“What do you want?” asked Dan. He hated the way Max was playing him like a pawn on a chessboard, but if Rose was in trouble then Dan knew he didn’t have any choice but to listen.
Max pointed a finger at him. “There’s a diamond bracelet in your house. I need you to bring it to me. Then Rose can go free. Simple.”
“And if I don’t fetch the bracelet?”
“Oh, well, in that case Rose’s fate might not be such a happy one.”
Dan had no idea if Max was bluffing, but it wasn’t a risk he was prepared to take. He looked around the room. Scarlett had vanished, but Chris was still standing there, arms folded across his chest, blocking his way out. Talking to Chris earlier, he’d got the impression that he didn’t give a lot away, but he didn’t bullshit either. He looked now to Chris for confirmation of what Max was saying. Chris gave an imperceptible nod of the head and Dan knew Max was telling the truth.
His mind was racing and he was finding it difficult to think straight. He tried to calculate how long it would take for him to run home, find the bracelet and run back again. Probably about fifty minutes. Maybe forty if he really legged it, but he wasn’t a great runner, preferring to cycle. Still, it would be quicker than waiting for a bus at this time of the night. He didn’t have enough money on him for a taxi.
“Give me an hour,” said Dan. He needed contingency time in case he had trouble finding the bracelet. Also, he’d be held up if he had to explain to his mother what he was doing.
“Chris will give you a ride on his motorbike,” said Max. “Then you can be back in thirty minutes and your girlfriend will be free.”
~~~
Rose banged on the window overlooking the dance floor, trying to attract the attention of the people below, but it was hopeless. She saw Sophie and James, talking to each other, looking around. Possibly they were looking for her. She waved frantically but they didn’t look up. No one could hear her over the thump of the music and she was invisible against the flashing lights. She wished now that she’d kept her mobile phone on her after all, although Max would probably have taken it from her.
She looked around the room for anything that she could use to help her escape, or at least attract attention. There was the old 1920’s fire extinguisher on the wall, a large brass cylinder with a nozzle and short hose coming out of the top. If she could just lift it off the wall. But then what? Throw it through the window into the nightclub below? No, that was far too risky. If it landed on someone’s head it could kill them. Or it might explode, like a small bomb. But if she could just shatter the glass window, that would attract the attention of the party-goers down below. She glanced through the glass panel in the door. The bouncer had his back to her. Now was her opportunity. She put her hands on the cylinder, feeling the coldness of the brass. She eased the cylinder off its holder and held it close to her body. It was heavier than she’d thought it would be.
She walked towards the window. The dance floor had emptied a bit. Either people were getting thirsty and had gone off in search of a drink, or the DJ had chosen a duff track. But it was the perfect opportunity to break the glass because there was less chance of hurting someone with a flying shard. Rose hoisted the cylinder to shoulder height and prepared to ram her way to safety.
“Drop it!”
Rose froze. She’d been concentrating so hard on carrying the cylinder and thinking about what to do with it that she hadn’t heard the door open and the bouncer approach. She turned to face him now and saw that he was pointing his gun at her.
In desperation she threw the cylinder at him, hoping to knock him off balance, but it was too heavy and it fell short, landing inches from his feet. She’d always been a lousy shot. He laughed. He took a step towards her and she flinched, thinking that he was going to hit her. But he just kicked the cylinder out of the door, then walked backwards out of the room, pointing the gun at her the whole time. He closed and locked the door behind him.
“No!” screamed Rose. She ran to the door and pounded on the glass pane. The bouncer ignored her.
Shit! She’d missed her chance. She should have thrown the fire extinguisher at the man’s head. Now she was still trapped in the room and she’d lost her only weapon. She looked around the room again but there was nothing else available.
She slumped to the floor and sat with her head resting on her knees. This was worse than the last time Max had held her prisoner. That time she’d been tied to a bedstead in the cellar of an abandoned Victorian lunatic asylum, but at least she’d had Zoe to talk to. And Zoe’s amazing dog, Lucky, had helped them escape. This time she was able to move around, but it was no use. She could shout and scream all she liked but no one would hear her. If Max kept his word then she’d be out of there when Dan had done whatever Max wanted him to do. She just hoped Dan would be able to do whatever it was quickly.
~~~
Dan put on the helmet that Chris offered him and climbed warily onto the back of the motorbike. He’d never ridden pillion before and didn’t like the idea of getting a lift with someone who was working for Max. But Chris appeared to be stone-cold sober and he rode the Harley-Davidson through the streets of Scarborough like a professional. The bike was a powerful machine and handled like a dream. It was just a shame, thought Dan, that he wasn’t in the mood to enjoy it.
Chris parked the bike at the top of Greylands Park Drive. “I’ll wait for you here,” he said, lighting a cigarette.
Dan climbed off the bike and handed Chris his helmet. If he encountered his mother in the house he didn’t want to have to explain why he was carrying a motorbike helmet.
Dan unlocked the front door as quietly as he could. After the break-in Fiona had demanded that the landlord install extra secure locks, and getting into the house now was like breaking into Fort Knox. Once Dan was inside, he stood for a moment in the hallway, listening. The television was on in the living room, something foreign from the sound of it. She liked those Danish crime dramas where it was always raining and everyone looked miserable. He poked his head round the living room door. His mum was curled up on the sofa, cradling a glass of wine in her hands. A half-eaten box of chocolates lay on the coffee table.
“Hi Mum.”
She paused the television. “You’re back early. Didn’t expect to see you yet.” She sounded half pissed.
“Forgot my phone,” he lied. “I’m going back out.”
“Okay.” She pressed play on the remote control and a stream of guttural-sounding dialogue resumed.
Dan closed the door and breathed out. He hated having to lie to her but he didn’t have time to explain why he was really there. He needed to find the bracelet and get back to the Futurist as quickly as possible. He darted upstairs, then paused. He was going to have to tread very lightly so that she wouldn’t hear his footsteps and know that he was in her bedroom. He hoped the drama she was watching wasn’t about to finish. For once he was glad she was half-drunk.
He tiptoed into her room and turned on the light. Everything was back in its place and you’d never know that the room had been turned upside down only a week ago. He crept over to the dressing table and glanced at the objects lying there. Some earrings, a hair brush, a perfume bottle, assorted lipsticks, a watch. Where was the damn bracelet? He hoped she wasn’t wearing it. He pulled open drawers but found only underwear and tights. He looked at the bedside table. There was a well-thumbed paperback with a picture of a naked male torso on the front, all rippling six-pack and bronze tan. God, what sort of books did his mum read? This was embarrassing.
The wardrobe door was slightly ajar and Dan pulled it open. On the top shelf was a pink leather jewellery box. Please let this be it, he thought. He took it down and eased open the lid. Nestling inside the velvet interior, amongst an assortment of costume jewellery, was the diamond bracelet. He’d found it.
There was no doubt that this bracelet was the real McCoy. Even to Dan’s untrained eye, the diamonds sparkled with a brilliance that made everything else in the box look
cheap and fake. He touched the bracelet, feeling the hard stones between his thumb and forefinger. He shouldn’t be taking it, he knew that, but Rose was in trouble and, at the end of the day, he told himself, it was just a bunch of stones.
Through the bedroom floor he heard the theme music starting to play. Shit! The crime drama was finishing. Any second now his mother would be on her way to the kitchen for another bottle of wine. He slipped the bracelet into his pocket, returned the box to the wardrobe, shut the door and went back out onto the landing. Just in time. As he descended the stairs his mother emerged from the living room. She was definitely tipsy from the way she swayed as she walked towards the kitchen.
Dan ran down the rest of the stairs. “See you later,” he called as he headed towards the door. He ran down the street to where Chris was sitting astride his motorbike.
“Got it?” he asked as Dan pulled on the helmet.
“Yes.” Dan jumped on the bike, Chris revved the engine and they sped back to the Futurist.
~~~
Rose didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there. She’d left her watch at home, thinking it didn’t go with her new dress. Her throat was parched and she was getting a headache from dehydration and the constant thump of the music. Where the hell was Dan? What was he doing? She wished he’d hurry up. She went back to the window and gazed down at the party below. There seemed to be more people than ever on the dance floor. The DJ picked a marginally quieter track and she banged on the window again, shouting till her throat hurt, but still no one heard her.
A red-head in a black mini-skirt that did her fat thighs no favours was pushing her way into the centre of the floor and Rose recognised one of the girls that the bouncers had turned away when she and Dan had first arrived. Close on the red-head’s heels was her peroxide blond friend, waving what looked like a vodka bottle above her head, a red-tipped cigarette glowing from her mouth. So they’d managed to gate-crash the party after all. The two facially-challenged boyfriends were so drunk they were crashing into people all over the place. It looked like a fight might break out.
Rose scanned the crowd, trying to find Scarlett, that bitch, but couldn’t see her anywhere. If Scarlett had any sense she’d keep out of Rose’s way from now on.
Then she saw the other bouncer striding onto the dance floor. Most people stood back to let him through, but the four gate-crashers were so off their faces they didn’t notice and continued thrashing their arms and legs in what passed for dancing in their addled brains. The bouncer grabbed hold of one of the boys and started marching him off the floor. The red-head went wild. She jumped onto the man’s back, ripped off his sunglasses and started trying to claw his eyes out with her fingernails. He jerked back his head, smashing the back of his skull into her forehead. She fell backwards and landed on her bottom on the rapidly clearing dance floor, her spreadeagled legs wobbling like blancmange.
The music stopped. The blond girl burst out laughing at the sight of her friend sprawled on the floor. She staggered over in hysterics and tripped over the fallen girl’s ankles, smashing the bottle of vodka on the coloured tiles of the dance floor. She screamed and the cigarette fell from her mouth, straight into the flammable liquid. The vodka ignited and flames leapt into the air. It was as if someone had lit a giant barbecue.
The effect of the flames was instantaneous. Panic erupted. People scattered from the dance floor like wasps from a poisoned nest. It was astonishing how quickly the fire took hold. It must have got into the underfloor wiring and within seconds flames were shooting along the edges of the multi-coloured squares, until the whole floor was ablaze. The fire alarm started to wail.
Rose came to her senses. She had to get out of there. Surely the bouncer guarding her wouldn’t leave her to burn to death. She ran to the door and pounded on the glass, calling for help. He fumbled with the keys.
“Come on,” she shouted at him. “Get a move on!” Then he dropped them. Rose wanted to scream. He picked them up, looking terrified. Well, now he knew how she felt. He ran to the top of the steps, dithered, panicked and then ran down the stairs, leaving her trapped.
“You stinking, cowardly bastard!” screamed Rose.
She banged frantically on the glass window overlooking the dance floor, but no one looked up. With the fire alarm ringing and smoke filling the room, there was no chance anyone would hear or see her. Everyone was running toward the exits. Soon the nightclub would be empty and she would be the only person left inside a burning building. She was going to die.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was the very next day when I heard the knock on the door. I wasn’t due at the cinema until the afternoon and I was spending a quiet morning with Mother in the parlour. I had almost begun to hope that the Inspector leading the murder enquiry wouldn’t come round, that he would think someone like myself too insignificant to be interviewed. But when the knock came it sounded so ominous, it made me jump out of my skin.
“I wonder who that can be?” asked Mother, looking up from her knitting. She had taken up knitting during the War, making socks and vests for the men at the Front, and the habit had never left her. Now she knitted for ex-servicemen left destitute by the conflict.
“Goodness knows,” I said, even though I had a pretty good idea. “Shall I get it?” But Mother was already on her feet and halfway across the room. I took some deep breaths and tried to compose myself whilst she answered the door. Aunt Ellie was out at a charity event, so at least I didn’t have her to worry about as well. Ever since the ball she had been giving me concerned looks as if she knew something was wrong. The voice of the visitor carried loud and clear through to the parlour.
“Good morning, Ma’am. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m Detective Inspector Dixon and this is Sergeant Dalton. We’re investigating the murder of the movie director, Theodore Franklin. Does Miss Lilian Fairbright live here?”
“Yes she does,” said Mother. “She’s my daughter. I’ve been reading about the murder in the paper. It’s an atrocious business, of course, but I don’t understand what it’s got to do with Lilian.”
“Most likely nothing at all,” said the inspector genially, “but I’m interviewing everyone who was at the ball that night to put together a picture of what might have occurred. I hope you understand. May we come in?”
“Of course.” I heard the front door close and the sound of two sets of men’s footsteps in the hallway. I shut my eyes, crossed my hands in my lap and waited.
“Lilian, there’s a detective inspector here to see you,” said Mother, showing the two men into the parlour. I jumped to my feet and did my best to smile at the inspector. He was not as fearsome as I’d expected. If I’d had to guess I would have said he was in his late fifties. His receding white hair revealed a high forehead, and kind brown eyes looked out from beneath bushy white eyebrows. He looked like someone who would show sympathy and understanding and the words I did it started to form themselves on the tip of my tongue. It was tempting to throw myself on the mercy of this father-figure and tell him everything, but then I remembered what Ruby had said and resolved to keep our pact. Behind the inspector hovered a younger man, dark-haired and wiry, with eyes that darted around, taking in every detail of the little room. He made me more nervous than his boss.
The inspector inclined his head towards me and held out his hand. I shook it, feeling his firm grip. This was not a man to be taken lightly, despite his genial appearance. The two men sat down on the sofa. I perched on the end of my chair and gripped my hands in my lap in an effort to stop them from shaking.
“Would you and your sergeant like a cup of tea?” Mother asked the inspector. She offered tea to everyone who visited, whatever the occasion.
“Thank you. That would be lovely, Ma’am.” The inspector gave her a warm smile and Mother blushed.
She glanced enquiringly at me but I shook my head. “Not for me, thanks.” I didn’t think I’d be able to manage a cup and saucer without my hands shaking and giving myself away. Moth
er left the room and the Sergeant flipped open a notebook, taking a pencil from the top pocket of his coat.
“I’m sorry to have to put you to all this trouble,” said the Inspector, “but I need to ask you a few questions about New Year’s Eve.”
“Of course,” I said. “I quite understand.”
“First of all, can you confirm that you were at the ball at the Grand Hotel on New Year’s Eve?”
“Yes, I was there.” Now that the interview was underway, it didn’t seem so hard. I just had to keep my nerve and see it through to the end. The sergeant sat bowed over his notebook, scribbling down everything I said.
“And did you go to the ball alone, or with someone else?”
“I went with my friend Ruby.”
The inspector turned to his sergeant. “Have we interviewed Ruby yet?”
“She’s next on the list,” said the sergeant. The inspector nodded, then turned back to me.
“During the course of the ball, did you have any contact with Mr Franklin?”
“Yes,” I said slowly. “He greeted us shortly after we arrived. Then we didn’t see him for quite a while.” That was all true.
“I understand there was some trouble at the ball. Can you tell us what happened?”
At first I thought he was referring to what had happened in the bedroom, but then I remembered the incident with the American who had come looking for Mr Franklin. “Yes,” I said eagerly, glad to be talking about someone else. “Three men came into the ballroom. One of them wanted to know where Mr Franklin was.”
“Can you describe this man please?”
I tried to remember. “He was short, at least shorter than his companions, and heavily built. He spoke with a strong American accent. He was wearing a striped suit and a trilby hat.”
Scarborough Ball (Scarborough Fair Book 2) Page 20
