The Dead Side of the Mike (19 page)

‘That is good news.'

He parked outside the Kensington Hilton on Holland Park Avenue. He had got over his irritation with Frances about driving in central London, remembering that that had always been one of the eccentricities in what was otherwise a very balanced and unneurotic personality. He had found the driving a little nerve-racking himself. It was a long time since he had driven anything, and he had never driven a new car. He felt as if he was in a cut-glass dodgem at a fairground.

On the way through the centre he had, if not fully explained the reasons for their trip, at least made clear what they were trying to do.

‘So basically, Charles, we listen to the tape and go where it tells us?'

‘Exactly. It should be a sort of guided Mystery Tour.'

‘I take it this is part of another of your criminal investigations.'

‘I suppose so.'

‘I wish you'd take up golf. Hmm, maybe bowls now.'

‘Thank you.'

The cassette he had got from Mrs Moxon was slotted into the machine. ‘Do you want to drive yet, Frances?'

‘No, wait till we get a bit further out of town.'

‘It is your car. You've got to drive it on your own one day.'

‘I know, but not yet.'

‘Right.'

Music blared from the car's speakers. Charles listened intently. His first hearing of the programme had given some tantalising possibilities; now he wanted to see if his theory was going to work in detail. The signature tune dipped and continued behind, as the confident and distinctive voice began.

‘Good evening, it's a few seconds after two minutes past ten and for the next two hours you're in the safe hands of yours truly, Dave Sheridan, with such delights as the Vintage Spot, the Ten for a Tune competition, the Dave Sheridan Bouquet, and, of course . . . Music!'

The signature tune was lost under his voice and on the cue a new musical introduction began at full volume. It was
Danny Boy
.

‘Why don't you start the car?'

‘There's no clue yet. This is just the introduction. This is just telling Danny that the message is for him.'

‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

‘Lovely relaxed sound to get our evening off to a smooth start. Andy Williams with “Danny Boy”. From the LP of his Greatest Hits – Volume Two. Well, there's lots more good music on tonight's show and a lot of it is thanks to one particular lady, the lady who's chosen tonight's musical bouquet. Yes, she's sent us a list of her ten favourite records and we like her choice so much that we're going to feature them on tonight's show. And, by way of thank you, we're sending a great big bouquet of flowers winging their way to her. Yes, tonight's bouquet is for Mrs Joy Carter of Cockfosters
. . .'

‘Joylene Carter,' Charles murmured with satisfaction.

‘And here's the first of Mrs Carter's bouquet – and it's also been requested by a family from Shepherd's Bush by the name of Smith – “If I Had a Hammer” – here's Trini Lopez!'

Charles started the engine.

‘Is that a clue?'

‘Certainly is.'

‘What?'

‘Make for Shepherd's Bush.'

‘But we're virtually at Shepherd's Bush. Where do we go from there?'

‘Hammer – Smith.'

‘Oh God.'

They had circled the Hammersmith Broadway one-way system three times before Frances asked meekly, ‘Run out of clues so soon?'

‘No, no, just waiting for the next number from Mrs Joy Carter's Bouquet . . .'

‘And now on with Mrs Carter's choice – and my, you've picked some beauties, Mrs C, maybe there's a job for you here in the Beeb as a music producer – it's a number by those furry funny folk who hate litter so much – yes, the Wombles with. . . . “The Wombling Song”!'

‘There's no clue in that, Charles.'

‘Ssh, it may be in the lyric. There –
The Wombles of Wimbledon Common are we
. Come on, we take the road for Wimbledon.'

‘
And the next pick of the bunch in Mrs Carter's Bouquet – My, that sounds formal, Joy – I think I'll call you Joy from now on – lovely name, Joy – the next number's an oldie, not quite old enough for our Vintage Spot, but still a great favourite. Yes, “On Mother Kelly's Doorstep” by that great old man of the British Music Hall – Randolph Sutton
.'

‘On the road to Sutton we go.'

‘This is rather fun, Charles. Like a treasure hunt.'

‘If my theory's right, the treasure at the end of the trail is a meeting with murder.'

‘And now it's time for another number from Joy's lovely selection. This one's a – oh, just a minute, my producer has just handed me a piece of paper from the BBC Motoring Unit. I'd better tell you all about this. Troubles, I'm afraid, for those of you travelling on the M23 motorway, where it meets the M26 at Merstham. There are roadworks on the spaghetti junction there where the two motorways come together, so drive with special care as you approach the area. Okay, got that, all you late-night drivers? Watch out on the M23 Motorway at Merstham – my, what a lot of Ms! That's the M23. Now on with the next bloom from Joy's fragrant bouquet – it's Ol' Blue Eyes himself, Frank Sinatra, from the film ‘The Joker is Wild” – “All the Way”.'

‘Hmm. I don't get much from that. Maybe it's in the lyric again.

‘Oh, Charles, really. It's perfectly obvious. We go on from Sutton till we get to the M23 and then we follow it “all the way”.

‘You're rather good at this, Frances.'

‘Well, that's the end of the motorway and Mrs Carter doesn't seem to have had any of her bouquet for some time.'

‘No, what do you reckon we do, Charles?'

‘Well, the road goes straight on.'

‘Yes, maybe we drive on till the next instruction comes. If we've overshot anything, we can wind the tape back and go on.'

‘Yes, we can, but the bloke for whom the trail was originally devised couldn't.'

‘No.'

‘Mmm, nice. Some time since we've had one of Joy's excellent selection of numbers, but now we come back with another from the Bouquet, a change of mood and style. It's also an answer to all those people who keep writing to me saying I never play enough military-band music. It's the Regimental Band of the Grenadier Guards, with that rousing march by Sousa – “Hands Across the Sea”.'

‘That doesn't give me much, I'm afraid.'

‘Nor me, Charles.'

‘Shall I spool it back and see if there's something we missed?'

‘No, not for a minute. Let's just think . . .'

‘Sea. Across the Sea? We aren't expected to cross the Channel, are we?'

‘We're heading in the right direction. But no, that's impossible. The whole programme only lasts two hours and we've already had the tape running an hour and a quarter.'

They listened in silence to the Grenadier Guards. ‘No lyrics to help us either,' observed Charles.

‘No. Perhaps we should stop and –'

‘Look! That signpost. “Handcross” – that must be it.'

‘Handcross – Hands Across? I don't think much of that.'

‘You got any better suggestions?'

‘No.'

‘I think this must be wrong, Charles.'

‘I don't know. We won't know till we get the next bit of the bouquet.'

‘Stirring sounds there from the Grenadier Guards. Just one of the fine pieces of music chosen by Mrs Joy Carter of Cockfosters, whose Bouquet you are hearing tonight on the Dave Sheridan Late Night Show. And I'm sorry Joy, I forgot to say, but my producer's just pointed out to me that there was a dedication to go with that particular number. It was specially for Joy's brother, Reg Crabtree, who's a great lover of military bands. And Reg hails from Lower Beeding in Sussex. Hope you liked the music, Reg.
‘Well, we'll be having more of Joy's Bouquet very shortly, but right now it's time to get the telephones busy with our Ten for a Tune Competition . . .”

‘Lower Beeding?'

‘I've never heard of it. I don't know this part of Sussex very well.'

‘Nor me. I suppose, this being such a new car, you aren't kitted out with such things as maps.'

‘No, I am extremely efficient. I have the AA Great Britain Road Map. I was given it as a present when I got the car.'

‘Who gave it to you?' Charles felt a sharp pang of jealousy. He tried never to think of the almost certain fact that there were other men in Frances's life, but occasionally he couldn't avoid it.

She smiled, perhaps flattered by his transparency. ‘Someone from School.' An enigmatic pause. ‘Molly Hughes – do you remember her?'

‘Ah. No, I don't think so.'

Frances was already poring over the map, reverting automatically to the old marital role of navigator.

‘I say, do you want to drive yet? That was meant to be the aim of the exercise.'

‘No, no, I'm far too excited. I'll drive on the way back. Here it is! Lower Beeding. Very near Handcross.'

‘On we go.'

‘More now from Joy's selection of music – and my, what variety she's giving us tonight – and with this one I must complete Joy's message to her brother Reg Crabtree. Apparently it's Reg's birthday tomorrow, and what Joy says is – obviously some sort of family joke here – “Don't go past the pub, Reg.” I'm sure you won't Reg, I'm sure you'll be in there tomorrow for a few beers to celebrate your birthday. Joy doesn't say how old you are, Reg – discreet lady – but she does say that the next piece of music she'd like to hear is a lovely number from Judy Collins' album “Recollections”, and it's called “Turn, Turn, Turn”.'

‘Blimey, I've no idea what all that means.'

‘Well, this is Lower Beeding. The sign said so.'

‘Yes. There doesn't seem to be much to it. Some big estate by the looks of it up there.'

‘Leonardslee it said on the gate.'

‘Then a couple of houses, what's that? ah, a post office, a pub . . .'

‘Stop, Charles.'

‘What?'

‘“Don't go past the pub, Reg.”'

‘Of course. We have gone past it. Sorry. I'll have to turn when these cars have gone.'

‘And look, Charles. The pub's called “The Crabtree”.'

‘Wonderful.'

‘So what do we do – go inside?'

‘Yes, I could use a drink anyway. Oh no, just a minute, no we don't.'

‘Why not?'

‘The
Dave Sheridan Late Night Show
starts at ten at night. We're over an hour and a half into the tape. The pub would be shut when Danny Klinger got here – if he ever did.'

‘Then what do we do? It said don't go past the pub.'

‘No. There was a little lane leading off just before it.'

‘So?'

‘So, Frances, what we have to do is turn down that little lane. Turn, turn, turn.'

The lane, which started off metalled and residential, narrowed, and the houses gave way to woods on one side and fields on the other. It narrowed again as it started a steep descent.

‘I can't believe this leads anywhere, Charles.'

‘Well, I reckon it must be right. We just go along it as far as we can. Or until we get another order.'

The tape was playing Johnny Mathis, but the introduction had not said it was part of the Bouquet. At the foot of its descent, the road came to a narrow bridge over a stream. The metalled surface gave way beyond it to a muddy farm track, rutted by the heavy wheels of tractors.

‘I'm afraid that lot wouldn't do your beautiful yellow bodywork much good, Frances.'

‘Oh, don't worry about that. We can't stop now.'

But the bodywork was saved by the ending of the Johnny Mathis record. Charles let the engine idle while they listened to the next link.

‘Hmm, Mr Mathis there. Ooh, that voice, always makes me think of black coffee and cream. Well, time's ticking past, the witching hour approaches, and we come to the last blossom in Mrs Joy Carter's Bouquet. And she's chosen us a lovely rousing pub song as her final contribution. Before we play it, I'd like to thank Joy for her beautiful bouquet and to assure her that soon winging its way towards her will be, courtesy of the Beeb, a huge bouquet of red roses. And if any of you out there would like to have your musical bouquet featured on the programme, just drop a line to me, Dave Sheridan at . . .'

‘Oh, for Christ's sake get on with it!'

‘. . . so we come to Joy's last piece of music. As I said, a great favourite, this, in the pubs and clubs, so sit back and enjoy Kim Cordell singing, from the LP aptly entitled “A Pub, A Pint and a Song” – “Nellie Dean”!'

‘Couldn't be clearer.' Charles pointed out of the window at a dilapidated and overgrown wooden shed which slumped by the side of the bridge. As he did so, he softly joined in the lyric:

‘There's an old mill by the stream, Nellie Dean. . . .'

‘So what do we do now?'

‘I think I get out and have a look inside the old mill by the stream.'

‘Do be careful.' It was said as a reflex, a flash of concern to match his earlier flash of jealousy. There was still a lot left in their relationship.

‘How do you undo these bloody seat belts?' Charles ruptured the mood.

Frances released them both and they got out of the car.

Maybe the building had once been a mill. Its position was right, projecting over the stream, where a pool formed at the foot of a waterfall. But if it had been a mill, it had lost many of its mill-like appendages. There was nothing connecting it to the water, no signs of an axle on which a mill wheel could turn. It was just a rickety old shed, supported on wooden brackets out over the water. There was a drop of some twenty feet to a clay-beige pool below, from which the rusted hump of a fridge and the pointed frame of a dead bicycle poked.