The End of the Roadie (A Mystery for D.I Costello) (11 page)

“What’s the other man’s name?” asked Angela.

“Couldn’t tell you; don’t know if I ever knew in the first place,” replied Kay, dismissively.

“Could we take this photo, please?” Gary asked.

Angela was puzzled by the request but took care not to show it.

“Why?” asked Kay, suspiciously.

Gary looked at Angela’s impassive expression. “It’s such a good one of your brother – exceptionally clear. That sort of thing is a very valuable aid to focusing our thoughts and discussions in the incident room.”

Reluctance showed in every part of Kay’s face. “I don’t have many of him,” she replied, after a moment. “I’d rather keep it.”

Gary gave a cheerful smile and nodded. “Not to worry,” he said.

Angela waited for a moment in case Gary had anything to add, but he said no more.

“Thank you for sparing us some time,” she said, briskly. “We might have some more questions at some point as the investigation proceeds. We’ll let you know.” She took a card out of her bag and handed it to Kay. “If anything occurs to
you that you think is relevant – anything at all – will you contact me on that number?”

“Yeah, ’course,” said Kay, looking briefly at the card before putting it down on the table and moving forward to see them out.

“Phew, that was hard work,” said Gary, as they buckled up their seat belts in the car. “Where to now, boss-lady?”

“Back north to the river and then east. We’re off to see Don Buckley in Wanstead. You’re not kidding about it being an uphill climb, back there. It was an altogether odd interview. What did you make of her?”

“I couldn’t figure out if she was spaced-out, stupid or hiding something.”

“I was thinking spaced-out or not too bright. What makes you say ‘hiding something’?”

“Well, that bloke at the party with Oliver.”

“The one in the photo on the fridge door? Yes, I wondered why you wanted that. What about him?”

“I’ve seen him recently.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yep. The night of the murder. I was waiting for Maddie to arrive when I saw him in the street in front of the Apollo.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes. I got a good look at his face, as it happened, but those hawk tattoos on his arms were what really caught my eye. They’re unusual. The kind of thing you’d remember anywhere – they really stood out.” He threw a glance in her direction. “He was touting tickets.”

“Ah.” Angela relaxed back in her seat. “That’s very interesting. Well, we’ve got quite a drive, so you’ve got time to tell me all about it.”

An hour later found them standing in a street looking at another terraced house across a modest-sized front garden, but a different atmosphere pervaded here in suburban east London. Away from the arterial route to the docks, the air felt cleaner and the surroundings altogether less drab.

Their ring at this bell was answered by a cheerful-looking woman who greeted them pleasantly, and stood back to let them in once she’d seen their ID.

“I’m Fay, Don’s wife,” she explained as they entered. “He’s in the shed. First room on the right – that’s it. Make yourselves at home, take a seat. I’ll just go and call him.” She hurried away in search of her husband, to be replaced a few moments later by Don, wiping his hands on an old towel.

“Hello again,” he said, sitting down on the sofa opposite the two armchairs they had taken. “More questions?”

Angela wanted to probe what Terry Dexter had said about Don knowing Oliver some years before, but she decided to ease into the interview by a different route. “We’d like to ask you about the relationship between Oliver and Brendan,” she said.

He looked puzzled. “I’m not sure I’m qualified to answer that. The beginning of the tour was the first time I’d met Brendan.”

“Oh, I see. Had you ever met Oliver before?”

“Several years ago. He was trying to make it as a guitarist.” Don had an open, honest face; but right now Angela read cageyness, even duplicity, in his expression.
Why do you want to gloss over your previous association?
she thought, making a
note. She avoided turning her head to look at Gary, to evade alerting Don to her suspicion.
OK, definitely some depths to be plumbed here before I continue with the planned questions.

“I suppose he couldn’t have been much good as a guitarist, if he ended up as a roadie.”

“He wasn’t much of a roadie, either.” Don’s mouth formed a thin, hard line.

Ooh! What’s going on here?
Angela leaned forward, not bothering to conceal the intrigue on her face and exchanging an open glance with Gary, who raised his eyebrows.

A third voice broke into the scene. “You’d better tell them, Don. It’ll be better coming from you and they’ll find out anyway.” Angela and Gary turned round to see Fay standing in the doorway. They looked back at Don, who gazed at his wife in silence. Fay came fully into the room and sat down. “It’s best to get it out; you’re no good at concealment, love, it just makes you look guilty when you’re not.”

Don grinned suddenly. “She’s right,” he said. “Olly and I had a history, but it’s definitely ancient and at no point during the tour did it revive.”

“Can you give us some more detail about that?”

“He turned up back in the day, when Foursquare were just starting out. I’d got involved because Andy and I – he’s the singer – were best friends, from school. Just like Brendan and Terry, in fact. Anyway, they didn’t have much of a clue, though they had enthusiasm by the bucketload. I didn’t know much about the pop world in those days, but I asked in our local pub about doing a gig and we got a result. The landlord gave them a try-out. It went down very well, as it happens; they were offered a regular spot. Because I’d set it up, they – kind of – looked to me after that. To make the bookings, you know, and generally look after things. I – well – I suppose I drifted into being their manager. We bagged a few more gigs
in pubs in the area. Things began to take off – it was really going great. We knew we’d got a toehold in the industry when Oliver came up to me in the pub one night after the show, to ask if we were looking for another guitarist. At that point none of us had turned professional. We hadn’t thought of giving up the day jobs back then. Our bassist had just got accepted into the Civil Service and left us, so, yes we were. Looking for a guitarist, I mean.”

“How did it work out?” Angela prompted.

“It all went fine at first, but then Olly began to disappear during the breaks. He only ever just made it back in time for the next set. He made the lads nervous and he was… kind of… not open.”

“Not open?” Angela looked at him enquiringly.

“Yeah, you know. Any of us might pop out now and again – maybe we’d seen a girl we fancied in the audience, or we had a friend in to the show; that sort of thing. But with Olly, it was always ‘seeing a mate about something’. Mysterious. Played his cards close to his chest.”

“Ah.”

Don nodded towards Angela, acknowledging her knowing tone. “That’s right. To cut a long story short, it turned out he was peddling drugs and using our gigs as a base. We were more naive in those days, just cruising happily on. OK, we’d all tried the odd spliff, but none of us were into the drugs scene – a couple of pints each and we were happy. Then came the day we thought our big break had arrived; we actually managed to get a talent scout from one of the big labels down to see us, and we were over the moon. But that was the night we found out about Olly’s little sideline.”

“What happened?” asked Gary.

“The Old Bill turned up and raided the place. The landlord was
not
a happy bunny.”

“I can imagine!”

“Yes. Olly couldn’t be seen for dust – wouldn’t you know it – and we only escaped prosecution by the skin of our teeth. Not only did we lose all our gigs but we became toxic. Every door we tried after that was slammed shut in our faces, just as we’d thought it was really going to fly. It looked like the dream was over. We gave up, thanked the good Lord we hadn’t chucked in the day jobs, and we got on with our lives. But I was totally gutted for the boys.”

“You came back, though? The dream didn’t really die,” suggested Angela.

Don smiled. “We thought it was dead but it wouldn’t lie down. Within a couple of years we got the band back together. We started rehearsing again and I went round all the pubs and explained the whole situation. We started the climb back to where we were, until we reached the point where I thought I’d try that talent scout again. He’d left the label by then but he had a mate with contacts in Brendan’s record company. He knew they were looking for a support act.”

“So what did you think when it brought you face to face with Oliver again?”

Don smiled at his own naivety. “To be honest, I assumed he must have mended his ways. It didn’t occur to me that a big star like Brendan Phelan would have someone dodgy on his crew.”

“You gave him the benefit of the doubt.”

“I couldn’t think of any other explanation. But it didn’t take long to see he hadn’t changed. He still had his little game going on the sidelines. Although… well… I don’t think it was drugs any more. He was into other stuff now.”

“Do you know what sort of ‘stuff’ he did?”

Don shook his head. “To be honest, I kept out of his way. He came up to us at the first rehearsal and shook our hands.
We all said ‘no hard feelings’ and all that, but… well, it was a bit of a diplomatic gesture on our part. We knew we’d landed a good gig and we didn’t want to blow it. As Andy said at the time, if he’s up to no good, it’s Brendan’s problem.”

“But you’re sure he had something going on?” ventured Gary.

“Yes, he was doing the same disappearing act at odd times. I recognized the pattern from before.”

Angela thought for a moment. She wondered if Don realized he’d admitted to having a very good motive for committing murder – revenge being a dish best served cold, as it was said. “How long ago did Oliver play in your band?” she asked.

“About ten years ago.”

Angela nodded. Yes, a dish could get very cold in ten years. She thought she had enough on that subject but the direction the conversation had taken eased it back into her original question. She remembered hearing how Don had come out of the stage door and dealt promptly and practically with Brendan in shock. Evidently he was a coping person and, she thought, probably a noticing one as well. Brushing aside the possibility of what he may have been doing just before his arrival, she moved ahead. “Did you get any impression of the relationship between Oliver and Brendan?”

Don linked his hands, staring down at them for a moment. “I’m an outsider, really. Six months ago my band was a fixture on the pub circuit and the boys were glad of whatever we could get. Now they’re in the limelight, an overnight sensation. It’s what we all dreamed of, but this – the big league – is a completely different animal. I’m still feeling my way. I don’t really know how to interpret everything I see.” He looked up and met their eyes.

“Even so,” Angela pushed him.

“OK; from a show business point of view, I didn’t understand it at all. However, if I reframe it as a gang of lads at the local comprehensive, I’d have no problem telling you Oliver wanted to build his stock by being seen to hobnob with the most powerful boy in the class.”

“And how did that work?” asked Angela.

Don thought for a moment. “Olly would approach him now and again to engage him in conversation. Brendan always listened.”

“Do you know what they talked about?”

“That’s the curious thing. He didn’t ever come up and speak to Brendan within earshot of any of us. He managed to approach whenever Brendan was, you know, standing or sitting by himself. There’d be this snippet of conversation we could all see but none of us could hear. Then Brendan would just nod – and Olly would go back to what he was doing before.”

“So you think Oliver was asserting for everyone to see that he was a long-standing member of the crew – that he had a special relationship with the star?”

“That’s what I took to be the point of it.”

“Did you form any impression of what Brendan thought – how he felt about this?”

Don gave this some consideration. “He put up with it. He was never rude to Olly, never cold-shouldered him. But on one occasion I managed to get a look at his face when he saw Olly coming towards him. And I would say he didn’t like it. Not one little bit.”

Here’s somebody who, by contrast, doesn’t see himself as an outsider whatsoever; very much the opposite
, thought Angela as she and Gary scrunched across a gravel driveway to the imposing Buckinghamshire mansion that Terry Dexter
called home. The musician was waiting on the porch, holding a lord-of-the-manor stance as he allowed them to approach him. The open front door behind him revealed a comfortable-looking hall carpeted in beige. “Inspector – welcome!” He held out his arm to usher them in, and followed them into the house. “Can I get you anything? A cup of coffee? Something to eat?”

Angela and Gary had stopped for a pub lunch on the A40, but only a hurried meal; they gratefully accepted the offer of a cup of coffee. Terry took them through to a roomy kitchen where a large wooden table occupied most of the central space. The designer had clearly been instructed to create an old-fashioned farmhouse kitchen, but this was strictly stylistic. State-of-the-art equipment ranged around the walls and on every work surface contrasted sharply with the self-consciously cosy ambience. They sat down, one each side of the table, while their host poured coffee from a percolator.

“I owe you an apology,” said Terry, bringing a cup for each of them to the table, and sitting at their head.

“Oh?” Angela waited for what he would say.

“Yes. On the night of the murder, I behaved badly. I was boorish and objectionable. The whole thing shocked and upset me more than I realized at the time. I’m afraid I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” replied Angela. A marked contrast existed between Mr Angry and this person with the pleasant manner. “I didn’t take offence,” she added.

He smiled and Angela realized he did “charming” nearly as well as Brendan. “So, what now? More questions, I presume.”

Angela took a sip and put her cup down in the saucer. “We’re trying to understand the relationship between Oliver and Brendan.”

“Ah! I expect you’ve been hearing about Oliver sidling up
to Brendan, drawing him into a tête-à-tête conversation in a corner – or trying to.”

“Trying to?” queried Angela. “From what we’ve heard elsewhere, he quite often succeeded.”

Terry shook his head. “Not when you see it for what it is. Oliver wanted to be seen having an ‘in’ with the star. You can understand it, really; as the longest-serving member of the crew he probably thought that gave him some extra kudos; but it didn’t. Brendan would acknowledge him, just enough to be polite, then move on as quickly as he decently could. I never once saw him in Brendan’s dressing room, where those of us who really are in the inner circle would hang out.”

In spite of the apology, Angela remembered Terry’s self-aggrandizement from the night of the murder, his recounting of their history as schoolboys together and his assertion that he was partly responsible for Brendan’s biggest hit. “Yes, I’ve heard from Doug that he’d been on the crew for longer than anyone else. But can you enlighten me – how did that happen? From what you said the other night, he was less than adequate at the job. Why did Brendan keep him on?”

Terry spread his hands, shrugging. “Your guess is as good as mine. I did wonder about it from time to time, but it wasn’t my department. I presume Jack Waring hired him. You’d need to ask him about that.”

Angela thought for a moment. She had the distinct feeling she was being headed off at the pass.
You know more than you’re letting on, Terry
, she thought.
But I haven’t got enough to push for whatever it is.
She nodded at Gary and they both stood up. “Thank you for your help, Mr Dexter. We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.”

Ten minutes later they were heading back along the A40 to the Perivale address they had for Carla Paterson.

“I had the feeling he was holding something back,” remarked Gary.

“You and me both,” said Angela. “There’s definitely some sort of mystery surrounding these ‘conversations’.” She sketched quotation marks in the air. “I’ve got a feeling the matter will finally be resolved when we speak to Brendan next. But I’ll be interested to see if little Carla has a take on that dynamic.”

As they were about to discover; Carla provided them with the most interesting insight of all.