzy said fine, there was something she’d got to do but she’d be back nine at the latest, so she drove off in the Figaro, and I got all the stuff ready, because a lot of Chinese food you have to cook really quick, like, and I just waited. And, anyway, Jazzy never turned up.’
‘No message from her?’
‘Had a text about nine saying she was running a bit late, but that was it. Which is odd, because Jazzy’s like Queen of the Texts. If she’s not actually with me, then she’s like texting me all the time. Never without the latest iPhone and it’s like an extension to her hand she uses it so much. Always texting and scribbling down stuff on the little Notes app. God knows how she ever survived before they invented the iPhone. Which is why it’s so strange that I haven’t heard anything more from her since that text on Friday.’ Kitty sounded on the edge of tears.
‘Do the police know this – about the text you had?’ asked Charles.
For the first time in their conversation Kitty looked a little suspicious. ‘Why do you ask that?’
‘Because I’ve just been talking to Detective Inspector Malik and she asked me if I’d seen Jasmine.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, yes, they did ask me, and I didn’t want to tell them Jazzy was missing.’
‘Why not?’
‘My dad always told me never to tell the police anything you don’t need to tell them. One of the few useful pieces of advice he ever give me. This was before he pissed off with some tart when I was, like, nine.’
‘Was your father Chinese?’ asked Charles.
‘God, no. British through and through. Eastender and a total racist.’
‘That must’ve been, er … interesting, with him married to your mother.’
‘No, they was never married. Did live together for a few years. But it didn’t make for domestic harmony, no. Not much fun being around the house when your dad keeps calling your mum a “slit-eyed Chink” – specially since I was nearly as “slit-eyed” as she was, like. No, not easy round our place. Bloody relief when the old bugger did piss off, actually.’
‘And you and your mother?’
‘Always at each other’s throats … for different reasons. She was never interested in me. Me being half-English meant I was neither one thing nor the other so far as she was concerned. My mum was racist too in her way. Went back to Hong Kong … ooh, over ten years ago now. Haven’t heard from her since. Only good thing I ever got from her was the knowledge of how to cook Chinese – and most of that came from my gran, but she died way back.’
Charles realized what Kitty had meant about having no family she was speaking to. He was also aware of how dependent someone in her isolated position would be on her friends, and the level of upset that Jasmine del Rio’s disappearance must have caused her. It was hard to read the emotions in the girl’s black eyes, but she was clearly in a bad state. Jasmine meant a lot to her.
He moved the conversation back to Kitty’s interview with the police. ‘But you didn’t tell the cops a lie, did you, and say that you’d seen Jasmine after the end of rehearsals on Friday?’
‘No, no. I just made it sound like it was no big deal … you know, like she was always pissing off somewhere in the Figaro and picking up men and I wasn’t at all worried about her not coming back.’
The arrival of their lunches brought a natural break in proceedings. The waitress, dressed in thin black shirt and trousers, clearly thought that anyone who sat outside on a day like that was certifiable.
‘So the big question really is,’ asked Charles, after he’d ordered another vodka tonic and a large Merlot from the waitress, ‘what was this “thing” Jasmine said she’d got to do on Friday evening before coming back for your Chinese banquet?’
‘Yes,’ Kitty agreed. ‘Mind you, I didn’t tell the police that I was expecti
ng her back.’
‘No, of course not. So, Kitty, do you have any idea where Jasmine went that evening?’
The black eyes looked puzzled as she shook her head back and forth. ‘No, I don’t. I just know she went in the car. But there’d been something odd with her since she arrived in Eastbourne.’
‘Odd? Like how?’
‘She was kind of tense. I mean, she had just come through a particularly nasty break-up with some bloke who’d seemed to tick all the boxes and then turned out to be a bastard like every other man.’ She allowed herself a little grin. ‘No offence.’
He grinned back. ‘None taken.’
‘And it was one of these situations where they’d actually moved in together and she’d lent him money for some business project he was supposed to be setting up. And of course that was never going to work out, was it? So Jazzy didn’t only end up with a big emotional slap in the face, she lost all her savings too.’
‘I apologize on behalf of my gender,’ said Charles.
‘Apology bloody rejected,’ said Kitty with another pale grin. She was only toying with her prawn sandwich and lighting the next cigarette from the stub of the last one. ‘Anyway, Jazzy was very worried about money – you know, she’d been renting in London and she ended that when she came down here, so she, like, hadn’t got a place to call her own. End of the Cinderella run and she’ll be homeless, which, OK, has happened to her before, but it’s never going to be a barrel of laughs, is it? Jazzy was even talking about having to sell the Figaro, and that’s like her proudest possession. And I’d lent her some money because I’m quite flush at the moment, and she didn’t like being in debt to me and kept saying she’d be able to pay me back soon. I said it wasn’t a big deal, but it upset her. So Jazzy was in a bad way.’
‘And you don’t think it’s just a reaction to the ending of the relationship?’
‘That could be a big part of it, but I think there’s more.’
‘Any idea what?’
Kitty shook her head ruefully. ‘She seemed kind of twitchy, nervous before going to rehearsals, which is just so unlike Jazzy. She’s seen everything in the business, done everything. Worked with bastard choreographers, worked with groping directors, worked with impossible divas. Nothing fazes Jazzy. But there was something about the Cinderella company that unsettled her.’
‘Something or someone?’
‘More likely someone.’
‘An ex?’
‘Maybe. But looking through the personnel I can’t think who it’s likely to be.’
‘No. Did she mention whether anyone in the company had come on to her since she’d been down here?’
‘Well, yes, there’s always a bit of that early in rehearsals. Not from the male dancers, obviously – not their scene at all – but there’s usually some Jack the Lad among the actors who tries it on. A few of them chatted me up, but pretty quickly saw they weren’t going to get anywhere.’
‘And did the same thing happen with Jasmine?’
‘Yes, of course. Occupational hazard in our line of business.’
‘And did things go further with Jasmine and anyone in the cast?’
‘No. She might have had a drink with someone, but nothing more. I told you, she’s currently as pissed off with the male of the species as I am.’
‘Thank you,’ said Charles.
They were silent for a moment. He mopped up the last of his gravy with the last of his roast potatoes. The Sunday lunch had been surprisingly good, a defence against the cold wind from the sea that somehow found its way into every open cranny of his ancient duffel coat. Kitty Woo, in her skimpy leathers, still seemed impervious to the climatic conditions. Then he asked, ‘Does the name Marybeth Docker mean anything to you?’
Kitty shook her head in bewilderment. She’d clearly never heard it before in her life.
‘Because I think that’s what Jasmine del Rio may have called herself when she was in the States.’
Kitty shrugged. ‘Possible. She never mentioned it to me.’
‘Do you know much about the time when she went over there?’
‘Not a lot. As I say, we were both, like, at Italia Conti, and suddenly Jazzy announces she’s, like, going to try her luck in the States. I was pretty gobsmacked, I can tell you, because we was the same age, and I was far too young to think about doing something like that. Needless to say there was a man involved. There was always a man involved with Jazzy. Well, and sometimes a woman.’
‘Oh?’
‘Jazzy has had the odd lesbian fling.’ She seemed to read something in Charles’s expression. ‘Not with me, for God’s sake. We’re just mates. But Jazzy’s a great believer in love – in spite of the evidence that it always goes wrong for her – and she’s not that bothered who the love comes from. Gender’s a detail for her. There was a woman director called Laura she shacked up with for six months or so, a good while back. I think she found it rather restful, after all the crap she’d had to put up with from men. Didn’t last, though. When it comes to relationships there’s a bit of a kamikaze streak in Jazzy. She was soon two-timing Laura with another bloody man.’
‘And what about the man she went to the States with?’
‘He was American – and a kind of standard-issue bullshitter. Claimed to be a big producer over there, though I reckon that was just a ploy to get inside the knickers of as many actresses and dancers as he could. And Jazzy had matured young, always looked a good three or four years older than her real age.’
‘That’s a point, though. How could she get into the States if she was only a kid? She didn’t presumably go with her parents or—’
‘No, no, this guy she was with was a real fixer. He organized a false passport for her, which said she was eighteen. He was so obviously a crook and a bastard, but she couldn’t see it. He’d said he’d take her to the States and launch her career over there – and she believed him. Untold fortunes awaited them there, he said. All he asked her to do was find the money for both their air fares.’
‘Both their air fares?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid, like I say, there is a pattern in Jazzy’s relationship with men. In spite of playing tough all the time she’s a complete sucker for anything a man tells her – and she was even more so back then. So, soon as they’re safely in LA, the so-called producer, her so-called boyfriend, so-called fiancé even, suddenly vanishes off the scene. Leaving Jazzy on her own, trying to find work in one of the most competitive marketplaces in the entire world.’
‘Do you know what happened to her?’
A shake of the head. ‘Not in detail. She doesn’t like to talk about it. I think it was bloody tough, but she did get work eventually. She’s a grafter, Jazzy. Can always sort things out in every area of her life.’
‘Except men.’
‘Except men.’
‘Kitty, did she ever tell you she had met Kenny Polizzi before?’
‘No. Never mentioned a thing about him. Why, did she meet him?’
‘She implied that she had.’ And Charles recapitulated the encounter he’d witnessed between the two of them during the Thursday rehearsal break. ‘And she said that when they’d met previously she was called Marybeth Docker. And he looked very shocked by that.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Rehearsal started again. He didn’t have time to say anything.’
Kitty looked puzzled and a little shaken by what Charles had told her. ‘So if there was a connection between Jazzy and Kenny Polizzi, then maybe she was going to see him on Friday night …?’
‘It’s possible. It’s also possible that whatever she said to him had such an effect on him that he started drinking again.’
‘How’d do you mean?’
‘Kenny fell very spectacularly off the wagon on Friday night.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘He’d had a fairly stormy encounter with Lilith Greenstone, his … well, she was still technically his wife, but she reckoned that wouldn’t have upse
t him enough to break his pledge. Something else that happened that night, however, shook him up so much that he reached straight for the vodka bottle.’
Kitty looked thoughtful. ‘And you think it could have been something to do with Jazzy. What kind of connection could there be between her and Kenny?’
‘Well, let’s start with the obvious one, shall we?’ said Charles. ‘Sex. You say Jasmine always looked older than her years. How old was she when she flew to the States with her dodgy producer?’
‘Fourteen,’ replied Kitty Woo.
TWELVE
BARON HARDUP: I always suffer from paranoia When I have dealings with a lawyer.
Charles had a lot to think about after he left Kitty. The girl was desperately worried about her friend’s disappearance and this gave him a further incentive to find out what, if anything, had happened between Jasmine del Rio and Kenny Polizzi on the Friday evening. He mentally went through the members of the Cinderella company to think who might possibly have some relevant information, but drew a blank. The one person he was keen to contact, though, was Lefty Rubenstein. Surely Kenny’s factotum must know something about his employer’s movements on the Friday night. The end of the phone conversation Charles had heard in the pub suggested that Lefty was sourcing cocaine for him. And if that was the case, then the two of them must have met up that evening.
The trouble was that Charles didn’t have any means of contacting the lawyer. He knew Lefty wasn’t in the Grand, but didn’t know which hotel he was staying in. And Charles had no mobile number for him. For all he knew, after his boss’s death Lefty had flown straight back to the States.
Back at his digs, Charles took a long swig of Bell’s to act as a digestif after his lunch and then sat down to think seriously about the disappearance of Jasmine del Rio.
He was woken once again by the ringing of his mobile. The fact that it was Lilith calling brought him instantly to wakefulness.