Jade Monkey

The lights dimmed and the lady sang. Her dark blue dress shimmered in the spotlight. She was good. I could probably find half a dozen long and elegantly descriptive words that could describe how she sang, her dress, her figure, her voice and the way that the spotlight fell on her hair. But I couldn’t pull my attention away enough from the effect that all the above had to think that hard, which is probably the best compliment I can give her. Then very suddenly, it was over and the room silent; she stood in the spotlight basking in the applause that rippled from a spellbound crowd.

As she left the stage and the applause died down, I looked across at the reporter; he was smiling into his drink.

‘This the first time you’ve heard her sing?’ He said.

I nodded, realised that this wasn’t enough and struggled to find my voice. ‘Yeah’

He nodded. ‘You can start drinking your drink again too.’

I looked at the drink that I had forgotten I was holding and took a sip. Somehow it didn’t seem to have the same kick it had ten minutes ago.

She came out again through a small stage door passing in-between two goons in suits who looked like relatives of King Kong there to reduce backstage tourism. She was wearing a different dress, still dark blue, but it looked as if it had been picked out for comfort rather than a performance like her stage dress.  I waved at her from our table and she walked over.

‘So, where’s my drink?’

The reporter looked at me as if I’d suddenly grown antlers.

I smiled. ‘I didn’t know what you’d like.’

She smiled back ‘Well that’s just simply not good enough. Come with me.’

I got up out of my chair, and said a quick goodbye to the reporter whose mouth was hanging open and began following her to the bar.

The barman nodded recognition and our drinks were served swiftly. Stools were found for us at the end of the bar looking out across the room from the bars far end. She closed her eyes and drank swiftly from her glass, the ice cubes clinking against the side.

‘So why sit here?’ I asked.

‘Because I like watching people get drinks from the bar. It’s a pleasant atmosphere here.’

‘Fair enough’ I said, lifting my glass to my lips. How many drinks had I had today?

‘How is your unofficial investigation coming along anyway?’

‘Good. Nobody has shot at me in the last hour or so.’

‘And you’ve got lots of strong leads to follow.’

‘Not strong, they’ve just started going to gym and are looking speculatively at the weights.’

She laughed and we talked for an hour or so and drank a few more drinks and I was definitely beginning to feel very comfortable and affable. But I had work to do. I stood up slowly.

‘Are you going?’

‘Believe me, I don’t want to.’

‘But duty calls hey.’

I nodded.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘The reliable, dutiful type. I thought you were extinct.’

I gave her a tight smile. ‘Just endangered.’

‘Well.’ She stood up, put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a swift peck on the cheek. ‘Take care of yourself, and I shall see you soon.’ She looked up and her eyes met mine. ‘Right.’

I held that look for a moment. ‘Right.’ I said, and I found I meant it. Wild horses would need to be involved in keeping me away, but for now I had to leave.

The night’s air hit me like a club as I went outside and hailed a cab. Clouds still chased across the sky and the moon was hidden from view. Good. Not as good as more fog for what I had planned, but a moonlit night would have made my life more difficult. I’d had a few drinks, enough for an excuse to act drunk if anyone questioned me too closely while I was on my way there and definitely not enough for me to finish off the conversation I’d started in a bar a few years with Harvey. A cab drew up and I shouted ‘Faraday’ at the driver.

One of the little known pitfalls of a private detectives life is transportation, you spend a fortune on taxi fees, get blacklisted by every car hire company in town when you bring back something with bullet holes in or, if you use your own car, you become a lot more recognisable when you start tailing people. Still, I hate bicycling. There’s nothing more embarrassing than having to buy four bikes in two weeks because yours have all been stolen. Trust me on this.

The night span past my window as I looked up from my slumped position in the back of the cab. The cab driver was muttering curses under his breath in front but I’d slapped a large enough note on the passenger seat that I was pretty sure that I’d get Faraday. It didn’t take long. I’d chosen a place that I’d seen on my earlier visit, a few streets away from where I wanted to be but the walk wasn’t going to do any harm unless someone shot out the dark at me, which wasn’t a reassuring thought….. I stumbled out of the cab and vaguely thanked the driver who didn’t reply and screeched off into the night still mumbling curses about drunks.

It took a few seconds to check where I was, and figure out which way to go. I pulled the brim of my hat down low and pulled my coat tight. I didn’t want anyone to recognise me if this went wrong. I walked slowly, beneath the streetlights hardly glancing up at the occasional car that passed by. My thoughts began to get a little clearer as I walked. So, the Chief Constable socialising with Miss Mills while two important investigations were underway. I couldn’t think my way through it. I thought Miss Michelle had been the one leaning on the law to get results. Perhaps they both were.

Miss Ferguson’s house was still big and pale cream; the curtains on the windows were still half drawn, and all the lights were out. The hanging baskets swayed in the wind, creaking back and forth on their chains. It was the lights that were important; I’d hoped to find out if anyone had come back. Carefully I made my way to check the back of the house. There were no lights, but the back door was open.

My gun flew from my pocket to my hand like it was trying to win some sort of medal. If I had one at the time I would have given it one. Nothing moved. I pushed the door open fully, and stepped through.

It was a kitchen with a black and white tiled floor like a chessboard. Even in here were small artefacts, skilfully decorated earthenware pots and bowls. A few cups were left on the side ready to be washed up. I picked one up and checked it over. It had been coffee, two or three days on the side I guessed. I put it back down and walked silently through in to the front room. It was much the same as I had managed to see from the outside. Curios and bric-a-brac were neatly arranged on shelves and the same Chinese dragon I’d seen before was lit by a thin streak of light that pushed through a gaps in the curtains, it grinned up at me from the mantel piece and I suppressed the urge to grin back, something was wrong.

I ghosted my way to the bottom of the stairs and gradually made my way up, testing each stair as I went to find if any would creak underfoot and give the game away. None did. The first room I tried was a well-appointed bathroom, but on the second try I found the bedroom. A single figure was in the large double bed, covered by a thick duvet. I realised that for the past half minute I’d not heard any breathing. I gently pulled the duvet away and met the cold staring eyes of Mr Charles.