Jane arrived at the Churchill Arms to watch Gibbs’ band just before 8 p.m. She’d dressed casually in jeans, a red dagger collar shirt, which she’d tied at the waist, and black boots. The pub was packed and virtually the whole team were there, although the band hadn’t started. Gibbs came over, dressed in a white frilled shirt, tight leather trousers and blue suede shoes, and sporting a large peace sign medallion. She was pretty sure it was the same outfit she’d seen him in at the Helen Matthews murder scene.
He kissed her on the cheek. “Hey, great to see you. How you doing?”
“Bit of a disastrous day, if I’m honest. Luckily Moran was at the Yard when I got back to the office, so I didn’t have to incur his wrath again by telling him the result of—”
Gibbs put his hand over her mouth to shut her up. “Rule one: no job talk tonight; rule two: let your hair down and have a good time; and rule three is: you let me buy you a drink.”
Jane said she’d have a small glass of white wine, but Gibbs came back from the bar with a large one. An attractive girl in her early twenties, with shoulder-length dyed blond hair, came over and stood beside Gibbs. She was wearing a low-cut, figure-hugging short white satin dress and knee-high red leather high-heeled boots.
“Tamara meet Jane; Jane meet Tamara.” Gibbs caught Tamara’s eye and touched the side of his nose.
As they shook hands, Jane noticed there was a trace of white powder at the base of Tamara’s right nostril, which she hurriedly wiped off.
“Sorry, Gibbsey. Nice to meet you, Jane. Gibbsey’s told me a lot about you.” Tamara’s cut-glass accent was pure Sloane Ranger.
“Really? What’s Gibbsey been saying?”
Gibbs wagged his finger at Tamara to say nothing but she didn’t seem to notice.
“That you’re a bit sensitive, but tenacious, with plenty of balls.”
Jane laughed and turned to Gibbs with just a touch of sarcasm. “Thank you, Gibbsey, that’s very kind of you to notice. Gibbsey talks about you all the time, Tamara.” Jane paused to make Gibbs wonder what she was going to say next. From the anxious look on his face, it had worked.
“And having met you at last, I can see why. You look stunning, just like Debbie Harry.”
“Well, thank you, Jane, that’s very kind.” Tamara beamed.
Gibbs looked relieved. “We need to get ready and tune up, Tamara.”
“I just need the loo again. Nice to meet you, Jane. We’ll catch up later.” She headed off to the toilets.
“She gets nervous before a gig,” Gibbs explained.
“I just hope she doesn’t get you in trouble.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, that wasn’t sherbet dip on the end of her nose, was it?” Jane said in a hushed voice.
“It’s just a tiny bit to steady her nerves. And before you ask, I’m not doing any drugs.”
“If Tamara gets nicked for possession, you could be in serious shit, even out of a job.”
“It’s OK, she’s a good girl, and I know what I’m doing when it comes to relationships.” Gibbs made his way through the crowd and onto the stage.
Jane wondered if he’d been having a dig about her past relationships as she watched the band going through a quick sound check and a final tune-up, before launching into Bachman-Turner Overdrive’s “You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet.” Jane got herself a second glass of wine and started to relax, letting the music drive her anxieties about the case from her mind. She was glad that she’d decided to come along and was impressed with the band, who sounded better than she’d imagined. Gibbs had a surprisingly good voice, and as the lead guitarist he didn’t hit a bum note. Tamara was lead singer in the next number, which was Blondie’s “Sunday Girl,” and Jane reckoned when it came to Debbie Harry, she had the voice as well as the looks. She found herself singing along with Tamara as she belted out the lyrics.
The woman standing next to Jane didn’t agree. “Spencer’s great on guitar, isn’t he? Pity about the singer, though. She looks more like Diana Dors than Debbie Harry—and sounds more like her, too.”
Jane didn’t recognize her, but her voice was familiar. She was very attractive, mid-thirties, with long blond hair and dressed in a red boob tube, black flared trousers and stilettos. The woman waved at Gibbs to catch his attention, and Jane could see Gibbs looking surprised as he gave her a discreet nod of acknowledgement. Jane had an idea who she was but wanted to be sure.
“Hi, I’m Jane. I work with Spencer at Peckham.”
“I’m Jo. We’re just friends. Have they been going long?”
“Yeah, they’ve done a few numbers.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jo said, moving closer to the front of the stage.
Jane already suspected Gibbs and Jo Hastings were more than “just friends,” and couldn’t believe Gibbs would be so stupid as to invite her to the gig with Tamara performing alongside him. She wondered if Jo just wanted to surprise Gibbs or if she wanted to find out if he had a girlfriend. Either way, Jane couldn’t wait to see what happened next.
When the band took their break, Tamara went off to the loo again and Gibbs took the opportunity to speak with Jo.
He looked anxious. “Hi, Jo. I wasn’t expecting you. I didn’t think rock music was your kind of thing.”
She stepped closer, rubbing her body against his. “I thought I’d come and see how well you performed . . . outside the bedroom,” she said with a brazen smile.
Jane saw Tamara approaching from behind and looked forward to seeing how Gibbs dealt with the situation.
“Hi again, Jane. Are you enjoying the show?” Tamara asked, looking the picture of innocence.
“Yes, thanks, Tamara. Your voice is terrific,” Jane said enthusiastically.
Jo Hastings frowned. “She’s all right, but you should do more solos, Spencer. Can you sing ‘Kiss You All Over’ for me?” she added with a suggestive smile.
“I’m sorry, love, I don’t know that song,” Gibbs said, as if he didn’t know her.
Jo leant forward and kissed him on the lips. “I’ll play it for you later, then,” she said in a seductive voice.
“Who the fuck’s the geriatric?” Tamara hissed, glaring at Gibbs.
Gibbs shrugged, as if he had no idea. “Come on, we need to get back on stage.” He grabbed her by the hand, but she pulled away.
“Are you screwing this trollop?” Tamara asked loudly.
The people nearby turned and stared, wondering what the commotion was about. Gibbs looked as if he wished the ground beneath his feet would open and swallow him. He knew Jo was a streetwise London girl with a sharp tongue who wouldn’t put up with being insulted like that. But to his and Jane’s surprise, Jo remained calm and collected.
“My, my, the schoolgirl doesn’t realize you prefer older women. Well, you run along back to the classroom, darling, while I educate Spencer in the finer things of life.”
Jane stepped back, waiting for it all to kick off. But Tamara wasn’t the fighting sort; she seemed more of a daddy’s girl who got what she wanted by looking upset and turning on the tears.
Suddenly Tamara slapped Gibbs hard across the face. “It’s over, Gibbsey. I never want to see you again,” she shouted, pushing her way out of the pub.
Jo glared at Gibbs and slapped his other cheek. “I hope that hurts as well. If you’d been up front about having a girlfriend, it wouldn’t have been a problem. It’s lying about it that pisses me off.” She followed Tamara out of the pub.
Jane wasn’t sure if Gibbs’ cheeks were redder from the slaps or the sheer embarrassment. She looked at him sadly and shook her head.
“For someone who reckons he knows how to handle women, I’d say you just killed two birds with one stone.”
Gibbs forced a smile. “Well, as Doris Day said, ‘Que sera, sera’ Now, if you’ll excuse me, Jane, my fans await.”
He jumped up on the stage and announced that, due to an unforeseen incident, Tamara had to leave in a hurry, but the band would play on.
Soon he was back in his element, singing and playing guitar solos, which brought a rapturous roar of approval from the audience. Jane found herself singing along with the crowd and even having a dance with her colleagues.
When Edwards got a bit drunk and started coming onto her, Jane had to tell him firmly to “back off,” hoping he wouldn’t remember in the morning.
“This next song is for a good friend of mine,” Gibbs announced, winking at Jane.
Jane hoped to God he wasn’t going to break into a romantic song, but quickly realized she should have known better when Gibbs began singing Rod Stewart’s “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy.”
Jane laughed along with the crowd, feeling more relaxed than she had in ages.