Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death (The Grantchester Mysteries)

asked.
    Sidney explained. ‘It’s a jazz club in New York.’
    Gloria Dee smiled. ‘You been?’
    ‘Alas, no.’
    The singer looked him up and down. ‘You plain clothes?’
    ‘No, not at all. I’m a clergyman.’
    ‘A preacher-man? What you doin’ here?’
    ‘I’m Canon Sidney Chambers.’
    ‘As in Cannonball Adderley?’
    ‘I don’t think so.’
    ‘He’s a sax player. Eats like a horse. What you drinkin’?’
    ‘I don’t think I can. But I’m sure that in your case . . .’
    ‘If I’m havin’ to wait I’m sure going to drink.’ Gloria turned and walked towards the bar. ‘Give me three shots of bourbon straight,’ she asked.
    Sidney could see Phil Johnson in the distance. He had not moved for a long time. He looked like a man who was stuck in a dream of falling from a high building; someone who knew that he would go on falling for the rest of his life, down towards a ground that was rising to meet him but would never arrive: eternal vertigo.
    Already Sidney knew that when, in the future, people asked him about his children or talked about their own, Phil would have to decide how much to tell them or to remain silent; for if he spoke and told them his story no one who had not experienced anything similar would know what to say. It would be impossible for them to compare any grief of their own with his.
    He heard Inspector Keating’s voice. ‘You can go home, you know.’
    ‘Are you staying?’
    ‘I have to, but you don’t. I can vouch for you.’
    ‘I think the last train has probably gone.’
    ‘Let’s have a look round.’
    They parted the black drapes at the back of the stage and found themselves in the clutter of the green room. It was a mess of instrument cases, scattered music stands and empty bottles of booze. A hat stand held a couple of trilbies and a few raincoats, and one of Gloria Dee’s red satin dresses fell from a hanger that had been attached to a nail in the wall. The place smelled of sweat, cigarettes and alcohol. Billboards of previous concerts, featuring Jimmy Deuchar, Ronnie Scott and Kenny Baker, were peeling from the walls. Justin, Gloria Dee’s driver, was doing a crossword. Liza was pouring herself some rum. ‘I’m just having a teensy weenie pick-me-up.’ She giggled. ‘Now I’m picking up the pick-me-up.’
    Sidney could tell that she was intoxicated. ‘I need to ask where you were during the concert.’
    ‘Here,’ Justin replied.
    ‘All the time?’
    Justin set his crossword aside. ‘Sometimes we stand in the wings. For the main numbers.’
    ‘You never watch from the front?’ Sidney asked.
    Liza answered for them both. ‘They send for things all the time: water, towels, drink. It’s quicker if we’re here.’
    ‘And you were backstage during the drum solo?’
    ‘We watched that from the wings. Tony’s my boyfriend. The drumming is the best bit.’
    ‘Don’t tell Miss Dee that,’ Justin added.
    ‘You’ll be driving them back to the hotel?’ Sidney asked.
    ‘That’s what I’ve been told to do.’
    Inspector Keating stepped in. ‘So we’ll know where to find you if we have any further questions?’
    ‘I live in Earls Court,’ Justin replied. ‘You can have my address. But, for the moment, I go where Miss Dee goes and I do what Miss Dee says.’
    ‘I hope she pays you well . . .’
    Liza sniggered and waited for Justin to answer. ‘She pays. It’s not always about the money . . .’
    Sidney accompanied the inspector back on to the stage, where Phil ‘the Cat’ was sitting on the piano stool. His body was slumped, as if half the bones in his body had been removed. An abandoned roll-up rested between his fingers.
    ‘Can you think of anyone who would hold anything against your daughter?’ the inspector asked. ‘Anyone with a grudge?’
    ‘She’s a beautiful girl. All I’ve got. She’s never done anything wrong. None of the boys would touch her.’
    ‘Was there anything your daughter could have seen?’ Sidney asked.
    ‘You mean a witness to something? It’s possible.’
    ‘Was your daughter sweet on anyone?’ Sidney asked.
    ‘She’s too young for any of that.’
    Sidney noticed that Phil referred to his daughter in the present tense.
    Inspector Williams continued. ‘So you can’t think of anyone who would want to do her any harm?’
    ‘No one. I swear to God, Inspector – and in front of this clergyman. Everyone loves my girl. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say.’
    Sidney rested his