Chameleon

Chapter 27

Sidney "Knuckles" Brass had the face and the build of the ex-boxer he was, and the business instincts of a barracuda. Questions were still being asked about the whereabouts of the Hellfire Club's previous owner, but no-one dared to voice them in Sidney's presence. Very few things could be said to truly rattle him, but now he was rattled.

He was just twenty-four hours away from what could be the biggest fiasco of his career.

Darth Presley.

Stupid bloody name. Posters had been appearing like confetti all week advertising a debut gig at his club that he knew nothing about!

"Knuckles" Brass did not like to be taken for a ride. Pepper knew more about this than he was letting on. Why else would those tapes get sent to him? There had been three so far and that asshole had been playing them on his show non-stop! He was even coming to the gig tomorrow night with a sound crew to broadcast it live! He called it a media event. "Knuckles" Brass called it something entirely different! Someone was going to pay for this, and pay hard.

It was Friday night and the club was buzzing with talk about Darth Presley. "Knuckles" sat in his office and brooded. The phone rang and he snatched it up.

'Brass,' he rumbled.

'I can give you Darth Presley,' the voice said. The voice was muffled, indistinct, as though the owner was speaking through a cloth.

'Who the fuck is this?' Brass demanded.

'Hey,' the voice said, 'it's your arse on the line tomorrow night if nobody shows. Do you want him or not?'

Brass ground his teeth in fury. 'Yes,' he said. 'I want him all right.'

'Good,' the voice replied. 'Make sure there's someone to meet us at the back door at four o'clock. We'll need a couple of hours to set up and sound check. You won't be sorry.'

The phone went dead.

Brass snarled and slammed the receiver down.

'Damn right I won't be sorry!' he shouted. 'But you, my friend, will wish you had never been born!'

***

Bannerman appeared at the station like athief in the night.

A fat phantom, glimpsed briefly, who vanishes in the morning light.

Sandy Maxstead had come up trumps. Twenty-five years late, but who's counting?

Bannerman issued instructions.

Find out who lived at the Cranbourne address in 1969.

Track down the GP who treated Sandy Caldwell.

Check the hospital records. Find out what happened to Sandy's baby.

Bannerman left instructions that a transcript of Sandy's statement be left on Piggott's desk.

The secretary who typed it out, being efficient and keen, remembered that Mr Payne would also need a copy. Such a nice man, Mr Payne. She'd only spoken to him briefly, but it felt as if she had known him for years; so easy to talk to.

She made sure that he got his copy first.

***

It had been a rough night, so Sandy Maxwell slept late.

Raking up old memories had left her drained. She didn't like to dwell on the past, especially not poor Tilly. And the baby. She had felt no remorse at giving it away; the mothering instinct had not been strong, but she did wonder sometimes what had become of him.

When she finally woke she had a headache. Today was Saturday. No customers today; she always made it a rule to keep weekends free, so she knew she had time for a nice hot bath.

The doorbell rang when she was up to her neck in bubbles.

'Sod off!' she called. 'Whoever you are.'

The doorbell rang again.

'Jason! Wayne!' she called. 'Answer the door!' There was no reply; they'd obviously gone out.

When the doorbell rang for a third time, Sandy decided she'd better answer it. Grumbling to herself, she climbed out of the bath, wrapped a towel around her, and hurried downstairs, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her.

She opened the door and looked back through time.

'Hello, Sandy,' he said. 'My ears are burning. Have you been talking about me?'

***

When Sandy woke up, she was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, naked save for a bath towel that had come loose and fallen around her feet.

'What am I doing here?' she asked herself.

Something had happened, but she couldn't remember what.

Oh, well, she shrugged, if it's important, it'll come back to me.

            She trudged upstairs to resume her bath and was surprised to find that the water had gone cold.