Remix (2010) (11 page)

I switched off the recorder and put it in my bag. Jeff Pike was smiling a little, his eyelids lowered. He didn’t believe me.

“You know what I think, babe?”

I do not like being called babe. I could feel my eyes narrowing.

“I think you made all that up just so you could get to meet me.”

With hindsight, I can see I should have agreed; this was my chance to leave him satisfied; give him an explanation that flattered him. I might even have got some information out of him, something I’d signally failed to do so far.

But he’d annoyed me. I laughed. “Oh please. Not all women are desperate to throw themselves at you, you know. There’s the odd one or two who really aren’t interested, who can’t actually discern your appeal. Like me, for instance.”

He leered. That is the only way to describe his expression. “Oh yes, so why did you ring me, chase me here dressed like that and chat me up? I don’t buy that book crap.”

I made to go, and his arm came out, hand flat on the wall to stop me.

“There’s just one thing you were after, sweetheart.”

“You don’t really like women, do you?” That made his smile vanish. I had nothing to lose now. A sudden revelation struck me, and I voiced it without thinking. I said, “You fancied Ric Kealey.”

I’d hit the bull’s-eye, I was certain of it. His face became venomous, murderous. He looked like a man capable of sticking a knife in another human being. I was glad we were not alone. He lowered his arm, turned away from me to Grant Atherton and raised his voice.

“Grant, this woman is pissing me off. She says she’s from
La Vista
, and she’s not. She’s a ligger.”

Chapter

13

*

I was still upset when I got home. I’ve never been escorted from a building before between two security men, with everyone staring at me wondering what I’d done. It was humiliating. Grant Atherton, in front of a roomful of people, told me he didn’t ever want to see me there again, and the fact that I had no desire to return was small consolation.

Back at Fox Hollow Yard I took off my high heels and stomped up the stairs to the flat. Ric was on his mobile, striding to and fro. Dog sat behind the sofa. He looked at me, then his head went back to following Ric’s movements.

“Phil, get used to it. I am not going to fucking Scotland.”

……………..

“So pay them what they want to do it fast.”

……………..

“No! I don’t give a shit. I’ve had it with your excuses.”

……………..

I sat on a kitchen stool, flushed and fuming, dumped my shoes on the floor and my bag on the counter. They’d taken back my catalogue and badge. Ric gave me a distracted glance.

“No, you listen to me. Get that account sorted out this week, if you don’t want me coming round to see you. I’m not discussing it.”

He hung up, breathed deeply, swore, turned to me, and registered my state.

“What’s the matter?”

“Jeff Pike. He’s loathsome. I feel I need a shower.”

“Jesus, what happened? You’re shaking.”

“He knew I wasn’t Vikki Wilson. He played along for a bit, because he thought I was coming on to him, then he got really nasty. He had me thrown out.”

“Shit. Did he say anything useful?”

“Not that I noticed. Maybe you’ll spot something.” I got out the recorder and shoved it at him. “Jeff doesn’t like women.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t
fancy
them; just that he doesn’t
like
them. If you ask me, he’s bisexual. But in denial. I think he was keen on you. When you were alive, if you see what I mean.”

“Me?” Ric’s laugh was uneasy. “Why d’you say that?”

“Because he didn’t like your being close to Bryan. Because Dave said he was devastated when you died. Because of his face when I said he fancied you. And I’m wondering whether he might have killed Bryan in a jealous rage because he was your best friend.”

Ric stared. “It’s all those detective stories, Caz, they’ve got to you. That sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life. Jeff’s not bi. He’s married with children.”

“You said yourself that hadn’t affected the way he behaved.”

“With women, yes. I’d have known if…if he had…” Ric frowned. He paced across the room and gazed absently into the twilight outside the windows, then came back. “He wouldn’t have kept quiet about it all those years, surely… Now I think about it, it did just cross my mind once or twice in the early days. While we were touring, living on top of one another. But right from the start there were hordes of girls hanging around. Stand still and they’d climb all over you. We were both getting laid every night, and Jeff never made a move on me, or said anything. He’s never had a boyfriend, as far as I know.”

“You should have told me!”

“I’d forgotten it. It was just a passing thought I dismissed and didn’t think of again.”

“Well, any other passing thoughts, share them with me, will you? If I’d known, I wouldn’t have come out with it like that.”

Ric wasn’t listening, he was thinking back. “It sort of figures. I think you could be right. Weird. A few times Jeff saw me home when I was paralytic, and you wouldn’t think he’d bother, you’d think he’d be the type to leave you in the gutter. And he did talk to me more than the others. He’d tell me things…”

“What sort of things?”

“Stuff about himself. One time we were on tour in Manchester, and after the gig we stayed up smoking weed. Just him and me. We saw the sun rise. He rambled on for hours with me sitting there stoned, listening. His childhood was pretty shit. He was put into care when he was five or six, spent some years in a children’s home, then was fostered. You know that story, about his foster mother?”

“Yes, it’s on the recorder.”

“He’s lying. It wasn’t his foster mother, it was her husband. She didn’t put a stop to it. A lot of other stuff too. That’s one reason he’s the way he is.”

“How d’you know it’s the truth?”

“It was how he told it. Not slick or glib, he could hardly get the words out. All those stories he tells, it’s just to protect himself. Yeah, he’s a tosser, but he comes across as worse than he is. When you know what his childhood was like, you can understand.”

I felt mean. I’d disliked Jeff, and shown it; Ric had seen past his obnoxious attitude, sympathized, and been kind to the guy. Even if he had got into fights with him and made his nose bleed. Yes, Jeff was awful, but even awful people have feelings. I should have been nicer; it hadn’t even occurred to me; I could feel my face fall. Ric’s mobile rang, a distinctive snippet of classical cello.

“Fuck. That’ll be Phil because I hung up on him. He’s being a right pain in the arse. Since he got nowhere with you, he’s done nothing but nag me.” His arm went round my shoulders and he gave me a quick squeeze, while he got the phone out of his pocket. “Don’t worry about Jeff. He’s an arsehole. He’s used to people not liking him.” Ric pressed the button and put the phone to his ear, scowling.

“For fuck’s sake, Phil—”

A pause. All expression disappeared from Ric’s face. He said nothing. He ended the call, and laid the mobile carefully on the counter, as though it might explode.

“Who was it?”

“Jeff.”

The phone rang again. Ric didn’t pick it up.

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘
Ric?
‘ like he couldn’t believe it.”

“Bloody hell.” We gazed at each other in consternation. “Did he really know it was you? He couldn’t be sure just from what you said, could he?”

The ring tone cut off. Three seconds later it started again.

“I was an idiot not to check who it was.”

“I should have rung him from my phone.”

“Too late now.”

We both stared at the mobile. It went quiet, then rang, and went on ringing, the elegant little tune going round in a loop.

“Fucking hell,” said Ric.

Chapter

14

*

“Ric is that u? PLEASE TALK TO ME. Jeff.”

Just one text message, but over the next two days, Jeff rang Ric’s mobile repeatedly. The haunting cello fragment took on sinister overtones. Ric didn’t want to put the phone on silent, in case Phil rang; so he had to keep glancing at the caller’s name, and ending the call. He turned it off overnight, and woke to a list of unanswered calls. I was cautious answering my mobile, in case Jeff had got my number from Dave Calder. I got jumpy whenever the doorbell rang, and let the answer machine screen my calls on the business phone.

“If he turns up, don’t let him in, and deny all knowledge of any rock star, dead or alive. But there’s no way Jeff can find your address when he doesn’t know your name.”

“Suppose he asks Phil?”

“Phil won’t tell him. And he’d be straight on to me to complain about you talking to Jeff. So it’s cool.”

I suspected Ric was just saying this to reassure me. I noticed he went to the window to check Fox Hollow Yard each time he was going out, the same as I did. I sincerely hoped Jeff wouldn’t turn up. I would lie to him, now his suspicions were aroused, even less convincingly than before. And of all the people who might have stabbed Bryan Orr, he was the only one I could imagine doing it.

On the third day, the obsessive calling suddenly stopped and I relaxed a little. Not entirely, because I’ve noticed that people are very good at finding ways to do things they really want to do; and if Jeff Pike really wanted to track Ric down, and it was humanly possible, he would do it.

Meanwhile there was Emma. Emma the beautiful, the enigmatic, whom everyone had fancied. The morning after I went to Loop X, Ric looked up from the game he was playing.

“Give Emma a ring.”

“Emma’s the last one, right?” I said to Ric, checking. “After that, if we haven’t got anywhere, you’ll leave it?”

“Yeah. I’ll make a decision; go abroad again with the money, or go to the police. Unless we get some more leads.”

I took a deep breath, handed him my phone and he put in her number. Ric has a fantastic memory for such things, unlike me. I can barely remember my own phone number. He can recite the value of Pi to a hundred decimal places; he learned it because, he said, it’s a beautiful number. I told him he had to be the best-looking geek in the world.

“Hallo? Is that Emma Redfern? It’s Vikki Wilson here, from
La Vista
magazine.”

“Oh, hi, Vikki, how can I help you? Do you want an interview?” Her voice was very attractive; light, but slightly husky. She’d make a fortune doing voice-overs.

“Actually, this isn’t for
La Vista
. I’ve been commissioned to write a book about Bryan Orr’s murder. I wondered if you’d agree to talk to me?”

“Poor Bryan. Such a tragedy, so much talent. For a long time I didn’t even want to think about it. Who is publishing the book?”

“Harper Collins.”

“Do you know when it’s coming out?”

“They want the launch to coincide with the anniversary of Bryan’s death. Early April next year.”

“Mmm…yes, that should be fine. Just one thing, I’d have to ask you to keep what I tell you confidential until the book’s published. There are some details about what happened I haven’t told anyone before, and now I finally feel able to talk about it, I know the press will be interested. So you wouldn’t mind signing something saying you won’t make use of what I tell you, other than for the book, will you?”

“No, of course not, I’m happy to do that.”
What could it be?

“Then when would you like to meet me? Why don’t you come to my house? Bayswater.” She gave me the address. “What about the day after tomorrow, Thursday? Three thirty? We can have tea.”

I told Ric. His head went up at the mention of the mysterious details, like a police dog on a cold trail who’d picked up a scent. I didn’t tell him I thought she’d sounded nice. Maybe he’d misjudged her; people sometimes do take against the individuals their friends are going out with. I would make up my mind when we met.

“I’d better check her out on the internet,” I said. “Have you finished?”

Ric nodded and got to his feet. “Mind if I have a bath?”

He locked himself in my bathroom with the recorder, saying he wanted to listen again to the interviews and check he hadn’t missed anything. I felt he was being optimistic. There were zero results to show for my efforts. We weren’t getting anywhere. Once I’d talked to Emma, he’d have to admit we weren’t going to, either. Unless she absent-mindedly dropped the name of the murderer into the conversation… Still, I’d give it my best shot. I settled at the laptop.
Time spent on reconnaissance is never wasted.

Emma Redfern… I looked at Google Images first. There wasn’t a single bad shot of her; she’d been right at the front of the queue when the looks were handed out. Genuine blonde hair, shoulder-length, many different styles, but always perfect. (I wondered if I should get a good haircut, and to hell with the bank loan.) Hazel eyes, an English rose complexion, delicate features and full, sweetly-curving lips. I clicked on one photo;
below is the image in its original context on the page
…