The Song Never Dies (7 page)

“Thanks,” Jack said.

He took out his notepad and pen, flicked through pages, then looked up at both of them.

The notepad always puts people on their toes,
he thought.
Never fails.

“So, I gather you both arrived late at the party?”

“We got delayed,” said Sarinda. “Very delayed.”

Jack turned to her. She seemed to be challenging him to ask why. Some kind of game? He decided not to play and turned back to Nick.

“So you arrived together?”

“Yeah,” said Nick.

“Then you all had a meeting about the tour — that right?”

“Meeting? Alex told us the dates. And Carlton told us about the money. Done deal.”

“And you objected to that?”

“I object to being told what to do.” He looked at Sarinda.

Jack had to wonder if that rule also held in this house, with the singing princess in charge?

Jack made a note in his notepad.

“And what happened then?”

“We talked. How many gigs, nights on the road, travel, that sort of stuff.”

“I’ve heard there was some kind of argument.”

“Maybe,” said Nick.

“Alex told me to get out,” said Sarinda. “Right after I called him a greedy dinosaur. He didn’t much like
that
!”

Jack watched her laugh.

A little too heartily
, he thought.

“Oh? You were part of the discussion?” said Jack.

“He couldn’t bloody well stop me, could he? Free world.”

“Sure,” said Jack. “It is, um, a free world. But I guess he was also free to kick you out.”

“He tried to,” said Nick. “Told him to back the hell off.”

“You stopped him?” said Jack.

“Guy was a wimp. Always was.”

“What happened then?”

“He said he was going to wreck Sarinda’s career.

Jack saw Nick’s eyes flick across to the girl —
was that a warning not to say more?

“What made him think he could do that?” said Jack.

Nick’s eyes locked on her — but to no avail.

“He reckoned he could prove that my song was
his
,” she said. “Bloody idiot. As if …”

“The Song that Never Dies?” said Jack.

Jack watched Sarinda roll her eyes.

“How about that,” she said, not smiling.

“So you don’t live under a stone,” said Nick. “Well done.”

“But it’s your song, right?” said Jack, ignoring the comments. “How could he say it was his?”

“Yeah. Exactly the point!” said Nick. “Guy was talking total bollocks. He’d already had too much bloody vino. And way too much toot. He just wanted control. Hated anyone else doing well.”

“Like you for instance,” said Jack.

“Dead right,” said Nick. “Me and Sarinda — we’ve built something special this last year. Something rare, man.”

“And earned a lot of money, I guess.”

“Too right. That song has earned plenty. And I’m not giving a damn penny of it to that bastard.”

“Sounds like you won’t have to,” said Jack. “Now he’s dead.”

“Exactly,” said Nick.

Again — fast.

Jack made another note.

“After you had your … disagreement … did you see Alex again that night?”

“Me and Sarinda went back into the party. Had a couple more drinks.”

“You didn’t go down to the pool?”

“What? Cops already asked me that. No.”

Jack turned to Sarinda.

“You neither?”

“No. I stuck with Nick.”

Jack took a breath. “And you didn’t see Alex again that night?” said Jack, keeping his eyes on the girl’s face.

“Umm … No. Not at all.”

Jack looked down at his notepad, buying some time.

Thinking:
something’s not right here.

Then he looked back at her.

She was biting her bottom lip.

Jack smiled at her.

She smiled back for the first time.

You’re lying, kid,
he thought.
You’d never smile at me.

“But you’ll still do the tour?” said Jack, turning to Nick.

“Without Alex? Sure. Why the hell not? Might get Sarinda here to take lead vocals.”

“Two different fan bases, yes?”

“I’ve seen it work,” said Nick.

“You playing at the Ploughman’s on Saturday, yes?”

“Right after the memorial. Bit of a tribute to Alex — not that he deserves it!” said Nick.

“You’ll sing?” he asked Sarinda.

Jack saw Nick shrug.

“Yes,” said Sarinda. “Definitely.”

She fired a look at Nick.

Who quickly added: “What she says.”

Jack put away his notebook and stood up.

“Thanks. This … may have been helpful,” he said.

Nick looked surprised that the conversation was over.

“Yeah? That it?”

“All I need for now, I think. Know how the evening went down, where you two were.” Jack smiled. “What else could I need?”

Let them think on that one.

“Appreciate it.”

“Sure,” said Nick, still looking surprised.

It seemed to Jack as if he was expecting more.

“I’ll see myself out,” said Jack, and he offered his hand for Nick to shake.

Nick shook it.

Bit of a squeeze.

Then to his ingénue. “And nice to meet you Sarinda,” said Jack.

“Right, whatever,” she said, as if not at all sure what just happened.

Jack walked to the door. Then he stopped and turned back.

“One last question.”

He saw them both freeze.

Works every time
, Jack thought, repressing a grin.

“Just want to get this straight,” he said, smiling at them both. “So, Alex King believed that your hit single was actually written by him — and he claimed to have proof it was his, not yours?”

“Well, something like—” said Nick. ”All bollocks, mind.”

“But … hmm … if not, that would be a major problem for you Nick. No? For both of you? What would that be now? Fraud? Theft? Heck, you’ll have to excuse me. I’m not in the music business, so what do I know about the correct terminology?”

He watched them both, silent, facing him.

“But, at the very least, it would be the end of the music biz for both of you? And probably end of the road for Sarinda B and her YouTube channels and her millions of fans around the world. No?”

Jack looked at them — his grim words making both of their faces fall.

Not something they’d like to happen … that was for sure.

And with that, he turned and headed out of the smoky room, and down the hallway and out into the bright sunshine and Cotswold stone of Bourton-on-the-Hill.

As he passed through the gate, he saw the Dominos pizza man turn up on his little bike. The guy climbed off and pushed up his visor.

“This number 48?” he said.

“It is,” said Jack. “They’re waiting for you. But I’ve got a feeling they may have lost their appetite.”

He walked on down the High Street, leaving the pizza guy standing bemused outside Nick Taylor’s rented house.

And thinking …
is there anybody involved in this case who isn’t lying?

Sarah heard her phone ring; this week’s ringtone, a fanfare.

Sometimes she wished the thing just ‘rang’, the way phones used to. Now phones chirped, trilled, sang, and replicated every sound — musical or not — known to humanity.

Her phone, as was often the case these days, sat on her desk, getting a recharge. Between calls to Jack, checking up on the kids, emergencies from Grace on a project — its battery seemed unmatched for her busy life.

Must look into an upgrade,
she thought.

Grace was still out to lunch.

In fact, Sarah suspected that Grace might have a new beau; for now, she hadn’t asked her about that.

Though with Grace being a good friend as well as an employee Sarah knew ultimately she would ask — if Grace didn’t volunteer the information.

Grace was well overdue for something serious.

Or even something not so serious.

Listen to me!
Sarah thought.

Full of romantic advice for Grace when maybe I should be doing something about that in my own life.

Still, something in her said she herself still wasn’t ready for that.

But she also felt, it would have to be soon.

Enough time had passed to forget the pain of what her ex-husband had done.

Time to move on.

Sarah caught her phone on the fourth ‘ta-da’, seeing it was Jack.

“So how’d it go with the rock star?” she said.

She listened as Jack described the house, the loud music, the laconic Nick and an impulsive, flighty Sarinda.

“He got mad? Just by you asking him about the issue with song?”

“
Very
,” Jack said. “Not an accusation that he wanted to deal with.”

“But it’s still only an accusation. No evidence that Nick might have done something to Alex?”

Jack hesitated a moment. “Guess not. I still need to track down Chris Wickes. He’s staying at the hotel. Think I’ll pop over there. Catch him off-guard.”

“Right. Reminds me, I’ve got the Dumfords’ address. Little house just off the main road.”

“Thinking of going there now?”

“Why not? This time of day Will must be at the country store. I do vaguely know Lauren. Could get her alone.”

“Ask her if she heard any of the fighting?”

“Will do. Either way — though I doubt she’s the party type — she was there that night. Another pair of eyes …”

“Good. And I’ll let you know how it goes with Wickes.”

Then Sarah heard footsteps on the stairs, Grace coming back.

“Ah, gotta dash. Speak later.”

Then she plugged the phone back into the charger.

Grace came in breathlessly. Just a nod, and she raced to her computer.

“Nice lunch?” Sarah asked.

Grace smiled, but kept her eyes on her monitor as the computer came back to life.

“Bit late.” Another look. “Sorry.”

“Are you kidding? Grace — with all the extra time you’ve given our little business here …”

She intentionally used the word ‘our’. That was another discussion she’d have to have with Grace soon.

For now though she wanted to talk about something else.

“Lunch … on your own?”

Sarah smiled, as Grace slowly turned. “Um, no actually.”

“Good. I want to hear all about it — your lunch companion. But I have to head out for a bit. Can you hold the fort?”

Grace smiled back, “No problem.”

Sarah unplugged her phone and headed down the stairs and to her RAV-4.

*

Sarah looked through one of the small windows of the front door into the Dumford house.

And what a modest home it was. More of a cottage. A little garden at the back. Maybe three tiny bedrooms? The place looked well kept though.

But her knock brought no answer.

Maybe Lauren was out?

Maybe she’d have to try later.

But then a silver Vauxhall came around the corner, and slid into the space in front of the house.

The driver — Lauren Dumford — got out, walked back to the boot, popped it open and hauled out two large bags of groceries.

She hadn’t seen Sarah at all.

Until she had walked up the narrow gravel path to the front door.

“Oh, I didn’t see you …”

“Can I help you with those, Lauren?”

“Sarah, right? You run that shop, doing printing, that right?”

Sarah smiled. “Among other things.”

Sarah extended a hand to take one overfilled bag of groceries.

But Lauren said: “Thanks. Maybe just open the door for me. It’s never locked. If I give you one of these, I’m sure the other will fall!”

Sarah turned to the door handle and opened the way for Lauren.

As she walked through the open door, Lauren asked the obvious.

“How exactly can I help you, Sarah?”

Sarah waited at the doorway until Lauren had deposited the two bags back on the kitchen table and came back out.

“Well, Lauren … I was wondering if I could talk to you? About the party at Alex King’s. What happened that night.”

Sarah guessed that as a ‘local’, Lauren would have heard of what she and Jack did as a side line.

Lauren chewed her lower lip.

Was that little gesture revealing something?

“Um, to be honest, I was about to put the groceries away and get the kids’ dinner on.”

“I can talk while you work.” Then a small smile. “Maybe even help. I’ve got two of my own, I know the drill.”

No quick smile back from the woman.

And then Lauren managed the smallest of nods: “Okay. I suppose. I’m not sure I can tell you much though.”

Sarah stepped in, shutting the door behind her.

*

Lauren had peeled carrots and now was dicing them.

Conveniently keeping her eyes looking down.

Though Sarah had offered to help — a Shepherd’s pie was on the menu for this evening — the cramped kitchen’s counter space only allowed one person the space to work.

Still, she could stand there and ask questions, all accompanied by the clacking of the knife blade on the cutting board.

*

“Still not back?” Jack said to the young woman behind the front desk at the Bell Hotel.

“No, Mr. Wickes’s room key is still here. And I’d know anyway if he was back.”

“Really, Sally? Why is that?”

The girl smiled.

“Haven’t you heard that thing he rides? That motorcycle …”

In fact, Jack had — just yesterday — heard a throaty bike racing through the streets.

So that was Wickes.

Hard man to track down.

Looked like trying to casually bump into him might be no easy matter.

“I’ll keep checking,” Jack said with a smile.

Which is when he heard a rattling roar from outside.

Not exactly a Cherringham-like sound,
Jack knew.

From outside the hotel’s small car park, the vibrations of the motorcycle’s engine rumbled right into the lobby.

“Guess that must be the elusive Mr. Wickes …”

Sally smiled and nodded while Jack turned and walked away from the front desk, out of the lobby to the ornate doors that led outside.