Death in Dark Waters by Patricia Hall Page B

system and into the lit room on the other side.
    â€œThe reporter woman,” he said to the two black men who were sitting in a cramped office, one light-skinned and short, with a tight, neat haircut, and a small goatee, the other taller, broader and darker and with a shock of dreadlocks down to his shoulders. The bigger man raised a fist in greeting while the other waved her into a chair.
    â€œI’m Darryl Redmond. This is my DJ from last night, Dizzy B. You’re Laura, right? You want to write about the club?”
    Laura nodded.
    â€œYou gonna give us a bad press?” Redmond asked, his eyes unfriendly. “This thing with the boy and the taxi was nowt to do wi’us, you know? We’re getting all this hassle and it was nowt to do wi’us.”
    â€œThat’s why I wanted to talk to you,” Laura said. “I wanted to get your side of the story.” Persuading Ted Grant that the club might even have a side of the story had been a gargantuan struggle that morning, but she had prevailed eventually by suggesting, with a sweet smile, that even a night-club might sue if the Gazette suggested it was a source of illegal drugs without allowing it any right of reply.
    â€œOh, yeah,” Dizzy B said sceptically. “And how do we know you’ll tell it like it really is?”
    â€œYou have to trust me,” Laura said. “Believe me, the Gazette could have sent someone a lot nastier than me.” She tried her most trustworthy smile but it did not seem to impress her listeners.

    â€œThere’s nothing to tell, any road,” Darryl said. “We tell our door people not to let drugs in. You can’t ever be sure it works. An’ there’s nowt you can do with kids who’ve popped pills before they even got here. That boy didn’t get his Es in my club. I can tell you that for a fact. Maybe some ganja slipped in on Saturday but that ain’t no big deal. But no Es. And nothing harder either.”
    â€œI had a good view of the dancers,” Dizzy B said flatly, dark eyes amused rather than anxious. “I don’ see no dealers in here that night though some of the kids maybe were high. A few brothers smokin’. Nothin’ more. An’ I had a frien’ wit’ me who’s a copper so I was keepin’ a good eye open. A very good eye. I didn’ want no trouble that night.”
    â€œPolice?” Laura’s surprise was obvious.
    â€œYou think we can’t have friends in the force?” Dizzy B asked, grinning broadly and abandoning his West Indian accent. “You should get out more, lady. I was in the Met myself for a little while. But the music called stronger.”
    â€œThere was a policeman inside the club all night?”
    â€œRight,” Dizzy B said.
    â€œAnd two good men on the doors,” Darryl insisted. “Though I reckon I’m going to have to get different security if I’m going to keep my licence here. Barry Foreman’s been on at me for months to give him the doors. Maybe that’s the price I’ll have to pay.”
    â€œHe’s reliable, is he?” Laura asked, recalling her brief acquaintance with the security boss and thinking that reliability was not the first word that sprang to mind.
    â€œHe has friends in high places,” Darryl said. “That’s enough, isn’t it?”
    Laura was about to explore that interesting avenue when there was a crash from the far side of the club and an outraged shout from the man who had let her in earlier, who was now sweeping up around the DJ’s dais.
    Darryl and Dizzy jumped to their feet, ran to the main doors and flung them open to find themselves faced with
flames from some sort of fire which had been lit outside. While Darryl turned back for a fire extinguisher, Dizzy stamped on the burning rubbish and succeeded in kicking most of it away from the wooden doors and down the steps before it could do any serious damage.