The End of the Roadie (A Mystery for D.I Costello) (20 page)

“Don’t ever invite me to play poker with you,” said Gary.

Jack laughed. At that moment the door to the inner office opened and Doug Travers emerged. “We’re good to go, Jack,” he said. “I’ll get the publicity rolling. The band are all on board; you set up the crew. We’ll need the equipment you were going to take to the O2.”

“No problem,” said Jack.

Doug turned towards Angela and Gary. “Sorry, Inspector, how may I help you?”

“Not at all, Mr Travers. We’re sorry to disturb you again, but we’ve come across something in Oliver Joplin’s inbox that surprised us.” She explained about the email addresses but received, as she now expected, a puzzled expression and no answers. Five minutes later, she and Gary were on their way back to the office.

“OK, everybody, your attention please.” Angela stood ready by the whiteboard displaying all the case details. Her team turned away from their various occupations to face in her direction. “I know it’s late. We’ve probably all got arrangements for this evening. But my feeling is we have only a few loose threads left to tidy up on this case. Before we knock off for the day, I thought we’d go through what we’ve got so we’re all singing from the same hymn sheet.” The opening of the door distracted her and she looked across to see D.C.I. Stanway enter the room. “Sir?” Angela made as if to move away from her position, but Stanway waved her back to it and took a seat at the side of the room.

“I’ve just come in to touch base with you all and see where you’ve got to.”

“We’re about to have a brainstorming session, sir.”

“Excellent! Excellent! Don’t mind me, just carry on.”

Angela turned back to her team. “Right, so what have we got?”

“One dead roadie,” obliged Jim.

“The indisputable fact,” agreed Angela. “Just to put Carla Paterson’s theory to bed; do we think he was the intended target?”

“It’s more likely than the alternative,” said Rick.

“Yes,” added Gary.

“That’s true,” put in Stanway. “And from what I gather, there are some crack shots among these people. Whoever did the deed would make sure the correct target got hit.”

“OK; agreed,” said Angela. “So where does this take us?”

“How did anybody know they were outside having one of their famous ‘chats’?” said Gary.

“Interesting point, Gaz. I mean, we know these little meetings went on between Oliver and Brendan, and we now know why. Given the reason for them, I don’t suppose they were advertised among the other people on the tour, were they?”

“That’s right,” said Jim. “Most of them said they’d seen the two of them have a quiet word now and again, but that would have been in passing. I don’t suppose they knew when a confab was planned.”

“Somebody could have overheard them making the arrangement to meet later,” suggested Gary.

“Yes – possible,” agreed Angela. “But that makes it sound a bit random and I think this murder was planned.”

“The perp could have planned the murder but not the timing, Angie,” said Rick. “He or she must have stuck close to either Brendan or Oliver to find out when they were going to be alone and then swung into action.”

“Yes, waiting for an opportunity,” suggested Derek.

“That makes sense,” agreed Angela. “So we’ve got the premeditated murder of Oliver Joplin.”

“Why?” asked Stanway.

“Yes, that’s the next question, isn’t it; what’s the motive?”

“We know he was blackmailing poor Brendan,” said Leanne immediately, her mouth set in a tight line.

“This is a very good motive, but we’ve already established that Brendan probably couldn’t have done it.”

“He could have paid for someone else to do it,” suggested Jim, with a nervous glance across at Leanne. She glared at him but said nothing.

“We have to consider that possibility,” said Angela, gently. “But we’ll only know about that once we’ve caught the killer,
so let’s put that on the back burner for the moment. Do we have any other motives?”

“The ticketing scam looks likely,” ventured Gary.

“Yes, I’m inclined to agree. All those emails with the familiar names indicate that someone was on to his little game – that’s all I think it was, by the way; a small-time operation. And it’s reasonable to assume, from their content, the sender was signalling his intent to muscle in with a view to taking over.”

“All those emails create a real smokescreen,” put in Stanway.

“Definitely, sir,” agreed Angela.

“So who have we got in the frame?”

Angela ticked off the names on her fingers as she reeled them off. “Don Buckley, Doug Travers, Jack Waring and Terry Dexter are the front runners, sir. We can place them all in the vicinity before, during and after the shooting. A few other faces came piling out of the stage door, but from what we can tell, they’d come up from either the crew room, the band room or the dressing room area, once they’d either heard the shot or got wind of something going on.”

“Hmm,” muttered Stanway. His team waited as he ruminated on what he’d heard. “It seems to me you have two options and you’ve got to follow them both. If Brendan Phelan took out a contract on Oliver Joplin because of the blackmail, then we’ve got to lean on him and hope he cracks. However, if the motive is this ticket scam, we’ve got a bit of a conundrum because matey is hiding behind several aliases and we’ve no easy way of finding out which one.”

“That’s about it, sir.”

“And the only lead seems to be this elusive young man with the hawk tattoos. Am I right?” Several heads nodded. “And it’s possible he’s the same person who’s now planning to carry on blackmailing Brendan,” continued the D.C.I.,
demonstrating, should any of the team have doubted it, that he kept his finger on the pulse of the investigation.

“We think so, sir.”

“Have you asked for Mr Phelan’s cooperation?”

“We did, sir. He’s determined not to press charges, should we catch up with the blackmailer, because he’s terrified of the repercussions in terms of publicity. I can’t say I blame him, to be honest. We’ve been very gentle with him so far.”

“But…” cautioned Stanway.

“Yes, I know, sir. This is a murder enquiry.”

Stanway nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I think you’re going to have to be a little firmer with him, Angie.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Angela. She suddenly felt quite depressed. “We will, sir. He was very distressed last night so I didn’t push it, but I’ve put Leanne onto getting a copy of Kay Joplin’s birth certificate.” She looked across to where Leanne was sitting, and received a confirmatory nod.

“Thinking Joplin might have doctored the one he gave to Brendan, eh?”

“Yes. It would make life simpler for us if we could find something like that – and for him.”

“Indeed.” Stanway got up and moved towards the door. “Well, it’s all coming along, Angie. Keep me up to speed.” He moved out into the corridor.

“OK, everyone,” Angela said to the room in general. “You all know what you’re doing, so get on with it.” She looked at Gary. “I’ll be right with you, Gary. I just need to see how Leanne’s got on.” She nodded at Leanne and beckoned her over to a secluded desk in the corner of the room.

“OK, Leanne,” she began, sitting down. “What have you got? You’re looking rather flushed, by the way. Are you all right?”

“Yes, guv, I just keep thinking about poor Brendan and
what he must be going through.”

“I agree; the poor bloke’s been well and truly set up. Anyway, let’s look at this birth certificate. It might tell us something we don’t already know.”

But it didn’t. The document bore out in every detail the information Brendan had been given about Kay, née Joplin. It confirmed her birth had been registered in the borough of Southwark twenty-two years previously. The only addition to what they already knew was her full name. She had been registered as Kayleigh Emma.

Angela sat back in her seat, “That’s it then, Leanne. I don’t know what I was hoping to find, but it’s all in order, isn’t it?” Leanne nodded. Her flush had deepened and Angela suddenly became aware of a sense of quiet excitement emanating from her. She raised her eyebrows in a questioning manner. “Have you got something up your sleeve, Leanne?”

Leanne nodded and fidgeted in her seat. The words burst from her. “Yes, guv! I don’t know how I’ve managed to contain myself since I found out, but I wanted to wait until I had your undivided attention.” A broad smile spread itself across her face. In the manner of a magician producing a rabbit from a top hat, she laid another piece of paper on the desk.

Angela bent over to read it, puzzled. “What’s this?” She frowned. “Hang on – I don’t understand.” She began at the top again and read the page carefully. When she’d finished she looked back at Leanne, who nodded triumphantly and shifted on her seat as if she couldn’t help herself.

“I’m right, aren’t I, guv?”

“You are indeed, Leanne. Good work!” She looked back down at the page.

“I couldn’t believe it at first, guv. I made the woman on the phone read it out to me about three times.”

Angela smiled. “Did you follow this through?”

“Ahead of you, guv.” Leanne laid yet another sheet of paper on the desk.

Angela read it through carefully and exhaled slowly as she took in the implications. She stood up. “Can you let everyone know about this, Leanne? Another trip to Hampstead is on the cards before Gary and I knock off. We shouldn’t delay on this.”

Desmond, back from his day off, opened the door to the star’s home an hour later. “I’m sorry,” he began. “Brendan didn’t mention any appointments today. He’s busy in his studio and normally doesn’t like to be disturb –”

“He’ll see us, I’m sure,” said Angela. “If you’d just let him know we’re here.” She had made a point of not ringing ahead to announce their visit. She wanted to spring a surprise.

The unscheduled appearance must have intrigued him, because ten minutes later Desmond was showing them upstairs and ushering them, once again, into the living room-cum-studio.

Brendan moved away from his piano towards the sofa as they entered. “I thought I might as well try to exercise the muse,” he said. He attempted a smile of greeting but gave up after a second.

“How have you been?”

“Not good, I’m afraid,” replied Brendan, throwing himself down onto the sofa. “I thought I could live with it, but I now realize it’s been slowly wearing me down for several years. At least Oliver had the good sense not to get too greedy. To find I’m not free, as I thought, has brought the horror back ten times worse than it ever was.” It seemed to Angela that he blinked back some tears.

“We’ve been digging into this matter,” she said, coming over and standing in front of him.

“Oh, really? And what have you dug up?”

Angela took the birth certificate out of her bag and handed it to him. “Is that the same as the certificate Oliver Joplin gave you when he first started blackmailing you, eight years ago?”

Brendan took the document and looked it over carefully. “Yes,” he said eventually, looking up at her. “Of course, mine’s a photocopy but, as I told you, he showed me the original in the first place. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone over it, looking for some evidence of forgery.”

“There isn’t any,” replied Angela. “It’s a genuine document.”

Brendan gave a mirthless laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Then I don’t see –”

Angela took the other piece of paper out of her bag. “We’ve got a very thorough researcher on our team,” she told him. “Her name’s Leanne Dabrowska and she’s like a ferret when she gets going. She presented me with this today,” she said, handing it to him.

Brendan took it, a puzzled look on his face. He read it through quickly, looked up at Angela, frowning, and looked back again at the document. Angela watched as enlightenment slowly dawned, saw hope flicker into life and then die because he didn’t dare to believe. Finally, with shaking hands, he held the documents side by side, looking from one to the other.

“OK,” he said, his voice a croak. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”

Angela smiled. “You are.”

He gave a sudden choke. “Dare I say it?”

“Go on,” Angela encouraged him.

“I have here in my right hand, Kayleigh Joplin’s birth certificate.” His last words were almost hidden in the strangled sob that escaped him. “And in my left I have her death certificate.”

“That’s it,” said Gary. “She died at the age of three months.”

Brendan nodded. Angela and Gary waited. Brendan leaned back, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. The only sound in the room was the deep shuddering breaths that seemed to rise from the depths of his entire being. “So I didn’t sleep with a fourteen-year-old girl.”

“No; we think you slept with her big sister. We took the precaution of getting a copy of her birth certificate as well. She would have been twenty at the time.”

Brendan rose up and moved towards Angela. He put his arms round her and lifted her off the ground. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” he breathed. “You have no idea what this means.”

“I think I’ve got an inkling,” smiled Angela as her feet touched the ground again.
Carla Paterson, eat your heart out
, she thought. She cast a quick glance at Gary, who smiled and raised his eyebrows.

At that moment, Desmond came in bearing a tray of coffees. As he put it down, he cast a concerned glance towards his brother. Angela didn’t think Brendan had registered his presence, but she was wrong. “The day we wondered would ever come has arrived, Desi! The monkey’s finally off my back! I’m home free!”

Desmond straightened up; he looked a little puzzled but quickly picked up the jubilation in Brendan’s voice. “What? You don’t mean…?”

“Yes! I do!” Brendan could hardly keep his feet on the floor. “The blackmail – it was all a scam. Olly had a little sister who died as a baby and he’d used
her
birth certificate.” He held out the document Angela had shown him.

Desmond took it and read it through quickly. “Yay!” He shouted. “It’s over!” he beamed. The brothers caught each other up in a bear hug and swayed together.

“We’ll crack open a bottle of fizz tonight,” said Brendan, when they separated.

“Indeed, indeed. I’ll put one in the fridge, and if I might suggest, I’ve got a couple of very nice fillet steaks –”

“Perfect,” nodded Brendan, his voice gaining its normal register. He glanced again at the death certificate. “What’s this – Edwards’ syndrome?”

“It’s very rare, I gather,” answered Angela. “Children who are born with it very often don’t make it to their first birthday.”

“As this poor child didn’t,” he muttered, going over the document again. He looked up at Angela. “Honestly, the day Olly came here with his sister, she had her school uniform on – her hair was in plaits and she made her eyes look so big and innocent. I mean…”

“A woman can drop a lot of years quite easily,” said Angela. Her face was still pleasantly flushed from her surprise hug. “It’s no wonder you were taken in. Why shouldn’t you have been?”