The Da-Da-De-Da-Da Code (13 page)

‘Allah be praised!’ cried Ranger Connor, falling to his knees and wringing his hands in supplication.

Jonny Hooker looked down upon Ranger Connor. Although only in a physical way. He would always look
up
to a martial artist.

‘What is going on here? Why are you praising Allah?’ Jonny asked. He was now back in the park rangers’ hut. Ranger Connor was in the park rangers’ hut. There seemed to be a lot of drama in the park rangers’ hut.

‘It’s Ranger Hawtrey,’ said Ranger Connor. ‘He left a message with Miss Joan on the desk. He’s upped and awayed it to Tierra del Fuego.’

‘No?’ said Jonny. ‘Not really?’ said Jonny.

‘Indeed and to badness,’ said Ranger Connor. ‘It seems that he aided and abetted the unauthorised release of his brother.’

‘The loony or the castrato?’

‘The loony, apparently. Sprung him from the Special Wing of the Cottage Hospital. Even boasted in his message about the ingenious manner by which he effected the escape.’

‘Indeed?’ said Jonny.

‘Indeed,’ said Ranger Connor. ‘Alas and alack and things of that nature generally.’

‘So this would be a bad thing, then?’ said Jonny.

‘I was grooming that lad for greatness. Such a betrayal this is. Such a disappointment.’

‘So why were you praising Allah?’

‘At your arrival.
For
your arrival. You are now my only hope. But have no fear – I will treat you like the son I never had.’

‘Nice,’ said Jonny. Doubtfully. ‘Although—’

‘Although?’

‘I’d really like to learn Dimac. For self-defence only, of course, not so I might go throwing my weight about in pubs and beating nine bells of crap out of anyone who failed to take my fancy.’

‘Naturally not,’ said Ranger Connor. ‘I think we’ve already covered
that
. Self-defence only. Correct.’

‘So, will you train me?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Ranger Connor. ‘In fact we’ll start at once. You can begin with the special Dimac Wrist-Flex exercises.’

‘Splendid,’ said Jonny. ‘What do I do?’

‘You clean this frying pan that some lowlife scoundrel – no doubt in the shape of that ingrate Ranger Hawtrey – has defiled with blackened sausage. Wax on, wax off, that kind of business. Then you can do the floor, then repaint the outside of the hut, then—’

‘Perhaps I don’t want to learn Dimac after all,’ said Jonny.

Ranger Connor shook his head. ‘You can’t back out now,’ he said. ‘You asked me to teach you. That’s as good as taking a blood oath.’

‘Will I be able to maim and disfigure, with little more than a fingertip’s pressure, by lunchtime?’ Jonny asked.

‘No,’ said Ranger Connor. ‘Don’t be silly.’

‘Sorry,’ said Jonny.

‘Clean the dishes,’ said Ranger Connor.

Jonny cleaned the dishes and, as he did so, putting in a lot of vigorous wrist-action, he asked himself the question that others had asked before him, and certain others were asking now.

‘Why am I here?’ asked Jonny.

As in, ‘What am I doing
here
?’

He had decided, had Jonny, that he would lie low for a little bit, maintain a low profile, let the dust settle, keep his head down and so on and so forth. Just go to work as usual and see what there was to be seen.

And, it had to be said, he really quite enjoyed being a park ranger. And to Jonny it appeared that being a park ranger mostly seemed to involve strolling around the park wearing a uniform, and, once he’d learned a bit of Dimac, duffing up any chavs who defiled the park with their presence.

And there was one further thing: Jonny wanted to have another
look around the storerooms that lay beneath the Big House. Another look at the Protein Man’s printing press. Perhaps James Crawford had left some clues, some something that would lead Jonny to Crawford’s murderer. The murderer? The Air Loom Gang? Something.

A knock came at the door of the hut. Ranger Connor answered that knock, words were exchanged and Ranger Connor closed the door once more. ‘Well well well,’ said Ranger Connor. ‘I am summonsed to the Big House. It appears that some bigwigs wish to hold some kind of secret conference. Countess Vanda requests my presence.’

‘Countess Vanda?’ Jonny asked, up to his elbows in Fairy.

‘Curator of the museum. She grants few interviews. The gardeners don’t even believe she exists – they say that there’s a waxwork and a tin can on a string involved.’

‘Strangely,’ said Jonny, ‘you’ve lost me there. What about this wrist-action?’

‘Nice wrist-action.’ Ranger Connor admired Jonny’s wrist-action. ‘Countess Vanda is photosensitive, or something, so she conducts interviews with the staff in almost total darkness in her office in Princess Amelia’s sitting room. The gardeners think that there’s no Countess Vanda, just a waxwork dummy, a puppet, and that the voice is done through a tin can attached to a string. The voice being that of a popular children’s TV presenter with a high voice and a warped sense of humour.’

‘Right,’ said Jonny, nodding thoughtfully. ‘And people think
I’m
mad.’

‘What did you say?’ Ranger Connor asked.

‘Nothing,’ said Jonny. ‘Well, you go off and speak to Countess Vanda and I’ll finish the washing-up and get stuck into all these other chores, which naturally are not really chores but subtle forms of Dimac training. I’ve seen
The Karate Kid
, I know how it works.’

‘Precisely,’ said Ranger Connor. ‘Fate has brought you to me and no mistake.’

Jonny splashed on in the sink and Ranger Connor, like Elvis before him, left the building.

Although obviously Elvis didn’t leave this particular building.

Obviously.

Jonny whistled ‘Heartbreak Hotel’, dried his hands and, having
given Ranger Connor sufficient time to be on his way, slipped off to the Big House himself.

Through the entrance hall, then down the secret passage to the storeroom. Although—

Jonny slipped through the entrance hall, unnoticed by Joan who was doing her nails and watching daytime TV. He slid back something or other and entered the secret passage. Which was where the ‘although’ came into it.

Although
, thought Jonny,
although I do want a look at that printing machine, I’d also rather like to have a look at this countess curator
. She was obviously a new curator, as the one who had done the curating when Jonny’s father had first brought Jonny to the museum had been a big fat fellow called Stan, who smelled of model train sets and carried himself in the kind of fashion that wasn’t the fashion any more.

And secret passages lead in all kinds of directions. And all these kinds of directions were remembered by Jonny.

So Jonny crept and skulked along, the light of Ranger Hawtrey’s torch tunnelling the darkness before him. Smells of ancient plaster and dust and pigeon poo and rats’ muck and mildew. And gently creep and gently skulk along.

And up this time rather than down. And Jonny shone the torch before him and found that little hatchway affair, switched off the torch and removed the hatchway affair. The hatchway affair lay behind a portrait of Sir Henry Crawford, many times great-granddaddy of the recently deceased James. This portrait hung over the fireplace in Princess Amelia’s sitting room. And the little hatchway affair removed the eyes from the portrait, to be replaced by the eyes of Jonny Hooker. Just like in those old-fashioned movies, which sometimes starred Bob Hope. And didn’t you always want to live in a house with a secret passage and a big portrait with the removable eyes that you could peer from behind, all secretive-like?

You didn’t? Well, shame upon you.

Jonny Hooker always had and he was loving this.

He had to do some getting-accustomed: the room was in mostly darkness. A single shaft of sunlight slotted down between the curtains and fell upon the now naked head of Ranger Connor, who had his cap off. Jonny could not see Countess Vanda. He could hear her, though.

‘Ranger Connor,’ she said. ‘One hears good reports of you.’

‘Thank you, Ma’am,’ said the ranger.

‘And one hears so many bad reports nowadays. So much trouble and strife in the world. So dispiriting.’

‘Indeed, Ma’am,’ said Ranger Connor. ‘And so much of it caused by young fellow-me-lads who would benefit from a spell of conscription and a short, sharp shock.’

‘One does so agree.’

Ranger Connor nodded his naked head. Sunlight sparkled on his baldy patch.

‘And so,’ continued Countess Vanda, ‘it is with great pleasure that one learns that the Powers of the World are to hold some kind of major peace conference right here in the Big House this very Sunday. One gave one’s go-ahead to this at once, of course.’

‘Of course,’ said Ranger Connor, bowing his sunlit scalp.

‘Now, there will be policemen, policemen aplenty, I shouldn’t wonder.’

Jonny shrank a little back at this.

‘But one does not wish for you to become involved with these policemen, Ranger Connor. Common folk are these. I wish you to form your own security force. How many rangers do you have under your command – twenty, thirty?’

‘Just the one, sadly, ma’am,’ said Ranger Connor. ‘We were cut back, in the last financial year. The choice, I seem to recall, being between rangers and a new car for the chairman of the borough’s Parks Committee.’

‘Ah,’ said Countess Vanda. ‘My word,’ said she, too.

‘It’s probably a bit eleventh-hour for me to take on any extra manpower,’ said he of the sunbathed bonce, ‘but I am skilled in the martial arts and I have a good man under my command. Even if he is a bit of a weirdo.’

‘Weirdo?’ whispered Jonny.

‘Then be my eyes and ears. Stay away from the policemen, but keep an eye out for trouble. The threat of terrorism is ever present. Anything suspicious, report directly to me. Which is to say, to one. Do you understand?’

‘I do,’ said Ranger Connor. ‘I was wondering, ma’am – this conference, it will involve heads of state, will it?’

‘It will.’

‘Including
our
head of state?’

‘Her Majesty?’ Countess Vanda paused, and it was a long, silent pause. ‘Her Majesty will be present,’ she said, when done with pausing, ‘which is why great trust is being placed in you. Policemen are buffoons. No threat must come close to the monarch.’

‘I see.’ And Ranger Connor nodded. ‘So will it be permissible for me to tool-up, as it were? Carry a weapon, concealed or otherwise?’

‘On this occasion, yes.’

‘Splendid.’ Ranger Connor rubbed his hands together. ‘Can I help myself to something from the stores?’

‘As long as it does not leave the park.’

‘Splendid.’

‘Now leave me, I have much to do.’

‘Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am.’ And backing away and rubbing his hands together once more, Ranger Connor left the room, closing the door behind him.

Jonny Hooker drew back his eyes and prepared to replace the hatch. A flicker of movement caught his attention. Jonny Hooker paused.

Countess Vanda had risen to her feet, possibly from behind a desk, or a table – Jonny was unable to see. But he caught that flicker of movement and now he caught also her profile, caught itself in that shaft of sunlight.

And Jonny Hooker noted well that profile. Because he had seen it before. The darkest of hair, the greenest of eyes and the sweetest of noses. A profile he’d seen so recently.

That of Nurse Hollywood.

‘Hit the ground running and head for the hills, buddy boy.’

Mr Giggles was most emphatic. Jonny shook his head.

‘The peelers,’ said Mr Giggles. ‘The Bill, the filth, the fuzz, the buggers in blue. They’ll be crawling over every inch of this place come lunchtime.’

‘You think?’ said Jonny.

‘I know, buddy boy.’

‘And don’t “buddy boy” me, please.’

‘Away,’ said Mr Giggles. ‘Sprightly, on your toes.’

This advice was offered in the dark, as the battery of ex-Ranger Hawtrey’s torch had given up its ghost and Jonny was now feeling his way about in a secret passage.

‘Things couldn’t be worse,’ said the disembodied voice of Mr Giggles. ‘You are oh so so in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘Really?’ said Jonny. ‘Really? Do you think?’

‘And you’re being all too calm and collected.’

‘And you don’t like that, do you?’

‘I have no idea what you mean. My, it’s darker in here than your mate Paul’s soiled underwear. Let’s head for daylight, then up and away.’

‘And this would be your considered opinion?’

‘Take my advice,’ said Mr Giggles. ‘I know what’s good for you.’

‘It’s interesting, isn’t it,’ whispered Jonny, ‘the occasions when you choose to speak and those when you do not.’

‘You told me to keep quiet unless I had something really pertinent to add.’

Jonny nodded invisibly and continued to feel his way along. ‘And you really think that I’m going to run away, do you?’

‘A strategic withdrawal is not necessarily a retreat. In fact, a strategic withdrawal can make the love making oh so much sweeter.’

‘Please be silent,’ said Jonny. ‘I have things to think about.’

‘No you don’t, no things at all.’

Jonny stopped and spoke with a certain sharpness in his voice. ‘I think that I
do
,’ he said. ‘You are not going to suggest this is coincidence.’

‘Coincidence? I don’t know what you mean.’

‘That I am
here
and that what is clearly going to be a most important meeting of, how shall I put this, the “controllers” of the world, is going to take place here on Sunday.’

‘And what would such a meeting have to do with you?’

‘Oh, come on,’ said Jonny. ‘That is somewhat disingenuous.’

‘Jonny,’ said Mr Giggles, ‘I really have no idea what is going on in that head of yours. Is it all that gibberish Hari Hawtrey spun you, that you are some lone hero upon a sacred quest? What do you think is going to happen here? Are terrorists going to menace the conference? Are you going to do a Bruce Willis and save them? You don’t even own a vest.’

‘I didn’t mention terrorists,’ said Jonny. ‘Where did you get the idea of terrorists from?’

‘Well, if not terrorists, then what?’

‘You’re doing all the theorizing,’ said Jonny. ‘I haven’t said anything except that I do not believe that this is a coincidence. Perhaps I am being somewhat self-obsessed, but I do believe that at last my life has some kind of purpose.’

‘It does – you’re a good musician. Tell you what, go back to Paul’s and spend the day there, then do the gig tonight – what do you say to that?’

‘And tomorrow?’

‘A holiday abroad.’

‘I think not,’ said Jonny. ‘To quote you, “I think I’ll stick around for a while.” Ah,’ and Jonny pushed upon a panel, ‘I think we’re in the storerooms.’

And they were.

‘Now,’ said Jonny, entering a storeroom and sliding the secret something that disguised the passage’s entrance back into place, ‘I’d like to take another look at that printing press.’

‘Why?’ asked Mr Giggles.

But Jonny didn’t reply.

Jonny began to root about amongst the things in the storeroom.

‘I don’t know why you’re wasting your time with this,’ said Mr Giggles.

‘So you think I should get out of here at once?’

‘Absolutely, yes.’

‘Then I’ll continue to search about.’

‘Simply to be contrary?’

‘If you have nothing pertinent to add.’

‘I know. I know.’

There were a great many packing cases in the storeroom. Jonny took up a crowbar that lay, as they so often do, handily near at hand, and attacked the lid of the nearest.

‘What are you doing?’ squealed Mr Giggles. ‘You’ll damage valuable exhibits with your big silly hands.’

‘Not exhibits,’ said Jonny. ‘The labels on the cases say “EFFECTS FROM THE ESTATE OF THE LATE JAMES CRAWFORD BEQUEATHED TO GUNNERSBURY PARK MUSEUM”. I’ll bet it’s his record collection.’

And it was. Amongst other things.

Jonny opened box after box with Mr Giggles tut-tut-tutting as he did so. Eventually Jonny opened a box and said, ‘What do we have here?’

‘Gramophone records?’

‘More leather-bound notebooks,’ said Jonny. ‘A good many leather-bound notebooks.’

‘More paranoid ramblings,’ muttered Mr Giggles.

Jonny opened a notebook and read what was written within.

REGARDING THE DEVIL’S CHORD

Jonny read.

And then what was written beneath:

The Devil’s chord, also known as the Devil’s Interval, also known as the tritone, augmented fourth or diminished fifth, is an exact bisection of an octave. The octave has throughout history been
regarded as a symbol of perfection; consequently the Devil’s Interval was seen (and indeed heard) to be the most harsh and discordant interval, and as it is the exact antithesis or opposite of perfection (the octave, or God) this interval has gained a reputation of being demonic. In early church music (from which most Western music springs) only the intervals of a perfect fourth, perfect fifth and octave were permitted because they gave a perfect or pure harmony as befitted divine worship and instilled a sense of stability and resolution in the listener. The Devil’s Interval gives rise in the listener to a sense of unease, or restlessness, which needs resolution. In modern-day music, the tritone is used ubiquitously and is often utilised as a pivot, to drive the music on into alternative harmonic realms. It is used particularly in jazz, pop and rock, all of which have been denounced at one time or another as the Devil’s Music. And, seemingly, it would appear, in the light of this, not without good cause.

‘Now, that
is
interesting,’ said Jonny.

‘Really?’ said Mr Giggles. ‘In what way would that be?’

‘I’m a musician,’ said Jonny, ‘but I’ve never heard of the Devil’s Interval before. But thinking about it, it’s used in all kinds of atmospheric music, like background music in horror films.’

‘It’s used in the title sequence of
The Simpsons
,’ said Mr Giggles.
^*

‘So
you
know all about the Devil’s Interval?’

‘I know about most things,’ said Mr Giggles, ‘which is why you should pay attention to what I say to you. You’ll find that the Devil’s Interval is mostly used in the lower registers of the tonic scale. Your heavy metallers sing in deep, deep voices, don’t they?’

Jonny nodded. They did.

‘Because big, deep bass notes are associated with evil, way down deep, like the location of Hell. And angelic voices are high – your sopranos and your castrati of, course, voices soaring up to Heaven. And right in the middle, halfway between Heaven and Hell, you have Mankind. Right here on Earth. And where is most music of mankind based? Right around middle C on the piano. Your
basic pop song has your basic “three-chord trick” – G, C and D seventh. Popular music, middle-of-the-road music, middle-of-the-range music. Music of the common man. And they’ll all have your “Da-da-de-da-da” in them somewhere. It’s the heartbeat of popular music. A tonal key that opens a musical door.’

‘I’m impressed,’ said Jonny. ‘You’re actually talking sense there.’

‘It’s elementary stuff – any music student could tell you all about it.’

‘Then I’m
not
impressed,’ said Jonny. ‘Thanks for putting me straight.’

‘Mind you,’ said Mr Giggles, ‘there’s always a n****r in the woodpile, as it were.’

‘Please don’t start all that again,’ Jonny told him.

‘One piece of music that doesn’t fit. A piece of classical music with lots of high notes and more Devil’s Intervals per bar than any other piece.’

‘And what’s that?’ Jonny asked.

“The Dance of the Sugar-Plum Fairy,” said Mr Giggles.
^*

Jonny was rooting some more in a packing case. ‘Well, aha,’ said he. ‘Or should I say, eureka?’

Mr Giggles feigned lack of interest.

‘Laptop,’ Jonny said. ‘James Crawford’s laptop. I’ll bet he typed up all his theories from his notebooks onto his laptop.’

‘And so you’re going to steal it?’

‘I’m going to borrow it. But first—’ And Jonny took to replacing the packing-case lids and hammering back their nails with the crowbar. ‘—best not leave any evidence that any crime has been committed here, eh?’

And as luck, or fate, or coincidence, or whatever would have it, just as Jonny had hammered the last nail into place—

‘What is
that
?’ said Jonny, and he listened.

A key was being turned in the storeroom door.

‘Up and away,’ whispered Jonny, and he took to the secret passage.

Two men entered the storeroom. One was young and firm and assertive; the other was older, and complaining.

‘I’m
not
a porter,’ this older one complained, and Jonny knew that voice. ‘I’m a park ranger,’ said Ranger Connor, ‘and it’s not my job to shift boxes about.’

‘How very unpatriotic of you,’ said the younger man. Jonny didn’t recognise the voice. And he couldn’t see the younger man, so he couldn’t see that he was wearing a black suit, black tie, white shirt, black shoes and dark sunglasses. He spoke with the accent known as posh. He spoke with the voice of authority.

‘I commandeered you as you were leaving the Big House because you carry yourself with military bearing—’

‘Yes,’ flustered Ranger Connor. ‘Well.’

‘And I said to myself, this chap looks like a Sandhurst type, probably here on Special Ops.’

‘Well,’ went Ranger Connor, with a tad less fluster.

‘Give him a task that is top priority and a man such as this can be trusted to carry it out. For Queen and country, doncha know.’

‘Well,’ went the ranger, fluster-free.

‘Item in one of these cases required. Very important, security of the Crown and all that sort of thing. Just require you to go through the crates, fish the fellow out and bring it up to me. I have some business with woman on reception desk.’

And I’ll just bet I know what kind
, thought Jonny.

‘Well,’ went Ranger Connor, once more.

‘Laptop computer jobbie,’ said the young toff. ‘Whip it out of the crate and bring it up to me.’

Ranger Connor grunted.

‘Top man,’ said the toff.

Jonny didn’t hear him say it, though, for Jonny had made a strategic withdrawal along the secret passage and out of the Big House and was now sitting beside the ornamental pond, opposite the Doric temple, with the laptop open on his lap.

‘You’d best throw that in the pond,’ advised Mr Giggles. ‘You’re bound to get caught with it and be taken off to prison.’

‘Password,’ said Jonny. ‘I need the password.’

Mr Giggles whistled “Jailhouse Rock”.

‘Now what would his password be?’ Jonny asked.

‘Bum poo?’ said Mr Giggles. ‘Smelly willy, big hairy bottom burps?’

‘And you complained about toilet humour lowering the tone.’

‘Just trying to lighten the situation as you’re clearly doomed. Throw it in the pond and let’s be away.’

Jonny tapped in letters. His guess was rejected.

‘You only get three tries,’ said Mr Giggles.

‘I know,’ said Jonny, who thought hard and tried once more. And failed.

‘One try left,’ said Mr Giggles. ‘Get it over with and let’s get going.’

Jonny drummed his fingers on the laptop. One more try was all he had. There was no telling what secrets the laptop might yield up. None at all, in all probability. But
no
, that couldn’t be right. The chap with the posh voice wanted the laptop. Security of the Crown, he’d said. There had to be answers. Some key that would open some door.

Jonny smiled and tapped letters into the keyboard.

The laptop screen lit up.

And Mr Giggles said, ‘Oh.’

‘Piece of cake,’ said Jonny.

‘Luck of the damned, more like.’

‘Well, you inspired it,’ said Jonny, ‘with your talk about popular music. Music of the common man. A tonal key that opens a musical door.’

Mr Giggles groaned.

And Jonny said, ‘That’s right.’