The Tunnel Rats (30 page)

'No, there are not,' she said.

At the back of the file was a plastic bag containing a bloodstained ace of spades. The black ace filled most of the card and in the centre of it, where it had been punctured by a knife, was the ghostly figure of a woman. It was the same brand, that had been found in the Battersea tunnel.

'It's the same,' he said. 'The card we found in London was the same as this.' He held it up.

The secretary translated.

'Would it be possible for me to have translations of these reports?' asked Wright, indicating the file.

The secretary spoke to Vasan,' who shrugged and replied.

'It is possible, but it will take time,' said the secretary. 'If you tell us where you are staying, we will have them delivered to you.'

Wright nodded. 'Thank you.'

'There will be a charge for the service, however,' she said.

Wright was surprised but tried not to show it. 'Fine,' he said.

She spoke to Vasan and the colonel smiled.

'And I'd appreciate a look at the rest of the files on the case,' ^

said Wright.

The secretary frowned. 'There is only the one file,' she said.

Wright was stunned. 'That's all there is?' he said. 'For a murder investigation? Are there no computer files? Witness reports?'

She translated and listened as the^olonel replied. 'That is the only file,' she said, 'but Colonel Vasan will answer any questions you might have.'

'Does he have a suspect? Any motive, a reason why anyone would want to kill Eric Horvitz?'

Through his translator, the Thai policeman said that enquiries were continuing, but so far they had no theories, that Eric Horvitz had been well liked, had no financial problems, and so far as the Thai police were concerned, no enemies.

'And what about the card? Do you have any idea of the significance of the ace of spades?'

The secretary translated and the colonel shook his head. Assuming that Vasan wasn't keeping anything back, the Thai police had made as little progress as Wright and his colleagues had on their case.

The colonel spoke to his secretary. 'Colonel Vasan asks if you know of any other connection between the two dead men,' she said.

A good question, thought Wright. He'd gone to the police THE TUNNEL RATS 213 station with the intention of sharing the information he had, and of telling Vasan that Eckhardt and Horvitz had both played with The Jazz Club in Bangkok, but now he was having secon4 thoughts. Vasan seemed more concerned with playing power games than with solving the case. Wright shook'his head. 'Not yet,' he said. When he left the office, Wright didn't offer to shake hands.

/

Gerry Hunter got AFP's number from directory enquiries and called up Steve Reynolds. 'I'm calling about Max Eckhardt,' explained Hunter. 'Do you by any chance know if he served in Vietnam?'

'I've already been through this with another officer,' said Reynolds tetchily.

Hunter tensed. 'Who?'

'Edwards. A sergeant, I think.'

'Clive Edmunds?'

'That's it.'

'When was this?' asked Hunter.

'A while back, I think. He called late one evening just as I was on my way out of the office. Insisted I pulled Max's personnel file.'

Hunter gripped the ballpoint pen in his right hand so tightly that his fingers started to turn white. 'Can you remember what you told my colleague?' he asked.

'I know I was able to tell him that Max had been in Vietnam. Look, -give me a second, I'll get the file.'

Reynolds was only away from the phone for a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity to Hunter. 'Yeah, here we are. He did a tour of duty in 'sixty-seven and 'sixty-eight.'

'Does it give any details of what he did?'

'No, it's an old CV, from the 'seventies, and back then people tended to gloss over what they did during the war. There was a lot of anti-war feeling in the States, right up until the Reagan years, I guess.'

'What about you, did you go?'

'Hell, no,' said Reynolds. 'I missed it by five years. Why are you so interested in what Max did during the war?'

'It's just a line we're following up,' said Hunter. 'Do you have any idea how I could find out more about his war record?'

'I can tell you the same as I told Edmunds,' said Reynolds. 'You should try the Pentagon. The Defense Department. I'm sure they'd have him on file. Edmunds said he would speak to your FBI agent about it. And there's May, of course.'

'May?'

'Max's wife. She'd probably know.'

'Oh, right, sure.' Hunter thanked Reynolds and hung up.

He sat staring at the wall, his mind in turmoil. Clive had been on to something, but what? He'd tied Eckhardt to the Vietnam War, a war where playing cards were used as death cards. Had Clive taken it any further before he died? Hunter picked up the evidence bag containing the ace of spades. There was nothing in the HOLMES file about Eckhardt's war service, and while Clive was notoriously lax at filling out his reports, Hunter figured that he must have been working on the Vietnam link just before he died. What else had he found out? t Wright pushed open the swing doors and walked into Cowboy Nights. He'd changed into a white cotton shirt and black Levi jeans. The crowd was pretty much the same as the previous night, and he recognised several faces.

The Canadian, Alain Civel, was standing at the bar and he waved at Wright. 'Ah, Neek,' he called, 'back for more?'

Wright joined him and ordered a lager. A waitress put a bowl of roasted peanuts down in front of him and he took a handful. 'What time are The Jazz Club on?' he asked.

'Ten minutes or so. You know it's jam night?'

'Yeah. Are you going to play?'

Civel grimaced. 'Not me, man. They're way out of my league.'

The Thai band finished their set to lukewarm applause. Wright carried his bottle over to the spiral staircase and examined the THE TUNNEL RATS 215 framed photographs hanging on the wall. The one featuring Max Eckhardt had gone. Wright methodically looked at all the photographs on the wall in case they'd been rearranged, but there was no mistake.

Wright turned around. Doc was standing on the stage, holding his saxophone/He was staring at Wright. Wright raised his bottle in salute and grinned. Doc flashed Wright a tight smile, then turned away.

Wright went back to Civel. 'You've been coming here for ten years, you said?'

'Oui,' said Civel. 'I work in Saudi, but every chance I get I fly over. Beer and women on tap, what more could a man want?'

The question was rhetorical, Wright assumed. 'Ever come across a guy called Eckhardt? Max Eckhardt. Played bass guitar.'

Civel shook his head. 'Don't think so. Why?'

'I saw his picture on the wall, playing with the band.' He nodded at the stage, where Hammack and Ramirez were lifting O'Leary's wheelchair. They spent a few minutes tuning their instruments while the audience waited expectantly.

The band went straight into 'Dimples', a John Lee Hooker song, with O'Leary stabbing at his guitar, rocking his head violently in time with the beat, and Doc's saxophone taking the place of the vocals. Then they eased into two more John Lee Hooker blues tunes, 'Walkin' The Boogie' and 'I See When You're Weak', both giving Doc ample scope to show his flair and originality. Civel jabbed Wright in the ribs and Wright nodded appreciatively.

Hardly had the applause broken out than the band launched into a Muddj Waters classic, 'Got My Mojo Working'. Hammack sang as he played on the keyboard, chewing his gum between verses.

For half an hour the band jammed, and once again it was Doc who was firmly in control, allocating solos with nods and glances. They ended to tumultuous applause, and Doc introduced the members of the band. Then he announced that it was jam night, and that members of the audience were welcome to take part.

The first volunteer was a middle-aged Westerner in a Coca-Cola T-shirt and cut-off jeans. He played drums and Ramirez went over to stand with his fan club while the band ran through two Phil Collins numbers, 'In The Air Tonight' and 'Another Day 216 STEPHEN LEATHER In Paradise'. The drummer tried to be too clever and several times lost the beat after attempting complicated fills. He left the stage to supportive applause, but there was a self-satisfied look on Ramirez's face as he took his place behind the drum kit.

Next up was a stocky Japanese man in a shiny black suit, who sang 'My Way' in a near-perfect imitation of Sinatra, down to the phrasing and gestures of the great man. It owed more to karaoke than jamming, but The Jazz Club gave him musical and moral support, and joined in the applause when he finished the number. He beamed as he went back to a group of Japanese businessmen clustered around the bar and several of them slapped him on the back.

'Any more volunteers?' asked Doc.

'Here we go,' Wright said to the Canadian. 'Wish me luck.' He walked towards the stage, taking his harmonica from the back pocket of his jeans. Doc raised a querulous eyebrow. 'Okay?' said Wright, holding up the harmonica.

Doc gave him an exaggerated bow and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. 'Feel free,' he said.

Wright stepped up on to the stage. A spotlight moved across and settled around him. O'Leary xnm* staring open mouthed. Wright was obviously the last person he'd expected to see on stage. Ramirez grinned and said something to Hammack and the keyboard player chuckled. '“Before You Accuse Me”,' Wright said to Doc. 'You know it?'

'One of my favourites.'

'Guess we don't need to rehearse, then,' said Wright, raising his harmonica to his lips.

Doc looked at him with an expression that came close to amazement, then he shrugged and nodded curtly at Ramirez. The drummer came in quickly as if trying to catch Wright off guard, four taps of his sticks to get the beat and then straight into it. He was joined almost immediately by O'Leary.

Wright took the chorus, his harmonica taking the place of the vocals, and Doc stood at the side of the stage, listening and tapping his right foot. Wright closed his eyes and concentrated on hitting the notes right.

As he finished the chorus, Hammack joined in, but it was THE TUNNEL RATS 217 Doc who took the solo, turning his back on Wright and putting everything into �&

Doc turned sideways on and flashed a look at Wright, letting him know that the chorus was his again, but Wright didn't lift his harmonica. Instead he sang, with his eyes closed because he didn't want to see Doc's reaction or be distracted by it. �

There was a whooping cheer from the far side of the bar and Wright opened his eyes; It was the Canadian, pumping his fist into the air.

The bass player joined in as Doc took the next verse. Doc threw in a few improvisations as if trying to show Wright what he was capable of. Wright remained stony faced, his eyes fixed on the saxophone as he tried to get a feel for Doc's rhythm. Doc finished the verse and nodded at Wright. Wright raised the harmonica to his lips and played, this time keeping his eyes on Doc's face. Doc smiled and folded his arms around his saxophone. When Wright finished the chorus, Doc nodded again.

Wright stepped closer to his microphone, arching his neck up as he sang. Doc turned to O'Leary as the verse ended and nodded, then gave Hammack a sideways glance. They all hit the chorus together, and Wright joined in with his harmonica. They finished with a flourish and the audience erupted. Wright felt the appreciation wash over him. Ramirez was grinning and Hammack gave Wright an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

Doc walked over to Wright. 'A singing policeman,' he said. 'Where the hell did you learn to sing?'

'I was in a band at university,' said Wright. 'Pubs and stuff.'

'You're good,' said Doc.

'Nah,' said Wright.

'You wanna do another?'

'Sure.'

'You know “It's Rainin' In My Life”?' Doc asked.

'Yeah. Mine too.' Wright grinned. 'Yeah, I know it.'

Doc turned around and primed the rest of the band, then went immediately into it. Wright played harmonica, singing only when he came to the chorus, but when they moved seamlessly into 'Honky Tonk' Wright started to sing again.

Without a break they went into a medley of Howlin' Wolf 218 STEPHEN LEATHER songs. Wright felt as if Doc was testing him, seeing if he was able to spot the cues. Several times Doc threw solos at him, allowing Wright to jam on the harmonica, then quickly coming in on his sax, taking the lead back and switching tunes, then throwing it back to Wright. Wright enjoyed the challenge, and after half an hour was confident enough to be able to relax and enjoy himself. When Doc eventually brought the set to a halt, the nightclub burst into applause.

Wright went back to the bar where Civel hugged him and clapped him on the back. 'Bloody brilliant, man. Fantastique?

Wright picked up his bottle and drank the last of his lager. '

Civel ordered him another.

'You can sing, man,' said Civel. 'You can really sing.'

'Thanks.'

The members of The Jazz Club were making their way over to their regular seats. Wright clinked bottles with Civel, then went over to join them.

Doc was whispering something to O'Leary, but he moved back as Wright approached. 'Pull uji a chair, Nick,' said Doc.

'Nice harp-playing,' said Ramirez.

'It's just a hobby,' said Wright, sitting down on the sofa next to Hammack. ^

'You could do it professionally,' said O'Leary, pouring the contents of his bottle of Singha into a glass.

'You could, too,' said Wright. 'Why don't you?'

O'Leary shrugged. 'Not much call for wheelchair-bound musicians,' he said bitterly. 'These days it's all pretty boys and dance routines.'

'Bullshit,' said Wright. 'You're a musician, a good one. You could play with any band in the UK or the States. Doc said you played with Clapton.'

'He was out here on tour and he dropped by one night, that's all.'

'You held your own, Dennis,' said Doc. He stabbed his cigarette at Wright. 'Clapton offered Dennis a gig in the States, but he turned him down.'

'It wasn't a definite offer, Doc,' said O'Leary.

THE TUNNEL RATS " 219 'Damn was, Dennis, and you know it. You just didn't want to leave your wife alone.'