The Late Greats (23 page)

‘Not this time.’

He sat back down on the bed. ‘Shit.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Was he hurt?’

‘No.’

‘Have you spoken to him?’

‘Couldn’t get close to him when I tried earlier. Last time I spoke to him, he wasn’t best pleased with you.’

He smirked. I couldn’t believe he actually smirked.

‘Has he spoken to them?’ he asked me.

‘He told them he’s never had their money.’

‘Do they believe him?’

‘No idea.’

He picked the bottle back up. ‘Have a drink.’

I shook my head, wanting to press on. ‘What are you going to do?’

He drank straight from the bottle. I watched him put it down and shake his head as the alcohol burned down his throat. ‘I’ll get their money.’

‘How?’

‘I’m talking to people all the time. I’m trying to put deals together, but it takes time. There’s a lot of interest in Greg’s music and life. I’ll get something sorted. I just need the time to firm things up and get the paperwork done. You’ve got to stall them, tell them I’m close. I’ll get them their money. I’ll pay interest, but I just need a bit of space to get it right.’

I wanted to shout in his face that he was wrong. These people were running out of patience and wouldn’t wait much longer. But then I thought about Sarah, and the danger I might be putting her in. Fitzjohn knew all about me and my life. I needed him to do the deals for my own reasons. I nodded, hating myself. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ I took a drink off him. Slugged it back, but I didn’t really want it. ‘Whittle’s gone’ I said.

‘Gone?’

‘Left the city. Doesn’t want to know you.’

I watched Major digest the news. He shrugged. ‘He can’t help me now.’ He poured himself another. ‘Fuck him.’

‘Nice.’

He stood up. ‘What do you expect me to say? He’s fucked off and left me in the shit.’

‘What about Priestley?’ I said. ‘How’s he?’

He looked at me like I was mad. ‘How would I know?’

‘You haven’t even rang the hospital?’

‘Why would I?’

He was one heartless bastard. No wonder he had no one left. I told him I wanted the truth. He offered me another drink. I wasn’t interested. ‘The truth’ I repeated. He laughed. I told him I was entitled. ‘Was Greg back into drugs?’

Major sat down, seemingly calmer. He said nothing. I told him I was the last friend he had. If he didn’t talk to me, I’d walk away. It’d be his problem to sort. It wasn’t strictly the truth, but it did the trick. He relented.

‘He was getting them for me. I needed something and he sorted it. I don’t know anyone here anymore. He was helping me out.’

And Tasker was getting the drugs through Siobhan and Trevor Bilton. The chain of events made sense.

‘He kept telling me he was skint’ Major continued. ‘Reckoned he couldn’t keep doing it.’

It might have been the truth. I thought back to Tasker emptying the till in Siobhan’s boutique. He obviously didn’t have easy access to money.

‘Was he using again?’ I asked.

The man was a mess; a shadow of the one who was the centre of attention only a few days ago in the Princes Avenue cafe bar. He looked stressed and tired. But if I was in his position, I wouldn’t be sleeping comfortably, either.

‘Of course he was fucking using’ Major said to me.

‘He wanted you out of his life.’

He laughed. ‘I made Greg. He was only a star because I spotted his potential. Look, all you need to know is that when all’s said and done, we were best mates. We did everything together.’

I told him Siobhan was leaving the city.

Major put his glass down. ‘So what? There’s nothing for her here, is there?’ He stared at me. ‘Are you still fucking Julia?’

I let it go. Didn’t answer him. ‘What did Greg say about Siobhan?’

‘I asked you a question, PI. I warned you about Julia. She’s poisoning your mind. I can tell. You’re not thinking straight.’

‘We’re talking about Greg.’

He laughed. ‘Don’t be a killjoy.’

‘Tell me about Greg and Siobhan.’

‘Why?’

‘I want to know.’

‘I knew he was seeing her, but I don’t really know much about her. Why would I?’

Because he was supposed to be your friend, I thought. ‘Don’t you have regrets?’ I asked him.

He stared at me and eventually nodded. ‘Of course I do. I’ve lost everything. I’ve got nothing left apart from people chasing me for money.’

‘Sarah’s left me’ I said. ‘I’m on my own.’ I wasn’t sure why I was talking like this to him, but it felt like a release. I needed answers for Tasker’s parents and to get some self respect back. It wasn’t working.

He looked confused. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Her and Don were never keen on me taking the job. They’ve gone away until it’s sorted.’

Major shrugged. ‘You can’t rely on people and that’s the truth. You can have that bit of advice for free, PI.’

I was trying to please everyone and failing miserably to please anyone, including myself. What should have been a straightforward job had spiralled out of my control. And I still hadn’t had seen the final tab for my actions. I stared at him. DI Robinson’s warning was still at the forefront of my mind. I should be looking closer to home. Major was drifting away from me, drinking himself into oblivion. It was probably going to be the only way he would sleep tonight. I wasn’t going to get anything more out of him. I left him to his own misery.

I walked home, the cold night air not bothering me much. Julia sent me a text message to ask if she could come around to my flat. I sent her a message back, telling her it was fine. I crossed Ferensway and stopped at the Tesco in St. Stephen’s shopping centre to buy food. The centre was the flagship building in the area’s regeneration, but as usual, it was practically empty. A handful of people were leaving the cinema. A handful of people were out late night shopping. I thought back to a man I’d met during a previous case. Christopher Murdoch had a genuine vision for the city’s regeneration. This wasn’t it.

I wasn’t in the mood for cooking, so I paid for a couple of ready meals and a bottle of wine and continued on my way down Spring Bank. Julia was waiting for me outside my flat. We went inside and I put the food in the oven, opened the wine. I watched her flick through my CDs.

‘Anything you like?’ I said, passing her a glass.

She laughed. ‘Joking, aren’t you?’

I knew she’d interviewed Tasker’s mother earlier in the day. I asked her how it’d gone.

‘Poor woman. She comes over as quite calm and detached, but she’s not. How could she be? She’s lost her son.’

I wasn’t surprised. We sat down on the settee. ‘I had a drink with DI Robinson earlier’ I said.

‘Didn’t have you down as mates.’

‘Neither did I.’ I repeated what he’d told me about Max Fitzjohn.

She said she’d see what she could find out about him. ‘Sounds like Robinson’s had enough, too.’

I figured him as a proud man, not the kind who’d take kindly to being told what to do in his own city by outsiders. But his co-operation was only going to go so far. I was still very much out on a limb. I should be looking closer to home, he’d said. ‘Seems like the fire at Trevor Bilton’s flat was the last straw.’ I asked her if she had any news for me.

‘The police are saying nothing about the fire, won’t say if it was arson or just an accident.’

I nodded. A stalling tactic, but while I appreciated their hands were tied, it didn’t mean I had to like it. And clearly, neither did Trevor Bilton. I didn’t like the thought of him placing himself beyond my reach, either. It had been made clear I should leave him to look after his own business, but I wasn’t going to be doing that.

‘Has Bilton got their money?’ she asked.

I’d thought about this some more as I’d walked home. ‘I really don’t know’ I said. Trevor Bilton was a typical small-time operator. I’d be surprised if he’d go head-to-head with someone like Fitzjohn. He ruled his area by fear, and if you want to maintain that level of fear, it’s easier to prey on the weak and the vulnerable. Maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew and was now regretting it. Maybe he’d tried to make an example of Tasker and it had gone wrong. Helping him didn’t sit well with me, even if Julia was genuinely concerned for his brother. I could see through him. What was more important was that Fitzjohn thought he had the money. I switched the television on and flicked through the channels. Nothing worth watching. I went back into the kitchen and plated up the food, wishing I’d made more of an effort now. It was supposed to be Spaghetti Carbonara, but all the plastic tray contained was a depressing looking mess. I wasn’t hungry. I passed Julia her food. She took it from me without a word. We ate in silence. Neither of us cleared our plates.

‘Robinson told me to look closer to home’ I said, breaking the silence. ‘Implied that I should be looking at Major.’

That got her attention. She thought about it and shrugged. ‘Anything’s possible.’

I told her about Jay Harrison and Greg Tasker. It didn’t come much closer to home than that. It took her a moment to digest the news.

‘You didn’t think to tell me this?’ she said.

I put my food down and walked across to the window. I looked out onto the street. I rubbed my face. I hadn’t told her because I knew I couldn’t trust her. Recent events had confirmed that for me. I’d been wrong from the start. I watched a young couple hurry past on the other side of the road, wondered where they were going. I turned around and faced Julia. ‘I wasn’t sure what to do’ I said. It was the truth.

‘Because I’m a journalist?’

‘Partly.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

‘Don’t take the moral high-ground, Julia. You wrote the story about Priestley’s suicide attempt and you’d been in contact with Rusting without telling me. This goes beyond the story. It could ruin people’s lives if they knew the truth.’ I paused. ‘Can I trust you? You tell me.’

She said nothing.

I continued pacing the room. I told Julia I’d gone looking for Major earlier in the evening, but bumped into Whittle at his office. ‘He was on his way out of Hull’ I said.

‘I don’t blame him.’

‘I found him in the end.’ I brought her up to date and told her it was off the record for now.

‘Off the record? What do you think I am, Joe?’

I wasn’t sure what to say. There was no right answer.

‘Do you think I’d do that?’ she said. ‘Really?’

I had nothing to say. She stood up and got her coat.

I sat there with the bottle of wine to myself. Seeing the fire at Trevor Bilton’s flat had stirred bad memories for me. I’d taken my guilt out on Julia, which was wrong of me, but my thinking was valid. First and foremost, she was a journalist and she wanted the story. If that was incompatible with our friendship, then that was the way it had to be.

I put the first New Holland CD I could find on the stereo. I’d picked up the second album. Steve Priestley had told me it had been recorded in between tours. I knew the cracks were already starting to appear in the band by then. It was clear from the lyrics that Greg Tasker wasn’t happy, even when the band was at its peak. Lorraine Harrison had told me he wanted Kane Major out of his life. I wondered if he’d argued with his friend. If they had, how far had it gone? How violent had it been?

I put my glass down and thought about calling Julia to apologise. Whatever my feelings were, she’d gone out on a limb for me by keeping the full story away from her editor. I felt like shit. I needed all the friends I could get and I’d blown it with her.

I thought about my talk with DI Robinson. I had no reason to doubt him, but I didn’t like the way I’d been continuously played. How far could I trust him? I poured another drink. My suspicions were turning towards Major and Fitzjohn, but Priestley and Harrison had motive, which I couldn’t ignore. It was late and I was getting tired. I drained the last of the wine and sprawled out on the settee. The CD had finished, but I didn’t move to replace it. I sent Julia a text message. I waited in silence for a reply. I didn’t get one. I tried to figure out how I’d got myself into this whole mess, but I was too tired to think clearly. I couldn’t be bothered to move. I fell asleep where I was.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I woke
feeling rough. It took me a moment to realise I was still on the settee. My back ached. I slowly sat up and headed into the kitchen for a glass of water. I drank it down in one, poured another and stretched, feeling better for it. I searched for my mobile. I hadn’t missed any calls. I had a new text message from Julia. It was short and to the point. I should call her. I jumped in the shower, scrubbed myself clean. I towelled myself dry and sat back down in the front room. The New Holland CD cases were spread about where I’d put them down the previous night. I looked at the band photo on the first album and wondered where it had all gone wrong. I decided Julia would wait for now. I tidied them up, called the hospital.

‘I’m ringing about a patient’ I said to the receptionist ‘Steve Priestley.’

‘Are you family?’

I hesitated. Her tone suggested I wasn’t the first to be calling. No doubt the media had been bothering them. I remembered my conversation with him in his studio. I said I was his brother, Richard. I waited. I could hear her tapping away on her computer. ‘It would appear your brother has discharged himself.’

‘Right.’ I thanked her and put the phone down. I was going to have to speak to him. I headed out, locked the door behind me and switched on my mp3 player, ready for the walk into the city centre and the office. As I walked down the path, someone shouted my name. I turned to look. Max Fitzjohn.

‘Good morning to you, Mr Geraghty’ he said.

‘Same to you, Mr Fitzjohn’ I said. He looked surprised I knew his name. He was leaning on the bonnet of his car, his men sat in the back, watching me.

‘I’m impressed’ he said. ‘You’ve done your homework on me.’

I didn’t like the fact we were doing this outside of my flat. ‘What do you want?’ I said.

He walked to the back of his car, opened the boot. ‘Get in’.

I laughed. Didn’t move.

He stepped towards me. ‘Get in.’