Free London Calling by Sara Sheridan

cost of the booze, that’s all.’
    Mirabelle downed her brandy. ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘I feel better knowing. Tell me, this Lindon chap, what do you know about him?’
    Barney shifted in his seat. He pulled out a hip flask and topped up his drink, motioning to see if Mirabelle might want the same. She laid her hand on top of the glass. She’d had more than enough.
    Barney took another sip. ‘The Bill got him, Miss. You don’t need to worry.’
    ‘I want to know about the young man. Please, Barney.’
    ‘He’s a sax player. A darkie. He’s young, I suppose. They’re all the same. There’s a lot of drink in these places, Miss, and other things, although I’m not suggesting that your niece liked any of that.’
    ‘Thank you. I suppose that is a relief,’ she said. ‘Had you ever known Lindon to take up with ladies before?’
    Barney froze with his eyes so wide open they were like little pink circles. ‘I dunno. Begging your pardon, but not many men aren’t into the ladies. Especially a girl like your niece. The police got him, Miss, and that’s the main thing.’
    ‘Yes, but no one has found Rose, have they?’
    This left the big man, Mirabelle noticed, looking quite bereft. He didn’t answer.
    ‘Had you known Lindon for long?’ Mirabelle persisted.
    ‘These guys come in. They play. They leave. I dunno much. He’s a good musician – not a genius or nothing. What they call a session musician.’
    ‘But had you ever seen him leave the club with a woman before?’
    Barney thought for a moment. ‘Nah. Can’t say as I have.’
    ‘But you’d seen Rose in the past, hadn’t you? It wasn’t her first time out. I do wish I’d known.’
    ‘Yeah. I seen her before in lots of places. Miss, I got to ask you to leave now. I gotta get back.’ He downed his drink and scraped the chair across the floor as he got to his feet.
    ‘That’s all right, Barney. I appreciate your talking to me.’ They walked in silence down the corridor. The icy night air seeped in as Barney held open the backstage door.
    When Mirabelle passed through, she turned and said, ‘I’d just like to check about the other two. Lavinia Blyth and her friend.’
    ‘The boy?’
    ‘Yes. They saw Rose out, you said.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘But they came back in again?’
    ‘Yes, Miss.’
    ‘How long did that take, Barney – all of them outside like that?’
    ‘A couple of minutes, I suppose.’
    ‘I see.’
    ‘Did you watch?’
    ‘I was on the door.’
    ‘Did you see it all?’
    ‘She gave Lindon her cigarette case.’
    ‘Outside?’
    ‘Yes.’ Barney pulled back and opened the door a little wider. Mirabelle decided she’d got enough out of him for now.
    ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘It’s a comfort, you know.’ She was aware of his eyes still on her as she made her way down Berniers Place into the foggy night.
    When she was sure she could no longer be seen she slowed her pace. She needed to think. It was intriguing; there was no doubt about it. The story kept shifting. Somewhere in all the detail there must be a path to follow – the path of what actually happened – but identifying it would be difficult. Perhaps Lindon had left with Rose but she doubted that. Something was wrong. Mirabelle’s mind was buzzing as she ran over everything Barney had said, the words the girl had used about Lindon in the café and the tense air around the barman in the Jermyn Street jazz club. And the one thing they had all seemingly agreed on – Lindon hadn’t been in trouble before. He wasn’t a womaniser. He was a nice lad, a competent musician, gentle – too gentle – and a bit useless. Barney might be right about where Rose had handed over her gold case. Maybe they’d walked out together – all of them – but Lindon had definitely gone back inside. The gift of the cigarette case was surely a parting gift. You don’t give a man your cigarette case when you’re about to get into a taxi with him. It had been a grand gesture of farewell.