Read Online Cold Light by John Harvey - Free Book Online

she asked, covering her embarrassment.
    Resnick shook his head.
    â€œHe’s waiting for you,” Maureen teased.
    â€œMore like waiting for them to turn the volume down,” Resnick said. “Play a waltz.”
    â€œNow that’s not true,” Lynn said. “My first year, you were out there bopping till everyone else dropped. ‘Be-bop-a-hula,’ stuff like that.”
    Despite himself, Resnick smiled: something attractive about the idea of Gene Vincent in black leathers and a grass skirt, strumming away at an Hawaiian guitar.
    â€œWell,” Maureen announced, setting her empty glass on the floor, “I’m in the mood. What d’you say, Lynn? Game? Before your admirer over there comes and asks you.”
    The man in the dress suit, glass in hand, was sitting in one of the easy chairs in the lounge, making no pretense of not looking in their direction.
    â€œCome on,” Lynn said, getting to her feet “Let’s get out of here.” Maureen was already on her way. “Coming with us?” Lynn asked.
    â€œYou go ahead,” Resnick said.
    With a last look back, Lynn followed Maureen Madden towards the main door.
    â€œLike watching ’em leave the nest, Charlie?” Reg Cossall said at Resnick’s shoulder.
    â€œHow d’you mean?”
    â€œYou know, young ones, fledglings …”
    â€œShe’s scarce a kid, Reg.”
    â€œNo matter.”
    â€œOld enough to be …”
    Cossall’s hand squeezed down firm on Resnick’s shoulder. “You can be a literal bugger sometimes, Charlie. When it fits your purpose.” Cossall treated Resnick to his best philosophical stare. “Kids. Families. Can’t get ’em one way, we get ’em another. More’s the bastard pity.”
    He lit a small cigar and cupped it in his hand. “Not on for one in town, I suppose?”
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œPlease yourself, then. You always bloody do.”
    Resnick turned back to the bar and prepared to wait his chance to order a final beer.
    Back in the Friar Tuck Room, things were throbbing towards some sort of climax. Whitney Houston, Rod Stewart, Chris De Burgh, the Drifters—hands clutched shiny buttocks that were not their own. Divine, tie forsaken, shirt all unbuttoned, was executing a limbo dance to “Twist and Shout,” sliding his legs beneath a line of brassiere straps linked together. Off to the side of the room, Skelton and Helen Siddons scarcely seemed to have moved, the same urgent conversation, heads angled inwards; one strap of Helen’s dress had slid from her shoulder. Lynn and Maureen Madden were dancing with a group of other women, laughing, clapping their hands in the air. Oblivious of the tempo, Kevin Naylor and Debbie were dancing cheek to cheek, bodies barely moving. Resnick couldn’t see Alice Skelton anywhere and was grateful.
    â€œFive minutes to Christmas,” the DJ announced. “I want to see you all in a big circle, holding hands.”
    Resnick slipped out through the door.
    â€œInspector?”
    He glanced up and saw long legs, a sequined silver bag, a smile.
    â€œI didn’t know we were partying in the same place,” Nancy Phelan said.
    Resnick half-smiled. “So it seems.”
    â€œHow’s it been?” Nancy asked. Resnick was aware of a car on the curve of the courtyard, waiting. “You been having a good time?”
    â€œNot bad, I suppose.”
    â€œWell …” Smiling, she gestured outwards with open hands. “Merry Christmas, once again. Happy New Year.”
    â€œHappy New Year,” Resnick echoed, as Nancy walked out of his vision and, hands in pockets, he turned left and crossed the cobbled courtyard to the street.

Eight
    For Christmas, Resnick had bought himself The Complete Billie Holiday on Verve , a new edition of Dizzy Gillespie’s autobiography, and The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, LP and