Bottleneck (6 page)

"We split up after Jimi went missing," said Johnson. "Of course, we didn't play the concert in Glasgow. Nobody knew what happened to him. I had to phone the promoter myself to cancel. The band just fell apart. Jimi was the driving force behind it."

"Tell us the whole story," said Buxton. "Everything. Something quite trivial might turn out to be important. Right from the start."

"Certainly," said Johnson, composing himself. "Jimi and Alex Hughes, the guitarist, got together in two thousand and five I think. We were all students at the time. They spent a few months writing songs, just the two of them. They wanted to be a three-piece and Jimi played bass as well as singing. It took them a while to find a drummer before they eventually got Beth."

"This would be Beth Williamson?" said Cullen.

Johnson nodded. "I've not seen her in a while. Beth was very good, much better than Mo Tucker." He smiled at Cullen's expression. "Not a Velvet Underground fan, then?"

"Never heard of them," said Cullen. "Please, continue."

"The band did a few concerts and I went to see them as a friend," said Johnson. "They were clearly going places, but Jimi was struggling with singing and playing bass at the same time."

"And that's when they got you in?" said Buxton.

Johnson nodded. "Indeed. At first, I was just playing the parts Jimi taught me, but I soon settled into it and started making the bass lines my own, if you will."

"How did things go?" said Buxton.

"Really well," said Johnson. "We did a few tours, released a couple of singles and managed to get a reasonable amount of press."

"Were you ever close to getting signed?" said Buxton.

"A couple of times," said Johnson. "Jimi..."

He broke off, tears welling in his eyes. Until then, he had been ice and steel, stiff upper lip, but it seemed the realisation was settling in - Jimi wasn't coming back.

"Tell us about him," said Cullen.

Johnson composed himself and cleared his throat again. "He was incredibly talented, inspired by Jeff Buckley in a poetic way, but also by raucous bands like The Stooges, The MC5, New York Dolls, Velvet Underground and maybe a bit of Led Zeppelin."

"Was he that tortured artist type?" said Buxton.

Johnson nodded slowly. "That sort of thing," he said, rubbing his eyes. "He was gifted."

"Did he have a girlfriend?" said Cullen.

Johnson looked away. "Not that I knew of, I'm afraid."

"Any groupies?" said Cullen.

Johnson scowled at him. "We weren't that sort of band. We were
artists
."

Cullen didn't want to press the point just yet. "How was Jimi around the time he disappeared?"

Johnson stared at the ceiling for a moment. "On reflection, Jimi had been a bit distant, it's fair to say. The last rejection by a label hit him hard. Really hard. Jimi wanted success more than anything."

"I thought you were artists?" said Cullen, wound up.

Johnson threw up his hands. "Artists have to eat. We were all working in awful jobs. We just wanted to make our living from music. That's not too much to ask, is it?" He took another sip of water. "That band put my academic career on hold for years. Fortunately, I've been able to pick it up again without too much of a deleterious effect."

"Tell me about how the rejection was hitting him hard," said Cullen.

"Jimi didn't seem to enjoy the music much towards the end," said Johnson. "He still had the drive, of course, kept pushing us on, but he'd lost something on the way. I believe the phrase is 'phoning it in'."

Cullen leaned back. "Is there something you're not telling us?"

Johnson nibbled at his nails. "Jimi was obsessed with something," he said, eventually. "I don't know what. He didn't tell me."

"You have no idea?" said Cullen.

Johnson shook his head. "None, I'm afraid."

"But you thought he was obsessed," said Cullen, folding his arms. "How did this obsession manifest itself?"

Johnson rocked back and forth. "You could tell when Jimi was preoccupied. Usually, it was some part of a song that didn't work. He'd fret over it for days and then come up with something that just fixed it. We did a tour and he'd been all over it, irritating the tour manager of the band we supported until he relented."

He stopped moving. "He got this look in his eyes when something was going on in his head. It was like he wasn't all there."

"And he had this look in the days leading up to his disappearance?" said Cullen.

"I believe I told the investigating officer at the time I suspected Jimi had possibly run away," said Johnson.

"You thought his obsession was running away?" said Cullen.

Johnson nodded. "He'd often talk about New York. Of course, one would need a visa to settle there. To my knowledge, Jimi hadn't done any of that."

Cullen himself was prone to fits of single-mindedness, particularly when working hard on a case.

"What did you do after the band, then?" said Buxton.

"As I've alluded to," said Johnson, "I gave up music after what happened. I still play the piano occasionally, but nothing serious. I barely listen to anything with a guitar in it these days. I started my PhD, which I will hopefully finish next summer at my current rate of progress."

"What about the other band members?" said Buxton.

"Alex, the lead guitarist, is still performing in Glasgow," said Johnson. "I've met up with him a couple of times for dinner."

"And Beth Williamson?" said Buxton.

"Beth was like myself," said Johnson. "She got married and gave up music. I don't really keep in touch with her, I'm afraid. Just the occasional text."

"We've been trying to get in contact with them," said Buxton. "Do you have numbers for either?"

Johnson nodded, fishing his mobile out. He took great pains to ensure Buxton copied the numbers down correctly.

"We need a bit more information about Mr Strang," said Cullen. "Where did he work?"

"In a record shop in Stockbridge," said Johnson. "It's closed down now. I think it became a Starbucks."

"He didn't work anywhere else?" said Cullen.

Johnson shook his head. "He was working there when I met him at university and he was still there by the time he vanished."

"What about friends?" said Cullen.

"He never had many close friends," said Johnson, "just lots of acquaintances."

"Anyone off the top of your head?" said Cullen.

"I'd have to come back to you on that, I'm afraid."

"What about people in other bands?" said Buxton.

"Other bands?" Johnson drummed his fingers on the desk for a few seconds. "There were a couple he was friendly with, but mainly to get gigs with them and so on." He frowned. "He was good friends with the singer and the bass player in Expect Delays."

Cullen scribbled it down.

"What about flatmates?" said Buxton.

"He lived in a shared flat," said Johnson, "but I don't think he mixed with his flatmates much. They were annoyed by how drunk he got and the noise he made recording demos on his four-track."

"Can you give us the address?" said Buxton.

"I'll try and recall it," said Johnson.

"Is there anyone who had a grudge against him?" said Cullen. "Someone he'd done over or let down?"

Johnson shrugged his shoulders. "Not that I can think, sorry."

Cullen thanked him and got to his feet. "We'll likely be in touch again, Mr Johnson."

"What about his family?" said Buxton.

Cullen cringed as he sat down. Schoolboy error.

"He was from a small town called Dalhousie, I believe," said Johnson, "but he didn't talk about it much. I know both of his parents were alive and well back in two thousand and eleven, but other than that, I'm afraid I can't help."

"Okay, you're free to go," said Buxton, ending the interview.

Johnson got up and hurried out of the room, led away by the uniform.

"I hope they kept his mouth shut in press interviews," said Buxton.

After a few minutes of searching, Cullen rounded up Methven and Chantal and took them into a vacant meeting room. He spent ten minutes recounting edited highlights of the interview with Johnson, stopping occasionally for Methven's questions.

"So, in summary," said Methven, eyelids closing, "we have a positive ID on the victim, then?"

"We obviously need to confirm it by formal means," said Cullen. He looked at Chantal. "Can you make sure Deeley and Anderson know about James Strang and check for DNA, dental records and so on?"

"Already on it, sir." The
sir
snapped out of her mouth.

"And this band you were speaking to," said Methven, "the ones who found the body in the first place?"

"Nothing suspicious, sir," said Chantal. "They check out. It looks like none of them knew him. Two were still at school at the time. One was in St Andrews and the other Inverness. The drummer is proving a bit trickier. He's a good ten years older."

"Keep on it," said Methven.

"There's something else, sir," said Chantal. "The singer is the one from St Andrews. His brother was studying in Edinburgh at the time and he visited him on a few occasions."

"Any suspicion?" said Methven.

She shook her head. "Got alibis. Just waiting for confirmation, but it looks like Alistair Cameron was in St Andrews that weekend getting so drunk he had his stomach pumped. His brother was visiting his girlfriend in Glasgow."

"Excellent work, Constable," said Methven. "I want this investigation
tight."
His gaze shifted to Cullen. "Plan of attack, Sergeant?"

"ADC Buxton and I will speak to the band while DC Jain carries out those additional checks on the drummer." Cullen looked at Chantal. "Can you dig into his workmates? It'll be difficult, the shop shut last year."

"Will do," said Chantal, noting it down. "I could do with some help here."

"I'll see what I can do," said Methven. "There may be a few hours of spare manpower somewhere we can rustle up for you." He looked at Cullen again. "And then?"

"ADC Buxton and I will speak to his parents," said Cullen.

Methven folded his arms. "You say he's from the same town as you?"

Cullen nodded. "That's right, sir."

"We need to be careful here," said Methven. "If there's a link to you at any point, we'll have to review the situation."

"I doubt there will be, sir," said Cullen. "Strang was a good few years younger than me and I don't recognise the name. Other than waiting on any other leads to jump out of the blue, we've still got the post mortem and forensics to come."

"Should get something back this afternoon," said Methven.

"The only other live leads we've got," said Cullen, "are the drummer, Beth Williamson and-"

Methven interrupted. "Can women play the drums?"

Chantal rolled her eyes. "They have to wear trousers, sir."

Methven blushed. "Well, of course."

"We've managed to get an address for her," said Cullen, trying to keep himself calm despite the constant interruptions. "We'll go there just now. Hopefully, we can confirm the identity before we head to Dalhousie."

"And the other live lead, Sergeant?" said Methven.

"We can't get hold of the guitarist," said Cullen. "A guy called Alex Hughes."

"Leave it with me," said Chantal.

Buxton rang the buzzer and they waited outside Beth Williamson's house in Dalkeith, a sprawling dormitory town just south of Edinburgh gobbling up its neighbours.

Cullen's phone buzzed. A text from Chantal. "She's still struggling to get hold of this Alex Hughes character."

The door opened. Beth Williamson didn't fit Cullen's picture of a female drummer. She was medium height, slight build, attractive and heavily pregnant. She'd be more at home in a washing powder advert than the main stage at T in the Park.

Cullen showed his warrant card and introduced them. "Ms Williamson, we spoke on the phone earlier?"

Beth swallowed. "About Jimi. You'd better come in."

She led them to a dining room overlooking a small patch of lawn and a square of patio, fruit trees dotted around the perimeter. She sat at the end of the long dining table forcing Cullen and Buxton to sit on either side.

"How far along are you?" said Buxton.

"Just over eight months," said Beth. "I'll be glad when he's out, I'll be honest. At least I don't have to go to work anymore."

"We'd like to ask you about James Strang," said Cullen.

"Certainly," said Beth. "Hopefully I can help."

Cullen asked the same questions they'd put to Johnson, getting roughly the same answers albeit in less flowery terms. The only difference concerned Jimi's prowess with the ladies.

"Jimi was always with a groupie after a gig," said Beth.

"David Johnson said you weren't that sort of band," said Cullen.

"
We
might not have been," said Beth, "but Jimi was that sort of guy."

"Did you ever have a liaison with him?" said Cullen.

"Jimi tried it on once. Early on. We agreed it's best not to shit on your own doorstep."

Cullen raised an eyebrow at the slip of the yummy mummy exterior revealing the rock 'n' roll drummer underneath. "Do you know the names of any women Jimi was involved with?"

Beth shook her head. "David or Alex might, but I wasn't in the habit of tracking Jimi's bed hopping."

"So, what happened after the band?" said Buxton.

Beth looked out across the garden. "I gave up music. I'd had enough by then, to be honest. I liked writing new songs, but I wasn't enjoying performing, certainly nothing like the other three."

She fiddled with her wedding ring. "I worked in a record shop at the time and they made me store manager. It closed down last year. My husband works at Alba Bank and he got me a job there, so it's all worked out okay in the end I suppose."

"Was this the same record shop Mr Strang worked at?" said Cullen.

"He worked there, yes," said Beth. "That's how we met. I remember him putting up an advert looking for a drummer, years ago. Two thousand and six, I think. I used to play drums at school and it turned out I wasn't too rusty."