Deadvent Calendar - December 6th
The detectives find themselves in an unlikely South Seas idyll and Shilo throws some non-Euclidean shapes on the dancefloor
Deadvent Calendar is a seasonal murder mystery told in 24 crimes. It follows the adventure of amateur detective Shilo Coombes and his companion as they try and unravel a sinister plot to murder the unChristmassy - a plot that doesn’t seem very Christmassy itself.
A decorative stabbing.
Mr Chris Hunter, a regional sales, two warm beers on the train home, executive breakfast, cycling weekend, ‘where are my damn trousers Karen?’ sort of chap, who not once in his adult life had bought for his parents, siblings, friends, wife or children one considered or considerate, expensive or thoughtful Christmas present, found stabbed to death with a candy cane that had been sucked to a very sharp point. One might say that in many ways he met a sticky end.
December 6th
If there is one thing that can be said for the Coldharbour Luau Tiki Night, it is that it was a place of superlatives. It was too hot, too crowded, too dark and too loud. There was too much rum, too much surf music, too many loud shirts and entirely too many plastic palm trees and tiki mugs.
It took three different covers of Misirlou (one cod Dick Dale, one Martin Denny style exotica, and one apparently being played by a bee trapped inside a bongo drum) to find Penny and Siobhan, sitting at the back of the bar with drinks that looked more like flower arrangements than cocktails.
Siobhan had entered into the full cultural appropriation and caricatured stereotyping spirit of the evening with a lei of fabric flowers, a grass skirt and a pair of coconuts glued to a bikini top. Penny had a inflatable parrot and a pained expression.
Shilo adjusted the beard he had glued on that did absolutely nothing to disguise his identity. “Is anyone sitting here?” he asked, gesturing at an empty chair next to Penny.
“What?” shouted back Siobhan over a Mariachi version of Brazil. “Is anyone sitting here?” leaning forward.
“What?”
“Is anyone,” screamed Shilo, actually kneeling on the chair to get his mouth next to Siobhan’s ear, “Sitting here?”
“Well, you are now,” she shouted back.
We sat down. The four of us stared at each other for a moment and then everyone started shouting at once. We all stopped. Then started again, then stopped again. No one could hear anyone else over Del Shannon anyway. Runaway seemed like good advice.
I have long ago come to the conclusion that they have the music on so loud in bars because if any of the drinkers could actually hear what each other were saying they’d tear the place to smithereens in despair at the folly and ignorance of their fellow humans. And since these are the places where couples have traditionally have met, formed mutual attractions and had a quick fumble by the cigarette machine, whole generations might have gone unborn had anyone realised at this crucial stage that someone who looked reasonably presentable in the dim light of a third vodka and coke was in fact and empty headed lunk with a vague collection of racist misunderstandings instead of a personality.
What is interesting is to see how Internet dating has so accurately modelled the experience of stumbling round a deafening nightclub in a futile attempt to find the loos, as faces flash out at you from the darkness, yelling meaningless two hundred and eighty character mottos as you swipe past.
“You’re the guys who came round the house,” yelled Siobhan. “No we’re not,” shouted Shilo and
“Yes we are,” I said.
Shilo turned to lean across the table at Penny. “How are you?” he screamed in her face.
“I love this song,” Siobhan reached across and grabbed Shilo’s arm, “Come and dance with me.”
Ignoring his protests she pulled him from his seat and dragged to him to where a dancefloor had been cleared between tables.
“Watch this,” I said to Penny, having seen Shilo dance before, “You’ll enjoy it.”
They reached the dance niche just in time with the first growling bass notes of the guitar over the thundering rhythms of Let There Be Drums and someone appeared to have electrocuted Shilo.
It seems clear to me that, like so many things in his life, Shilo learned about dancing from reading about it and completely misunderstanding what it was that he was reading. He jerked, he flailed, he spasmed. Quickly the dance handkerchief emptied of everyone but the ticking Shilo, leaping up and down in rhythmless star jumps like one of those wooden toys where you press the bottom and a figure slackens and stiffens in strange contortions.
Even Siobhan fled to the side of the space and gazed on in awe at the extraordinary performance.
“Is he alright?” shouted Penny at me, watching Shilo cavort.
“Well, that’s debatable,” I said, “Everyone asks that question eventually. He certainly seems to be moving to a different drummer than everyone else.”
“It’s kind of miraculous,” said Penny, “How he manages to be almost entirely out of time. With a song that’s nothing but drumming, too.”
“Do you like all… this?” I gestured at the parrot bobbing in her hair, “Surf music, tiki, all this South Seas paraphernalia?”
“Penny loves Christmas stuff,” shouted Siobhan, suddenly reappearing to grab her drink, “Don’t you?”
“Well, I wouldn’t…” started Penny.
“We were at this pub on Monday for lunch,” continued Siobhan, not hearing her, although whether because of the music or out of habit it was hard to tell, “And they had tables laid out for a Christmas party and Penny couldn’t stop fiddling with the decorations, absolutely loved them, didn’t you?”
“Well, I couldn’t...” tried Penny.
“Especially the crackers,” said Siobhan, “Very interested in the crackers, weren’t you? I mean I love all this stuff, it’s so colourful and it’s fun, isn’t it, but then Christmas is fun too, I suppose, I mean crackers can be fun, so I can see why you like them…”
“Well, I don’t…”
“Although why we had to go all the way out to Ladbroke Grove for them, I don’t know, but you really wanted to go to that pub and I’m always happy to try a new pub, even if I have to go to West London on a Monday lunchtime. Oh, I’m sorry, I left you on the dancefloor, didn’t I?”
Shilo had reappeared, panting and shiny with sweat. “Well, I didn’t…” he started but
“Come on, then,” said Siobhan, grabbing him again, “Let’s see that again.” And she hauled back into the small square of lino, now surrounded by a small crowd waiting for the bizarre floor show to begin again.
At the first hysterical laugh of The Surfari’s Wipeout, he leapt into the air like he just been stung and then began once more to lurch about, seemingly at random, his arms and legs convulsing in and out.
“Ladbroke Grove, eh?” I said to Penny.
“A friend recommended it,” she said and looked away.
“What was the pub called?” I asked, “I’ve got a friend who lives out there, Simon Constantinou, I’m sure he’ll take a tip.”
Penny showed no sign of recognising the name. Instead she just said: “I think it’s probably time we were going,” and waved at Siobhan.
I looked over at where Shilo was standing in the middle of a circle, shaking like a new leaf in a Spring storm and just about as green. His beard was coming loose.
“Probably time we were too,” I said.
Shilo lay back in the taxi, his beard flapping in the breeze coming through the open window, watching the kebab houses and late night fights whisk past under the sodium orange street lights.
“Why did that woman keep making me dance?” he asked the passing night.
“Because it’s hilarious,” I said.
“The whole point was to try and question Penny while her guard was down,” said Shilo, “Instead that woman Siobhan kept making me dance.”
“Leaving me to do the questioning,” I said.
“You found something out!” he turned to look at me, “Ugh, I shouldn’t move my head so fast.”
“Well, I don’t think Penny’s guard is ever down,” I said, “But fortunately Siobhan’s is never up.”
“Put me out of my misery,” said Shilo.
“Gladly,” I said, “But first I’ll tell you that on Monday they went for lunch at a pub in Ladbroke Grove.”
“Monday,” said Shilo, “Ladbroke Grove. Constantinou.”
“A pub that had a table laid out for a Christmas lunch,” I continued, “Where Penny took a lot of interest in the crackers, apparently.”
“Crackers,” said Shilo, “Explosion.”
“Exactly,” I said.
“So Penny has an alibi for a murder she has a motive for,” said Shilo, “But is present on the scene of a murder she knows nothing about. Curiouser and curiouser. Whatever can it mean?”
“Have you ever,” I said, “Seen the film Strangers on a Train?”
“Where they swap murders?” said Shilo, the light dawning, “Oh my word. That’s brilliant.”