‘It can’t be him, though,’ said Skins. ‘Doesn’t make sense.’
‘Can’t be Benny Charles, either,’ said Dunn. ‘West Indian bloke. Plays trombone. He’s too . . .’
‘Kind,’ said Skins.
‘Yes, that’s exactly it. Too kind. He’s everyone’s Uncle Benny. Pretty sure he could snap you in half if he had a mind to, but he’s not that sort of bloke.’
‘And then there’s Mickey Kent,’ said Skins. ‘Dodgy as you like, but he’s more likely to try to sell you a case of knocked-off scotch than poison you.’
‘What does he do?’ asked Flo.
‘He’s our chanteur – he prefers that to “singer”. A bit of a charmer. Not in Barty’s league, obviously, but he’s no slouch with the ladies.’
‘He’s extremely dishy with it,’ said Ellie. ‘Although still not in Barty’s league, obviously,’ she added hurriedly.
‘But not the murderous sort,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Definitely not,’ said Skins. ‘Like Barty said, it can’t be one of us.’
‘Our own experience has shown that almost no one is the murderous sort until they actually find themselves committing murder. But unless you can think of any jealousies or resentments that might have hardened into cold homicidal fury, it’s not especially likely to be any of your pals.’
‘So they should start with the Alphabet Gang?’ said Ellie.
‘They should,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘And we should start wondering what to have for pudding. I see a waiter approaching with menus.’
The boys were playing the Augmented Ninth as usual that evening, so Ellie had invited Dunn to spend the afternoon with them in Bloomsbury.
‘You’ve no real reason to go home,’ she’d said. ‘Your suit will cut quite a dash at the club so there’s no need to get changed. And Emily sent that box of cakes and treats to your landlady, so you don’t even need to deliver that. Come back to our place and put your feet up for the afternoon. It’ll look cute with you and Ivor snoozing in armchairs in the drawing room. It’ll be like a gentlemen’s club.’
He had accepted, but there seemed little chance of Ellie allowing him and Skins to have the promised snooze. Coffee had been called for, and she was sitting with her journal and pen.
‘We need a proper plan,’ she said once Lottie had delivered the coffee. ‘We can’t just keep bumbling on and hoping for the best.’
‘We?’ said Skins. ‘You’re involved now, then, are you?’
‘You better believe it, buster. You two will just slouch about, making jokes, laughing at the posh boys and getting nowhere. And you’ll get on the police’s nerves while you’re about it. I can add a little . . . structure. A little discipline.’
‘I see just one tiny flaw, Mrs M,’ said Dunn.
She raised her eyebrows.
‘It’s a gentlemen’s club,’ he continued. ‘You’re not allowed in.’
‘How many times have you come home and whined about how you need a manager, Ivor?’
‘I do it at least weekly,’ said Skins. ‘More often if I’ve been getting it in the neck about the lack of champagne in the green room, or there being no paper in the ladies’ loo.’
‘Meet the Dizzy Heights’ new manager,’ she said.
It was Skins and Dunn’s turn to raise their eyebrows.
‘Not for real,’ she reassured them. ‘I can’t think of anything I want to do less than try to wrangle a herd of needy musicians. But the stuffy old fuddy-duddies of the Aristippus Club don’t need to know that. I’ll put on some natty duds, carry a briefcase. They’ll splutter into their whisky and sodas and loudly ask what the world is coming to, but what are they going to do then? The youngsters have already staged their coup d’état and allowed a jazz band into the place with lady musicians. If another lady turns up and says she’s the band’s manager, what are they going to say?’
‘They’ll say, “Get out, madam”,’ said Dunn. ‘I think they have a lot of experience of saying that.’
‘We’ll see,’ she said. ‘I can be quite persuasive.’
‘She can,’ said Skins with a nod. ‘Very.’
‘You’ll have to let the band know,’ she said. ‘We don’t want them “blowing the gaff”, as you guys say. They’ll have to go along with it.’
‘We can manage that,’ said Dunn. ‘Benny and Puddle already know we’re looking for Sunderland’s deserter. Eustace, Elk, and Mickey won’t mind. They all served. They’ll get it.’
‘But we’ll be looking into Blanche’s murder as well, don’t forget.’
‘Yeah, but they’ll be all right with that, too.’
‘They might be,’ she said. ‘But is it safe?’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Skins.
‘Remember what Emily and Flo said? It could be one of them.’
‘Theoretically,’ said Dunn. ‘But it’s not, is it? We’re going to be poking about asking questions, getting to know people. Our lot aren’t anything to do with it and it’s better to have them on our side.’
Ellie thought for a moment. ‘Very well, then, let’s get them involved.’
Throughout the conversation she’d been making notes in her journal. She finished her sentence, put the cap on her pen, and stood.
‘If you two are going to maintain your reputation as the best rhythm section in London,’ she said, ‘you’d better try to get some rest before tonight. Your usual guest bedroom is made up if you want it, Barty. I’m going to my study to have a think.’
Chapter Seven
During one of the breaks at the Augmented Ninth, the Dizzy Heights had talked among themselves and had once again confirmed their commitment to playing for the dance classes at Tipsy Harry’s. They would do it as a tribute to Blanche. Mickey had taken the opportunity to pass on a request from the club that they also play for a second lesson, on Wednesday evenings, and they agreed to that, too.
In an earlier discussion they had decided that it wouldn’t be crass to replace Blanche – her parts were vital in some of the more complex arrangements – so Puddle had drafted in one of her old music-school friends to sit in on saxophone. He was keen to help out and he even said he would try to rearrange his Wednesday teaching obligations to fit around the extra dance lesson.
‘Do it for Blanche’ became the band’s unofficial motto, replacing Skins’s usual suggestions of ‘Don’t get your hopes up’, ‘Prepare to be disappointed’, and ‘Music for people who are too drunk to know any better’. He had wanted someone to translate them into Latin so they could put them on their calling cards, but they didn’t know anyone posh enough to be able to.
Skins and Dunn arrived early for the Tuesday session, intending to use delivering the good news as an excuse for chatting to a few members of the Alphabet Gang. But when they finished carrying their instruments to the ballroom and went to the bar in search of their quarry, they discovered that the Alphabet Gang were busy. With the police.