Murder on the rocks, p.13
Murder on the Rocks, page 13
part #1 of Jordan Jenner Series
His eyes were aching and his head pounded. He had been looking at his screen for too long, reading up on Joseph Gordon. The man had it all. His literary career was envious to aspiring writers. He was a man that always got into the bestseller lists. His reviews on websites such as Amazon were mixed, but mostly he averaged four stars, except for three books in the past few years that had an average of three.
Joseph had been romantically linked to a few people, including Sally. Jordan thought this odd. The pair had been photographed together, but Jordan knew better than to assume this was enough evidence. The press liked to speculate.
Joseph had also appeared on national television. Images of him with Ellen DeGeneres were top of the results page when Jordan searched “Joseph Gordon Celebrity.”
He looked at his notepad, where he had written a note to himself: find out who James’s publisher was.
His phone buzzed and he answered. “Jordan speaking.”
He always spoke briskly, in case it was a client.
“Jordan, it’s your dad,” Peter said.
“Hi, Dad.”
“You answered quickly.”
“Near the phone. What’s up?”
“It’s your mother’s house. I think we need to put it up for sale.”
Jordan sighed, swivelling his chair away from the images of Joseph with Stephen King. “Right…”
“So we have to move everything out. Her belongings. I think we should sell it furnished. Less hassle. But her belongings need to come with us.”
“Dad…”
“I think as well it would do us both good to go into the house and see how she lived. It might let us link to her a bit better.”
“You really want to do this?”
“I think we need to.”
“Could you do it on your own?”
A door shut in the hallway, and then the automatic lights came on. Jordan looked at the door to his office as someone walked past, probably heading out for a cigarette.
Peter sighed. “I’d rather you were there, Jord. It would be quicker if we both do it. It will take a while.”
“Is there no one else who could help you?”
“She was your mother, Jordan. Your brother is away. We’re all she had left.”
“She didn’t talk to me for a year.”
“She spoke to me.”
“Occasionally.” Jordan was being rude. But his dad needed to hear it. The woman they had known was not the woman who died. “But I’ll help you. It might do us good.”
Jordan realised now that going there would be a step in the right direction. If Annabelle was involved somehow in this case, then maybe going through her belongings was the best thing to do.
“Good,” Peter said. “I’ll be in touch. I know you’re busy. I’ll let you get on with it.”
He said goodbye, feeling sorry for his dad who always struck him as lonely. He looked back at James’s name on his notepad, wondering about what the man had been doing before his death. Jordan opened another tab, looking at a blog offering advice to aspiring writers on getting an agent.
To have a manuscript ready for publication meant James had been writing for a while. It meant he had spent time writing, drafting his work, and shaping it to a publishing standard. He had learned this from the blog and ones similar to it. James had gotten a deal that was pretty hard to come by. Jordan had been shocked to learn that many publishers published very few new authors in a year. He would hate to be a writer; it seemed so unfair.
But if James had got a publishing deal, it meant he didn’t have writer’s block like he had been telling people. According to Sally, it was stolen work. But Jordan wasn’t ruling out the idea that James had been bluffing, letting the writers believe he was one to be underestimated.
He needed to find the manuscript, and he needed to find the publisher. Maybe then he could learn about what was happening and where his deal had come from.
The stolen manuscript was important. It gave the killer a motive. If Sally was correct, that manuscript had been Margaret’s.
He wondered if Margaret would be there tonight. If she was, he doubted he would get answers. The woman was evasive and secretive. It was Jordan’s job to find out just what she was hiding.
Jordan packed up and decided to go home.
Twenty-Seven
Jordan rubbed his eyes, which ached and burned ferociously. His apartment came swimming back into focus. He had been scanning the internet to learn about the world of publishing, and it had been going in and staying at the front of his brain, heavy and blocked, no longer making sense. Oscar meowed as Jordan sighed.
James Fairview threw up no results. He had been in local papers, mainly because of some competition he had entered, but as a writer, his career hadn’t really been flourishing. His Twitter account only had five hundred and twenty-eight followers, and he didn’t have a Facebook fan page. How had a man so unknown been given a deal that could change his life?
The publishing industry seemed cold. There were thousands, maybe even millions of writers on the outside, all hoping for that dreamlike publishing deal. Writers that had a publishing deal were quick to say all wasn’t as it seemed, but Jordan thought that was easy for them to say. Surely they had it all. He realised that the writing group were sharing the same common interest: to be just like Joseph Gordon. Writers seemed to be a congratulatory bunch, not allowing jealousy to get in their way. But when Jordan had found an anonymous writers’ group that shared rants from anonymous writers, he could tell that there was an underlying dark side to the wholesome industry.
Jordan had written in his notepad “finances,” multiples circles traced around this one word. Had James bought his way in?
The lead-up to his death must have had something to do with the publishing deal that had seemingly fallen into his lap. From what others had said, it seemed to have come so easily to a man that was struggling to string a sentence together.
Jordan stood up, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and rubbed his eyes again. He didn’t smoke, but he felt like he needed something to take the edge away, to relieve him and make him feel something. He went to the kitchen, found a bottle of Jack Daniels, and was considering pouring himself a triple glass when the phone rang.
He walked towards his mobile, thinking of the whisky that James had drunk, the drink that had killed him. It had been whisky on ice, murder on the rocks.
He answered the phone without seeing who was calling. “Hello?”
“Jordan! You answered,” Lloyd’s voice said. “Are you free?”
“Uh…” Typically, New Year’s Day was supposed to be a day of relaxation, of no work, of that slump in productivity and doing anything.
“Come on, Jord. I’m nearby. I thought maybe we could get breakfast.”
“It’s almost the afternoon.”
“And I just woke up.” Lloyd laughed.
“Heavy night?”
Lloyd made a sound that was part snickering and part cough. “Could say that.”
“Did you see the new year in with…someone?”
“Unfortunately not.”
For some reason, Jordan found that hard to believe. Lloyd was always going out, and with his looks and charisma, Jordan knew from Vanessa that he rarely went home alone. “How soon can you be ready?”
“Why? Are you busy with something else?”
Jordan rolled his eyes. “I’m just focussed on other things.”
“The Fairview case?”
“What else?”
“You’re unhealthy.”
“Says you, with your pickled kidneys.”
Lloyd laughed again. “Meet me in ’spoons in about twenty minutes?”
Jordan looked out of the window, up the street in the direction of where Wetherspoon’s was. “Fine.”
They said goodbye, and Jordan went to get changed. He could do with food, a quick chat, and then it was back to work. He couldn’t let himself slip off this case, when he was so sure a breakthrough was imminent.
He thought of his frustrations with Vanessa, and he wondered if he should be thinking the same towards Lloyd. Why should he be when it was Vanessa that was the one holding him back?
Jordan left his apartment, forgetting to turn off his laptop, and took a walk up his street. People here barely looked at him, and the street seemed emptier than usual. He thought it was because most shops were closed, with many people at home, nursing a hangover. 2018—the first year without his mother.
He hated New Year’s. He always felt apprehensive, scared of what the year would bring, the idea that this could be his last, that the construct of time would date his existence. Everyone hoped for a new start, seeing another day as a new chapter on a blank page. To Jordan, that was true. He could leave behind everything that had happened last year and look forward to something new.
Though to him all he had to look forward to was a case that needed to be solved and then who knew what else. After his disagreement with Vanessa, he might need to find new clients.
He could go to London. There was always work in London.
He got to Wetherspoon’s to find Lloyd waiting outside, smoking a cigarette. He looked effortlessly cool, wearing dark-blue skinny jeans, a long, tight fitted T-shirt, and a necklace. He didn’t look like he had been out the night before, such was his fresh-faced appearance.
“You came.”
“When I’m invited, I’ll be here.”
Lloyd stubbed out his cigarette, and they headed inside where old men regulars were downing their third pint, the New Year being yet another day to them.
They ordered at the bar, pointing vaguely to an empty table where they would sit for the barman to note on their order. When their drinks had been given to them, two lattes, they walked to their table.
“Have you ever used the app?” Lloyd asked.
“No.” Jordan sat down opposite him. “I barely come here.”
“Too good for ’spoons, are you?”
“It’s not my first choice of place. I’d rather a meal that actually tastes nice.”
“Then you’re missing out on their breakfast.”
Television screens were on every wall, displaying everything from the news to music channels. A separate music system was playing songs, so the TVs were on mute, which annoyed Jordan.
“When do you go back to work?” Jordan asked Lloyd.
“Let’s not talk about work.”
“Just a simple question.”
“Fine. I go back next week. I like to have a week off in the new year to kind of just relax.”
“Fair enough.”
“And you?”
“I haven’t taken time off.”
“Jordan…”
“I’m freelance. I’m always working. I need to pay my bills. I don’t have the benefits you have.”
Lloyd sipped his coffee. “But still…Vanessa must be paying you enough.”
“Enough, yeah, but not enough to be comfortable forever. I’m always thinking a few months down the line.”
“Take on more clients. Plenty of work out there, I’d imagine.”
“What sort of work do you imagine?”
“Money laundering, fraud, affairs. The list goes on.”
“Yeah. I like to call them the filler cases.”
The news broadcast switched to an image of Kim. It seemed the press were now wondering where the writer, linked to Joseph Gordon, had gone.
Lloyd glanced at the report, sighing. “You just can’t escape work, can you?”
“She’s been texting me.”
“Kim?”
Jordan nodded, watching the image of Kim change to the image with his mother in the background. He wondered if Vanessa had issued the image. “She’s telling me to stay back, to stop asking questions.”
“But she’s missing.”
“Clearly.”
“Do you think it’s her that’s texting?”
“I don’t know. Whenever I ring, the phone goes straight to voicemail.”
“So someone else could have her phone.”
“It’s possible.”
Lloyd looked out of the window, tapping his fingers to the song that was playing over the speakers. “I wonder if her disappearance is related to James’s death.”
“It’s almost certain that it is. I think Kim knew something and was probably going to talk. I told you that the house where I saw her over Christmas wasn’t actually her house, didn’t I?”
“I heard from Vanessa. Crazy. Do you know how she got in yet?”
“I don’t. But Joseph was living with her and claims he didn’t know it wasn’t her house. To be fair, when I went in, I didn’t suspect a thing.”
“What did it look like?”
“She just looked poor.”
Lloyd nodded that he understood. The breakfast came on blue flowered plates. They were the type of plates that always looked old-fashioned, like they belonged to a grandmother. Jordan admitted, however, that the food tasted good.
“So, how was your night?”
“Madness. Went out at ten, didn’t get in until six.”
“And you’re awake now?”
Lloyd indicated himself. “Clearly. I’ll sleep properly when I get in. I wish you had come out with me. We would have had fun.”
“Where did you go?” Jordan asked, pretending not to notice Lloyd’s hint at a relationship outside of work.
“Kings, Pulse, then Dirty Pop.”
“I haven’t been to Dirty Pop in forever.”
Dirty Pop had been Jordan’s best night out before work had consumed him. Every Saturday night, the nightclub played solely pop music, from the hot releases to those that were only known by the dedicated fans. Being a lover of pop music and knowing every release from Selena Gomez to Iggy Azalea, Jordan really did love it.
“That’s what I mean. I was thinking of you all night.”
“Surely that isn’t true. I’m sure you had plenty of men after you that night. The gay bars like Pulse are always full at special occasions.”
Jordan had been a fan of Pulse and Kings when he had been younger, accepting his own sexuality. Those clubs had been a haven to him.
“You know what those bars are like. A bit hit-or-miss. Sure, I had attention, but I wanted to dance the night away.”
Jordan didn’t ask about a New Year’s kiss. With age, he’d realised things like that just didn’t matter to him. He sometimes thought about spending special occasions with people, but he remembered his job, his own mindset of focussing on tasks at hand. He didn’t suit a relationship with someone that just wouldn’t understand how he worked.
Rita Ora’s “Anywhere” came on, and Lloyd grinned. “This was fun last night.”
“Good song.”
“Yeah.”
Lloyd was halfway through his food. Jordan was always a slow eater. “Why did you want to meet up?”
Lloyd swallowed. “I just like to keep in touch with you. You wouldn’t exactly call a timeout, would you?”
“Well…”
“No, no excuses.” Lloyd grinned. “You’re always consumed in your job, and you alienate those that actually want to be friends with you.”
“I consider you a friend.”
“Friends go out for drinks, for food, for nights out. We haven’t done that in ages.”
“I’ve just been busy.”
“And you’re not yourself since…”
Jordan looked at Lloyd. “Since Mum died?”
“Not quite what I was going to say, but…”
“Yeah.”
“I just want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all.”
Jordan shook his head. “You, Vanessa, my dad. Why is everyone suddenly so worried about me?”
“I think sometimes you don’t realise how much you’re loved. You have humour that people like. You’re kind. You’re efficient and hard working. You give off this confident air that people like and feel safe with. Lately, you’ve been closing yourself down, forgetting those that really want to spend time with you.”
Jordan ate, though he felt his appetite disappearing. Lloyd’s words, meant to be uplifting, were just annoying. “I know.”
“I just want to spend time with a guy I like.”
Jordan thought about his words, what he meant by what he said. At the end of the day, the man opposite him was a friend, one that had been let in and was now being shut out. Why was Jordan acting the way he did? Was he afraid? Did he fear getting too close would end up hurting him or ultimately disappointing him? He didn’t really know. Yet what he did know was people had their own agendas, and sooner or later, they would grow, change their opinions, their thoughts, what they liked and didn’t like. They met new people, ones that were more compatible for the life they were currently living, and those who had been there from the start were gone, changing, too, meeting their own people.
That hurt.
To get rid of that hurt, Jordan had developed a strong armour of defence. If he allowed himself distance, he’d be less likely to care when that person disappeared, fading away from his life, becoming just a memory.
“Well, I appreciate being called away from the case for a bit.”
Lloyd allowed himself to smile. “I appreciate that you came.”
Twenty-Eight
“The last time I saw her, she was walking the street behind Joseph Gordon’s home,” a middle-aged woman walking a dog said to the microphone that was suspended in mid-air by an unseen hand. The BBC news ticker went sweeping by on the lower screen, but Jordan didn’t pay it attention. “She looked drunk. She swayed a bit. She was carrying bags!”
“Did you approach the woman you believe was Kim?”
“Believe? I know it was her! Recognised her immediately when I saw her in the papers. She was visiting Joseph Gordon the day she disappeared.”
The report cut to photographs of Kim, the reporter talking about how Kim had been brought up in an average household, always living in the same area of Torfaen. Jordan sighed, leaning back in his chair.
If the dog-walking woman was telling the truth, it meant Joseph Gordon had lied to him. It meant Joseph knew where Kim was or had at least seen her before she disappeared. The time to go to Joseph’s was ticking closer, and Jordan knew he would have to leave soon. He had all his questions prepared for the writers he hadn’t met yet, but also for Joseph and Margaret.
