Story

1. Jerusalem
One Last Note
Chapter 1
A rousing applause filled the cramped jazz bar as the sound of James’ powerful solo came to
a close. Placing his saxophone aside he bowed low, drawing cheers and whoops from the
adoring crowd. The clapping mingled with the drumming rain on the windows and crackling
of thunder overhead, the streets outside awash with the downpour, and slowly faded out to
muted chatter and the patter of footsteps as people filed out into the storm.
James collapsed in a chair, pulling a loud silk handkerchief from the chest pocket of his
waistcoat and using it to wipe away the sweat from his brow. Taking a long drink from his
cool G+T, he smiled. He’d worked hard to get to this point and he knew his hard work would
pay off soon. No more dingy jazz clubs in the backwaters of London. No more cramped
stages and shorts sets. He was on the up.
Looking from his drink, James checked his watch and sighed. He’d overrun by about 15
minutes. No real issue but the bar staff were evidently itching to go home, shooting him
hard looks from across the counter as he returned his glass. “Sorry Sarah, I should have kept
that encore a little shorter”
“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, we all know how you like to show off” she replied, grinning
toothily and rolling her eyes. James chuckled and gave her a squeeze. “Don’t be cheeky”
“I’ll be as cheeky as I like! I gave you the slot did I not?”
“Well yeah but-“
Sarah grabbed him by the muzzle and shushed him playfully, wagging her finger knowingly.
James huffed through her fingertips and gently batted her hand away. ‘Need any help with
anything or should I take my leave?’ James asked
“Thanks for the offer but I have it covered. Anyway, someone’s waiting for you.”
“Waiting for me?” James cocked is head, bemused. “I didn’t think anyone I knew was
coming tonight”
“Well there have been posters all over town, perhaps someone saw one? Or perhaps a
doting fan wants you to sign his tit” Sarah winked wryly. “Either way, I sent him out back”
James shuffled nervously and nodded, looking down at his immaculate brogues. “Okay, I’ll
pack my stuff and go see him. Have a good night!” Sarah nodded and waved him through
the door, going back to stacking chairs as the door swung behind James. Loosening the bow
on her flowing white dress and kicking off her tall heels, she emptied the till and poured
herself a quick drink. Pulling one of the posters from the walls she admired the image of

2. James which adorned the delicate sheet. He cut a striking figure, which certainly helped sell
tickets. But his music sold itself.
Washing and returning the glass, Sarah stood to leave, heaving herself from the comfy
armchair and stepping into some beaten old flats. Pulling on her heavy parka she locked up
the bar entrance and left through the rear. The rain hit her immediately, like a thousand icy
fingers grappling at her face. She sighed deeply and fumbled with the keys, deftly trying to
turn the stiff lock.
As she toiled with the lock, lightning lit the wet door. Cold fear struck Sarah’s heart.
Steaming red blood mingled with the cool rain upon the worn wood, the two liquids dancing
grotesquely across the chipped paint. A rasping whine joined the storm’s symphony as a
hot, slick hand clasped at Sarah’s calf. She turned slowly, bracing herself for the sight she
knew was to come.
James lay on the cobbles, blood gushing from his neck and arms, mingling with the dirt of
the gutter. One eye rolled in its socket from the pain, the other sitting limp and lifeless as
blood streamed from the lid. A curdling scream escaped Sarah’s chest as James’ mouth
moved limply like a marionette, the air bubbling out his neck before he could form words.
Sarah jerked her hands into her pockets and punching 999 into the pad, unable to take her
eyes from James’ as his movements slowed, death pulling him from his mortal muscles.
“P-police? I-I’d like to report a murder”
***
Miles and Thom lay quietly in bed, only the soft beat kept by the brass table clock
accompanying the crescendo of the storm outside. Miles, an athletic black house cat, turned
slowly. Flashes of lightning danced across his strong chest. His strong jaw and sharp eyes
rested easy amongst a nest of pillows, strong arms holding Thom with gentile and grace.
Thom slept with less poise; papers for his research rested across a rounder stomach, which
itself had been accumulated through hours of lab work. His glasses rested halfway down his
long Rottweiler muzzle, betraying that he had fallen asleep reading again.
Suddenly the silence was disturbed by the droning wail of a mobile phone. Miles and Thom
groaned in unison, the Rottweiler pulling the pillows over his tall ears as Miles strained for
his phone. Yawning, he placed the speaker to his ear and rubbed his eyes dozily.
“Inspector Young speaking”
“Good morning starshine! The earth says ‘Hello’!” chuckled the dispatcher. “A murder’s
been reported at ‘The Brass Bar’ and we want you on the scene.”
Miles nodded and jotted down the location before hanging up, filling the kettle and
stumbling into the shower, pulling the steam into his lungs and releasing a heavy sigh.
Rubbing shampoo into his glossy fur he felt a small hand rub over his back.
“Do you have to go?” Thom whined softly, nuzzling into the crook of the cat’s shoulders.
“I’m afraid I do. Some poor kid’s been killed outside a jazz bar in central.”

3. “At this hour? I thought that wouldn’t be common courtesy for you brits” he huffed,
stepping back out the shower as Miles chuckled to himself. After a long scrub Miles pulled
the towel around his waist and trudged into the kitchen. He was instantly handed a coffee
by a bleary eyed Rottweiler. Giving Thom a soft kiss, Miles smiled gratefully before resting
the mug on the side and scooping up the dog into his arms, carrying him back to bed.
“Back to bed with you pup, at this hour only cops should be out of bed”
Thom nodded and yawned, curling up in a nest of sheets as Miles pulled on a blue suit under
his long beige overcoat. Giving his shoes a quick buff, he leaned down to kiss Thom one
more time before slipping out the front door of the flat, letting the latch click shut behind
him. Thom pulled in a pillow to his chest and sighed, soon falling back into a warm slumber.
Miles trotted down the stairwell of the block, gripping the cool metal rail as he went. He
passed through the door with purposeful strides, barely paying notice to the thunder
booming overhead, lightning highlighting the etched words above the heavy oak doors.
‘Crescent Mansions’
Stepping into the waiting car, Miles slipped out his wet jacket and folded it neatly over his
lap, straightening his tie and nodding to the figure sat next to him in the driving seat.
“Morning Sophie“
“You know it’s Sophia, Young”
A small smile breached Sophia’s face as he leaned into the chalky car-light, revealing the
pointed, clever face of a winter stoat. Small glasses perched neatly on the end of her snout
and wisps of steam unfurled from her nose as she exhaled from her e-light, filling the car’s
cabin with the scent of pine and mint. Tucking the small metal pipe into her breast-pocket
she adjusted the mirrors and pulled away.
“Lovely evening for a murder” joked Sophia, squinting through the droves of raindrops that
pelted the windscreen as they drove down the sleepy London streets. Miles rolled his eyes
and raised his brow at the stoat, who grinned back through her e-light, the blue light casting
long shadows over her wily face. Miles grimaced slightly. Sophia was an excellent police
officer, but Miles found her mannerisms a little too dark for his tastes. The kid was a
machine. Nothing spooked her. In fact the nastier the crime, the happier Sophia seemed.
“Go on, I can tell you’re itching to fill me in” Miles sighed, rolling his shoulders tiredly.
“My pleasure. Should be interesting this one. The victim is a 25 year old German Shepard
called James Goode. Very much an up and coming saxophonist, he was making waves in the
music industry”
“Yeah I’ve heard of him. Very much aimed at young adults right?”
“I guess so. Probably saw that pandering to the young is good way to stay relevant for a long
time. Pretty sure that made him infuriating to traditionalists though”
“Infuriated? Enough to kill?”

4. It was Sophia’s turn to roll his eyes. “This is jazz, not the X-Factor. It’s not really the scene for
pride murders. I expect whoever did this knew James personally.”
Miles glowered at her. The little shit was too clever for her’ own good. Another puff of
scented steam rolled from the stoat’s mouth as cool silence fell within the car. Soon they
slowed to a stop. The worst of the storm had passed but rain continued to strike Miles as he
pulled on his overcoat again. Shielding his eyes from the fluorescent lighting that soaked the
scene in a pallid, flat light, Miles ducked under the police tape and weaved between
ambulances and police cars to the white crime scene tent that was propped haphazardly
against the back of the Jazz bar.
Waiting by the entrance was Bart, a tall, weathered Great Dane. He gave Miles a jowly
smile, tired eyes betraying his age. He ushered Miles under his golf umbrella and passed him
a set of latex gloves, raising an eyebrow at the sight of Miles’ long coat.
“Still wearing that thing? You look like something off a cheap TV crime drama.”
Miles nudged him sharply in the gut “Good to see you too you old bastard.” They shared a
chuckle.
“Did Sophia fill you in?”
“A bit about who are victim is but that’s about all”
Bart’s lips tightened and he reached for the door of the tent “Well I warn you now, this isn’t
a pretty one. I can say for sure the body hasn’t been moved. But our poor witness could
have told you that anyway”
“There’s a witness?” Miles’ eyes brightened. If someone had seen the event then that’d
make his life a whole lot easier.
“Well, she discovered the victim but he bled out right in front of her. She’s in the ambulance
with the para’s right now”
Miles frowned. Not quite what he’d been hoping for. “Better than nothing I suppose” he
thought to himself, glancing back at the emergency vehicles lined up at the alley’s entrance.
Turning back to Bart, he nodded to the flap and braced himself.
Bart returned the nod and pulled back the curtain. Miles grimaced. The body lay halfway up
the bar’s steps. Blood soaked the stone, filling the cracks in the cobbles with sanguine pools