I was my dads vinylwallah: I changed his records while he lounged around drinking tea, and thats how I know my Argo from my Tempo. And its why, when Dr Walid called me to the morgue to listen to a corpse, I recognised the tune it was playing. Something violently supernatural had happened to the victim, strong enough to leave its imprint like a wax cylinder recording. Cyrus Wilkinson, parttime jazz saxophonist and fulltime accountant, had apparently dropped dead of a heart attack just after finishing a gig in a Soho jazz club. He wasnt the first.