They leaned back in their seats and listened to another rendition that Nick could tell wasn’t quite on the money. ‘I’m going to fucking kill myself,’ the producer said. ‘Do you get days like that in your job?’
‘All the time.’
‘What are you after Pete for? I wouldn’t have had him down as the criminal type,’ the engineer said. ‘Pretty straight guy, Pete. Well, what passes for straight in this game.’
‘I need to ask him a few questions. Something that happened in his neighbourhood he might have witnessed. But if he’s been gone for the last couple of months, chances are he’s out of the frame altogether.’
The engineer’s phone shimmied across the sound desk, signalling an incoming text. He picked it up and glanced at it, before holding it out to Nick. ‘There you go, mate.’
‘Style Boys @ South Detroit Sounds till end of week. Early mix sounds better than expected,’ he read. Nick smiled. ‘Thanks, lads. Hope your drummer finds his beat.’
All the resources of the FBI were chasing Jimmy Higgins. But the way things were looking, it was all going to come down to a single London copper with a feel for the music scene. Nick smiled. If he could bring Jimmy Higgins home, he’d be a happy man.
And more importantly, Stephanie would be a very happy woman.
38
When Scarlett came back from the chemo session, she was wrecked. The drugs had ripped the energy out of her, leaving her a pale husk. But it wasn’t the chemo or the bereavement itself that had broken her. According to Simon, who had brought her back, she’d had a text from Joshu’s sister Ambar on the way home. Ambar had stated categorically that neither Scarlett nor Jimmy would be welcome at her brother’s funeral. ‘If you have any respect for my family, please stay away. You have no place at a Hindu funeral.’
‘Fucking bitch,’ Scarlett said weakly once we’d got her to bed. ‘Fucking, fucking bitch.’ She gripped my hand so tight I could almost feel the bruises forming. She spoke in broken fragments of sentences. ‘I’m going to show her. Tomorrow, Steph. We’ll get started. We’re going. To organise a memorial service. For all the people. That knew the real Joshu. Not this fake. Perfect son his family are trying to create.’
‘That’s a great idea,’ I said. ‘We’ll give him a proper send-off. You’re right, his friends should have the chance to say goodbye. But in the meantime you need to rest.’
She let go of my hand. I could see the fight draining out of her. ‘Sleep now,’ she said. ‘Everything hurts, Steph. My body and my heart. Everything.’
I stayed with her till she fell asleep, which took less than five minutes. She looked so frail, so pale, the dark circles under her eyes a new addition since the start of the chemo. She looked closer to death than Joshu ever had.
When I left Scarlett, Leanne was carrying Jimmy downstairs. He was grizzling softly, repeating, ‘I want my mummy,’ in a low monotone.
‘We’re going for a little swim before bedtime,’ she said, looking worn out. ‘Do you want to come too?’ She sounded almost desperate.
Obviously we weren’t going to tell Jimmy anything that night. But he clearly sensed there was something bad going on. I didn’t feel much like swimming, but I reckoned opportunities for relaxation would be in short supply over the coming days. And the kid needed a bit of love and attention. In spite of my gloom, I enjoyed frolicking in the water with Jimmy, who perked up as soon as we all started playing. When Leanne finally took him off to bed, too tired to miss his mother, I stayed in the water, swimming lazy laps and thinking about Nick Nicolaides, wondering whether I’d ever see him again.
The next few days were chaotic. Breaking the news to Jimmy was more harrowing for Scarlett than for her son, who was too young to understand the import of what she was telling him. He cried because she was crying, but we all knew he hadn’t grasped the reality that his dad wouldn’t be coming back. ‘He’s going to keep asking about Joshu, and I’m going to have to keep explaining it again and again,’ Scarlett said afterwards. ‘And then one day it’ll sink in and his little heart will be devastated.’
What none of us wanted to think about was how it would be for Jimmy when the day came that he understood how his father had died. With luck, he would be secure and happy enough in his own skin not to be thrown completely off course by the information. But it would be hard to assimilate, however well adjusted he turned out.
But telling Jimmy was only a small part of what we had to get through in the days after Joshu’s death. Scarlett was determined that the memorial service for Joshu should be held as soon as possible. I think she saw it as a spoiler for whatever his parents had planned. ‘They didn’t give a stuff about him when he was alive. They don’t have the right to own him now he’s dead,’ she said. The morning after we heard the news, she dragged herself out of bed and into the kitchen in spite of our protestations. ‘I’ve got a to-do list,’ she said. ‘Then I’ll go back to bed.’
I really didn’t have the time for sorting out Joshu’s memorial. I had work of my own and deadlines to meet. But friendship trumps work in my world. ‘Give me the list,’ I said. ‘We’ll sort it out, won’t we, Leanne?’
Leanne looked less than thrilled, but she nodded agreement. She gestured to the low table and chair where Jimmy was singing to himself and eating cereal with his Power Rangers posable figures. ‘I’ll take Jimmy to nursery, then I’ll muck in.’
‘No,’ Scarlett said, mutiny on her face. ‘I loved him. This is the last thing I can do for him and I want to do it myself.’
It was a fine sentiment, but it wasn’t practical. ‘I know you do. And it says a lot for you that you still feel like that in spite of the way he treated you. But the most important thing you can do for him now is stand tall and proud at his memorial service. You have to be strong for Jimmy as well as yourself. Leave the nuts and bolts to us. What you need to do is nothing. You need to be amazing at his send-off. You need to show the world you’re winning your personal fight.’ I pulled her into a tight hug.
‘Yeah, you’re Kate Winslet in Titanic,’ Leanne said. ‘You gotta show them, Scarlett. Joshu’s gone, but you go on.’
I stifled an embarrassed snort of laughter at the image Leanne had conjured up. ‘Show the world that you’re a survivor, Scarlett. And in years to come, Jimmy will take strength from that. An amazing memorial for his dad, with you at the heart of it.’
To be honest, she didn’t take much persuading to head back to bed. She squatted down beside Jimmy and played Power Rangers with him for a few minutes, then hugged him tight. They walked into the cloakroom hand in hand, where she zipped him into his coat, handed him off to Leanne then staggered back down the hall and up the stairs, refusing my arm and muttering under her breath.
Organising the memorial wasn’t the easiest task I’ve ever taken on. Obviously, anywhere with formal religious associations was out of the question. Scarlett had no particular Christian affiliation and Joshu was as lapsed as it was possible to be, in spite of his parents’ determination to give him a proper Hindu funeral. Leanne and I sat at the breakfast bar scratching our heads, trying to figure out what to do. Outdoors was too dodgy – you can never rely on British weather. The last thing Scarlett needed was for the heavens to open and for the memorial to descend into muddy farce.
It was Leanne who suggested a club. It was where Joshu had spent his working life, after all. My first reaction was to reject the idea – clubs are dark, subterranean caves that look cheap and tatty with the lights switched on. Leanne, whose life as Scarlett had made her almost as much of an expert as Joshu in the world of dance and DJs, couldn’t think of a single one that wasn’t a dingy dive at heart.