The Jazz Files

by Fiona Veitch Smith

  “You can take it, Dorchester, but there is more where that came from. Not of those years, perhaps, but from the years I worked for you. Remember when Dot Denby was blackmailing you –”

  Melvyn’s eyes narrowed and he pulled back the firing mechanism.

  Grace sucked in her breath in alarm, but didn’t back down. “Well, where do you think she got those tit-bits of information? That’s right, from me. I have duplicate copies of your ledgers from 1903 to 1907, and believe me, they make for interesting reading. The House of Lords, for instance, might be very interested to hear of your payments to Sinn Fein in November 1905… an English peer, providing funding for an Irish nationalist party in return for them not protesting the opening of one of your businesses in Dublin? Oh yes, that will go down very well.”

  “What do you want, Mrs Wilson?” Melvyn sneered.

  “I want you to let my young friends go.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Because I have given instructions that if I do not return safely with them by seven o’clock this evening, my duplicate ledgers will be delivered to the home of the editor of The Daily Globe.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Am I? Are you sure of that?”

  “We can send Easling to Rolandson’s house, Father.”

  Poppy, who wasn’t sure whether or not Grace was bluffing but was grateful that the other woman was at least trying something, chipped in, “Well, unless you have a field radio unit in your motor, you won’t be able to call him, will you, and” – she lifted Delilah’s wrist and looked at her watch – “oh look, you only have ten minutes.”

  Alfie strode over to Poppy and slapped her across the face. The blow was so hard it knocked her to her knees.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that since I first met you.” Then he bent down and picked up the ledger box. Delilah launched herself at him; he parried with a punch to her solar plexus.

  “Leave them alone!” Elizabeth sprung on her brother and knocked him over. The two siblings rolled around, each struggling to get the upper hand, until their father shot a round into the air. They stopped.

  “Get up, both of you. Alfie, get the box. Lizzy, get in the Bentley. You three, line up beside that ditch.”

  “What are you going to do?” asked Grace, unable to hide the tremor in her voice.

  “What I should have done years ago.”

  The women didn’t move. Melvyn held the gun to Elizabeth’s temple. Poppy, Delilah and Grace did as they were told.

  “Now turn around.”

  Poppy reached out and took the hand of Grace on one side and Delilah on the other. Delilah was sobbing. Grace was shaking.

  “Stop it, Father! Stop it! I’ll do whatever you want. Send me back to the asylum, lock me up for the rest of my life, I don’t care!”

  “Take your sister away, Alfie.”

  “Noooooo!”

  Suddenly there was a roar of an engine; a gunshot blasted; the women fell to their knees. But none of them had been shot. Poppy spun around to see a motorcycle and sidecar hurtling towards Melvyn Dorchester. Melvyn dived to take cover behind the Bentley while firing his revolver in the direction of the motorcycle; Alfie dragged Elizabeth along the ground by her hair.

  A flash went off from the sidecar and Poppy saw a mop of red hair behind a camera. Rollo!

  Daniel stopped the motorcycle and jumped off, throwing his whole weight against Poppy, Delilah and Grace, who tumbled like a set of skittles into the ditch.

  “Put down the gun, Dorchester.” It was Rollo. “You don’t have enough bullets for all of us.”

  “You put down that camera, Rolandson, and I’ll consider it.”

  “And miss the chance of having a front page pic of a peer of the realm shooting defenceless women? Oh, all right then.”

  Rollo put the camera down. “Now your turn.”

  Melvyn did not comply.

  “How many shots has he fired?” whispered Daniel to Poppy.

  “Er – I don’t know. Two, I think. But he might have shot the night watchman, so that will be three.”

  “Then he should have three, possibly four, left. I’m going to draw his fire. Don’t follow me.”

  Before Poppy could object, Daniel jumped up and sprinted across the road to the safety of the line of poplars, drawing two shots from Melvyn.

  Now he’s only got one or two bullets left, thought Poppy. Should she do the same as Daniel?

  “Don’t move! Any of you. Just killing one of you will be enough for me. Alfie, stop playing with your sister and get in the motor. And if anyone tries to follow, I’ll put a bullet in Lizzy’s head. Understand?”

  “It’s over, Dorchester,” said Rollo. “There are too many witnesses this time. You’ll never get away with it.”

  “I’ll get away with it long enough to retire abroad, Yankee. Ah, what do you know, I have two bullets left. One for Lizzy and one for… now, who should it be…”

  “Ahhhhhhhh!” Alfie screamed. Elizabeth was standing over him with Poppy’s bolt cutters. He was rolling around holding his shoulder. She then turned and walked towards her father with the bolt cutters raised above her head like a club.

  Melvyn trained the gun on her. “Stop, Lizzy, or I’ll shoot. I don’t want to. I love you, you’re my daughter, but –” His words were cut short as the bolt cutters swung in an arc at his head, the gun went off, Elizabeth cried and fell to the ground. Alfie got up and reached for the gun that had fallen from his father’s grip, but Poppy sprinted from the ditch, pushed him off balance and kicked the revolver out of his reach. She then fell to her knees beside Elizabeth. The older woman was holding her chest, her breathing laboured. Her father was lying three feet away with blood seeping from a wound on his head.

  “Father!” Alfie struggled to his feet and stumbled to his parent. “You’ve killed him! You’ve killed him!”

  “Unfortunately not,” said Daniel, picking up the gun and training it on the two Dorchester men. “It’s just a superficial wound. Didn’t you learn anything in the army, captain?” Then he knelt beside Poppy, his gun still on Alfie and Melvyn. “How is she?”

  Poppy had taken off her jacket and was staunching the wound in Elizabeth’s chest. “It’s missed her heart. But we need to get her to hospital.”

  “Can you and Delilah do that?”

  Poppy nodded.

  “Good. Rollo and I will finish up here.”

  “Give me the gun,” said Rollo. “You take the camera, Dan. Poppy, get the keys for the Bentley.”

  Poppy stuck out her hand in front of Alfie. “So who’s the slapper now?”

  CHAPTER 37

  26 JULY 1920

  Poppy walked into the newsroom and took a seat at the back of the group of journalists. Rollo stopped mid-sentence and pointed his baton in Poppy’s direction.

  “Good of you to join us, Miz Denby.”

  “Sorry, I was showing Vicky Thompson the morgue and explaining about the Jazz Files.”

  “And where is our new editorial assistant now?”

  “Ivan asked me to leave her there so he could show her the ropes.”

  There was a snigger of dirty laughter from the journalists. Rollo joined in.

  Exasperated, Poppy snapped at them, “Mr Molanov is more of a gentleman than you lot put together.”

  They jeered back at her; Poppy retorted with a few choice put-downs.

  Rollo raised his oversized hands to quieten them. “Now, now, children, we’ve got work to do. Poppy, I was just explaining to Mr Garfield here the background to today’s lead about DCI Easling – aka Tricky Ricky – being charged with corruption and attempted murder. Ike, I don’t believe you’ve met Miz Denby yet – this is the young woman behind the whole Dorchester exposé. Thanks to her it looks like Melvyn and Alfie Dorchester will be going away for a very long time. And Dorchester Junior will be stripped of his Victoria Cross.”

  There was a smattering of ironic applause.

  A bespectacled, dark-skinned ma
n stood up and reached out his hand. “Miss Denby, the pleasure is all mine. Ike Garfield.” He spoke with a West Indian accent.

  “Ike is joining our staff as a replacement for poor Bert.”

  Poppy’s heart sank. She had been convinced that after all the work she had done on the Dorchester case – which had run as front page news in every newspaper from London to Paris for the last ten days – she would be rewarded with the vacant political editor position, particularly after Rollo had told her to find a replacement for herself for the editorial assistant job.

  She had also finally had the courage to tell her parents what she’d been up to. They were, as predicted, furious with the deception and beside themselves with worry that she had been in such danger, but had surprised her by giving her their blessing.

  “We’ve been praying for years that your aunt’s attacker would be brought to justice, Poppy, but who would have thought the Lord would use you to do it?” said her father.

  “Aye, he works in mysterious ways,” commented her mother, before launching into a lecture on appropriate office attire for a young lady.

  Poppy smoothed down her new red dress, fixed a smile on her face and tried to look happy to meet the West Indian journalist.

  “Congratulations, Mr Garfield. I’m sure Bert would approve of the new appointment.”

  The diminutive editor nodded his approval. “Speaking of Bert, we’ve had some news.” Everyone looked at Rollo. “The coroner’s report has come in and it turns out Bert simply died of a heart attack.”

  Incredulous gasps filled the newsroom.

  “So he wasn’t pushed?” asked the sports reporter.

  “It seems increasingly unlikely. Both Melvyn and Alfie say they didn’t pay Lionel to do it. They could be lying, of course, but the coroner doesn’t think so. Bert was a heart attack waiting to happen; we all knew that.”

  So it was just coincidence, then, thought Poppy, Bert falling and sparking the investigation that led to the Dorchesters being exposed. Or was it? What was it her mother had said? The Lord works in mysterious ways… She wished she knew what mysterious way he was working in now by not giving her the job she wanted. But no doubt she’d find out. Eventually…

  “What’s the latest on Mrs Wilson, Poppy?”

  Poppy forced herself to stop thinking about her “lost job” and turned her attention back to Rollo.

  “She’s getting out on bail tomorrow,” she answered. “Her court case is scheduled for the end of August. If she’s convicted of perverting the course of justice, she’s likely to get two years. They’ll be looking at her covering up the truth of Gloria’s death in 1913, as well as her attempts to do away with the ledger evidence now. But her efforts to save us from Alfie and Melvyn will hopefully go in her favour.”

  There were grunts of agreement around the room.

  Ah, poor Grace. She had turned herself in to the police at the hospital when they came to see the reported gunshot victim. With a solicitor present from The Globe – sent by Rollo to make sure none of Easling’s cronies were involved – she said she would confess everything. It turned out that she didn’t have duplicates of Dorchester’s earlier ledgers, but she did say she would tell them as much as she could remember of what was in them. The police took statements from Poppy and Delilah, in which both women stressed how Grace had tried to save them. The police said the statements would be presented to the Director of Public Prosecutions.

  “We’ll get Ike to cover it, shall we?” offered Rollo, smiling at the West Indian journalist. “You’re probably a bit too close to it all, Poppy.”

  Poppy smarted. Another slap in the face. Of course, she knew Rollo was right: she was too close to it – at home and at the office. It had been left to her to tell Aunt Dot that the most important person in her life had been deceiving her all these years. Dot was devastated, but insisted on going to see Grace at the police station. She had come out, her eyes red with tears, and said, “Grace will be coming home with us when she’s released, Poppy.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Aunt Dot?”

  Dot had taken Poppy’s hand and said, “I’ve forgiven her, pet. I want you to do the same.”

  Poppy wasn’t sure she could, but she would try.

  Elizabeth was also staying with them. She had been released from hospital three days previously, a week after she had been shot. The bullet had missed all her major organs, but she had lost a lot of blood. Dot had said that if she didn’t want to stay under the same roof as Grace, she would arrange for her to move to Delilah’s. Elizabeth had said she would think about it and give them her decision that evening at the theatre.

  Poppy smiled to herself. Ah well, perhaps she was not going to get her dream career, but Delilah was. Despite missing two days of rehearsal and being the subject of a city-wide manhunt, Delilah had been called upon to take the role of Titania after the lead and the understudy both came down with flu two days into the run. Poppy, Elizabeth and Dot were going to see her that night.

  “And finally,” said Rollo, “to entertainment. Firstly, I’m spitting nails about it, but I have to tell you that the police released Lionel Saunders without charge.”

  “What?” came the outraged chorus.

  Rollo raised his hands. “Yes, yes, I know, and I’m getting the legal lads to appeal it, but the official line is that there’s not enough evidence to charge him on anything criminal. They say it’s an internal matter for The Globe. So naturally I’ve sacked him.”

  The journalists grunted their approval.

  “Hang on, there’s more. I’ve just heard The Courier have hired him as their new entertainment editor.”

  More howls of outrage.

  “I know, I know. There’s nothing we can do about it – for now. But we do have to replace him – internally.”

  Poppy looked around, wondering which of the journalists had applied for a transfer to the plum position that allowed flexible hours, late mornings and all-expenses-paid hobnobbing with the rich and famous.

  “And I am happy to announce that The Daily Globe’s new arts and entertainment editor is… drum roll, please, gentlemen… Miz Poppy Denby!”

  There was a round of applause and a few wolf whistles.

  “Well, Poppy, what are you waiting for? Take a bow.”

  And Poppy did.

  Poppy, Dot and Elizabeth emerged from the theatre to a wall of flash photography. Elizabeth tried to cover her face, but Dot wheeled herself to the front and greeted the photographers with her most dazzling smile.

  “All right, boys. One at a time.”

  Poppy chuckled to herself and escorted Elizabeth to Grace’s motorcar. Delilah had said she would drive them all to Oscar’s after she had finished her “press duties”. With Elizabeth safely in the back seat, Poppy went back to get her aunt, who was now sharing centre stage with Delilah.

  “Oh, wasn’t she a fabulous Titania! I’ll let you in on a little secret, boys. Robert Atkins himself told me she is the best Titania he’s seen since – well, since me!”

  The journalists laughed and the photographers snapped away at the two actresses who had recently starred in a real-life drama that had brought down the great Lord Dorchester and shaken the entire House of Lords.

  “I believe congratulations are in order.” Daniel was at Poppy’s shoulder.

  She started, cross with herself that her heart still raced at his voice. She had hardly seen him since the evening outside the train yard. He had been sent straight to Paris to collect the evidence of Alfie’s cowardice in Flanders and to cover the French fall-out of the Marie Curie Radium Institute revelations. On his return he had taken a few days’ personal leave to deal with a “family issue”. The few times he had been in the office he had tried to speak to Poppy, but each time she had conspired a way to escape.

  “Yes, thank you. I’ve got Lionel’s job; I’m just not working tonight.”

  “No, but you will be. And we’ll be working together – a lot. So I think we need to clear
the air.”

  “Look, Mr Rokeby, I have to help my aunt get in the motor…”

  “Please, Poppy, we need to talk. If not now, then give me a time and a place and I’ll be there.”

  Poppy felt her throat tighten and her eyes well up with tears. She turned away from him.

  He reached out and took her hand. “Please, Poppy.”

  She spun around, not caring whether anyone was watching. “Don’t ‘please Poppy’ me! You led me to believe you had feelings for me. You even asked me out to dinner!”

  “I do have feelings for you. Which is exactly why I asked you to dinner. Look, it was stupid of me not to tell you about my children before. I’m sorry, but please give me another chance.”

  “Oh? Another chance? And what do you think your wife will think of that?”

  “My… oh Poppy, no. Is that what this is all about?” He slapped his hand to his forehead. “Oh, how could I be so stupid? Of course it is.”

  He tried to take her hand again. She pulled away. So he took her by the shoulders and held her firmly. She thought of calling for help, but then she noticed the look in his eyes and didn’t. She would hear him out, once and for all; she owed him that at least.

  “All right, Daniel, I’m listening. But make it quick.”

  Daniel took in a deep breath and then exhaled. “My wife… my wife died two years ago of the Spanish flu. The woman you spoke to on the telephone is my sister. She lives with me to help look after the children. They are Amy and Arthur, three and five. I couldn’t keep working without her. She’s a godsend. But she does get a bit protective and I see that she allowed you to believe something that wasn’t true. And I’m sorry. And if I’d handled this better I would have –”

  He’s not married. He’s not married. He’s not… Poppy reached up her finger and touched his lips.

  “Shhhh! No, I’m sorry. She didn’t lead me to believe anything. It’s what I assumed. And I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain – you or anyone. Mavis tried to and I… Oh Daniel, I’m sorry! Please forgive me.”