The End of the Roadie (A Mystery for D.I Costello) (16 page)

“Yeah. D.I. Costello, she’s the one who interviewed me.”

A shiver of pleasure ran through Paige’s whole frame. Carla was right in the thick of things; it was just too exciting. “Well, she didn’t see them arrive but she saw them leave, and guess who saw them out?”

Carla took a breath. “Nooooo,” she said.

“Yes!” Paige beamed. “It was Brendan himself; in his grey jogging bottoms.”

“Oh, he knocks about the house in those,” said Carla, with a knowing air.

“It was a bit weird, though,” continued Paige.

Carla was instantly alert. “What was?”

“Well, Shauna said that after he’d seen the police out, he just stood there on the step staring into space. It’s been so chilly today, and he only had a T-shirt – no jacket or hoodie – but he just stood there. For ages.”

“There! I told you he wasn’t in a good place, didn’t I? My poor love!”

“Perhaps,” began Paige, choosing her words with care, “you’ll be able to call him and cheer him up later?”

Paige knew she came close to crossing a boundary here. Carla frowned. This is where she found it most difficult to maintain the fiction of her relationship with Brendan. In the beginning she’d overlooked the obvious assumption that even if your love affair must be kept secret, there would still be phone calls, text messages, emails, facetime. She’d devised the strategy of disappearing now and again into her bedroom, emerging after half an hour or so with an update: “He’s dead beat; he’s about to go to bed, bless him” or “The flight was delayed but he’s checked in to the hotel at last.” That Brendan had not even once called Carla had never been raised between the three housemates. Paige and Shauna wanted to believe the romance she had spun. They needed it as much as she did.

“He needs space to get his head round everything at the moment,” Carla explained. “We’ve decided to give it a complete break while all this is going on.”

Paige nodded her understanding, never probing the illogicality of this situation existing between two people who were supposed to be in love. “Anyway, Shauna was really excited at seeing him so close up,” was all she said.

Carla smiled and relaxed. They could move on to safer ground. “The jogging bottoms are a good sign. He only wears those when he’s truly relaxed.”

Paige laughed. “Well, he must have been wearing them
when the police were there, so obviously wasn’t too bothered about their visit.”

It was time for Carla to reassert her superiority. She nodded her head in the manner of one who knows. “I’m a bit worried about the way the police are going about things,” she said, in confiding tones.

Given her place in the hierarchy of Brendan Phelan fans, it seemed only natural to Paige that Carla should have words of wisdom to impart on the progress of the investigation. “Why? What have they said?” she asked.

Carla opened her mouth to reply but shut it again quickly. Voicing her view that the bullet could have been meant for Brendan might not be wise. Casting a fleeting glance into her friend’s gullible face, she knew she was right. Any such speculation coming from her would acquire an air of authority among their network and could cause genuine distress. Instead of brushing the matter aside, though, she recognized an opportunity to build her stock a little higher. “Oh, sorry,” she grimaced in apology. “I was talking out of turn. Something was said when the police were questioning me, but I shouldn’t really repeat it.”

“Ooh.” Paige’s eyes twinkled in the excitement of it all. “Maybe you’ll mention it in court, though.”

Carla studied her fingernails. “Oh, I expect so,” she replied. The idea of appearing in court excited her. She would be in the papers – the front pages, most likely. The scene played out in her mind: Carla walking along the street near the Old Bailey, Brendan on one side of her and one of those legal people with a wig and gown on the other. A journalistically concise headline:
Brendan Fiancée Gives Evidence in Roadie Murder Trial
. She didn’t give a moment’s consideration to who might be the defendant. The whole of her imagination was taken up with the prospect of herself on the front page with Brendan.

Then Shauna returned with the milk and the conversation passed to other topics.

Brendan Phelan gazed out into the night sky above Hampstead Heath. He smiled up at the stars. He felt good. His tormentor was dead and Tilly was coming over. They were going to have a long, leisurely meal. Brendan realized she had probably never seen him completely relaxed. None of his last few girlfriends had. He wondered if she would remark on it.

The door behind him opened and Desmond came in with a telephone in his hand. “Call for you, Bren.”

“Thanks,” he replied, taking the instrument. “Hello?” he said into the receiver as he walked back across the room to the sofa.

Silence.

“Hello?” repeated Brendan.

“Brendan Phelan?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“I’m a business associate of Oliver Joplin.”

Brendan stopped dead. An icy sliver of fear grasped at his entrails. “What do you want?”

“I just want you to know that nothing has changed. You’ll be hearing from me.”

The line cut off. Brendan stood with the phone pressed to his ear. Several minutes passed before he could put one foot in front of the other and move out onto the landing.

“You know what I think I’d find helpful?” Angela asked of her team the following morning. She gazed up at the whiteboard with a frown on her face.

“No, what?” asked Rick, on behalf of them all.

“I’d like a visual reminder of the scene of the crime. I can close my eyes and picture it, but each time I do that I also remember how late it was and how tired I felt and the image fades.”

“We can set the scene and take some photos,” he suggested.

“I’m very keen on photography. I can do that for you,” volunteered Derek.

“I don’t think you need to be David Bailey, Derek. Some snaps taken on a mobile will do, as long as they give the exact layout of the crime scene.”

“I’d be glad to help, though,” replied Derek.

“Thanks. Well, I’ll take you up on that.” She looked around. “Gary, we’ll need you to be involved. You were first on the scene.”

“Yes. There was a bit of coming and going. A packed crate – sorry, flight case – already standing by the van. So we’ll need a picture of that. Then loads of people – at least, it seemed like a lot at the time – came charging through the door, wondering what was going on. I was trying to talk to you on my mobile and keep an eye on them all at the same time. On top of all that, the production manager, Jack Waring, started pushing another flight case out to park by the first one. I told him to take it away again. I could hardly hear you on the phone with those castors clattering and rumbling across the concrete.”

“Yes, I remember that,” said Angela. “OK. Can I leave you two to set that up?”

“On it, guv,” replied Derek, a satisfied smile on his face as he picked up the nearest phone.

Angela gazed at him, arrested by the pleasure she sensed he was feeling. “Why are you looking like the cat that got the cream, Derek?”

Derek blushed as Leanne laughed at him. “You’ve just given him his dream job, guv,” she said. “He’ll be able to go backstage at the Apollo while Georgia Pensay is rehearsing.”

Derek smiled sheepishly, his blush deepening as the rest of the team joined in with the merriment, and good-natured comments of “Sneaky!” and “Nice one, Del-boy!” echoed around the room.

Angela laughed. “Quite a result for you in that case, Derek. But,” she added, “don’t be surprised if Gary starts talking about magicians sawing ladies in half while you’re doing all this.”

“You what?” asked Jim, looking up from his console.

Gary laughed. “It’s those cases. They call to mind a magic show I remember watching when I was a kid and it’s the first thing I thought of on that night.”

“I used to like those shows. I remember having a fantasy about my form mistress being cut in half,” said Rick.

“Goodness! I presume you weren’t the teacher’s pet, then,” remarked Angela. “Mind you, talking of magic, are we looking for some legerdemain in this murder?”

“Ledger-what?” asked Jim.

“It means ‘sleight of hand’,” explained Angela. “It’s the magician’s real art. Apart from Gary’s childhood reminiscence, it turns out the production manager started out as a magician’s lad.”

“Oh, that explains something at least,” said Rick.

“What?” asked Angela.

“When we did the preliminary interviews, a bunch of blokes was sitting around in the crew room doing card tricks on each other.”

Angela remembered the people she’d seen in the auditorium with packs of cards on the night of the murder. “He probably started the trend,” she agreed. “OK, everybody, let’s get going. Gary, I’ve been thinking about that interview we did with Kay Joplin.”

Gary made a face. “It was like getting blood from a stone, wasn’t it?”

“It was indeed. I’m wondering now whether that wasn’t deliberate on her part. I think I’ve realized what struck me at the time. A couple of times during that interview I sensed her becoming suddenly alert, though – from our point of view – we made no headway at all.”

“Ah yes, I remember her getting annoyed when I pointed out the photograph of Oliver and that man at a party.”

“Hmm, yes – there were a couple of moments like that. The thing is, her brother’s been killed and she appears grief-stricken. You’d expect that in normal circumstances. Given what we know about them, I don’t think this brother/sister relationship
was
entirely normal, but let’s accept it at face value: she’s in mourning.”

“For all we know, Angie, little sis begged and pleaded for a chance to go with Brendan. Some fourteen-year-olds can be very precocious.”

“This is true. The more I think about it, the more I’m asking myself if I’m bypassing the obvious here. What are we investigating?”

Gary’s face took on a puzzled expression. “A murder.”

“Yes. Who’s been murdered?”

“Oliver Joplin, one of the roadies for Brendan Phelan –
though there’s the suggestion of Brendan being the intended target.”

“What’s wrong with that theory?”

“Barring some personal vendetta that we know nothing about yet, it looks like an insider must have done it. And if anything happens to Brendan they all lose their jobs, so why kill him? Plus, nobody liked Olly but they all like Brendan.”

“Quite.”

Gary thought for a moment. “From my view of the scene, and what I understand to have happened just before I got there, I would say it would be very difficult for someone to have shot Brendan right then. OK, there are some very sharpshooters on that crew by all accounts, but even so I wouldn’t choose such a moment to kill Brendan, if I wanted him dead.”

“And why is that?”

“Because there would be too much risk of hitting Oliver instead.”

“Exactly! So what conclusion do we draw?”

“Oliver Joplin
was
the intended target all along.”

“This is exactly what Tilly Townsend said when she came to see me. I have to say, I think she’s right. And given that premise, what do we know about Olly?”

“He was a highly dubious character.”

“And what does someone like that often keep?”

“Highly dubious company?”

“Bingo! We need to delve a bit more into Mr Joplin’s life. And we do have to put Brendan in the frame.”

“Brendan? But how could he have done it? We went through that yesterday.”

“Yes, but as Jim pointed out at the time, Brendan has a fantastic motive. He could have hired a hitman.”

“Surely that would mean a stranger wandering around backstage? Somebody would have noticed.”

“Not if he was a member of the crew.”

Gary thought for a moment. “You mean, like, someone undercover, posing as one of the crew?”

“He could have been employed as a regular member, but had a special arrangement with Brendan. Being a crack shot would raise no eyebrows on that particular crew. So long as he could hump scenery and lights around, or whatever, all he had to do was get behind Oliver when he had his final ‘conversation’ with Brendan.”

Gary nodded. “That’s doable, but wouldn’t Brendan then have had to be involved in his recruitment?”

“Yes, and I know what you’re thinking. Jack Waring does the hiring and firing –
normally
.” Angela raised a finger to emphasize her point.

Gary got her drift. “Yes. Even
he
couldn’t do anything about Oliver’s name recurring on the crew list.”

“Exactly. We have some more questions to be answered there, I think.”

“Yes. I do hope Brendan’s not involved, though.”

“Madeleine will forgive you,” smiled Angela.

Gary laughed. “It’s not that. I’ve quite taken to the bloke myself. I wouldn’t like him to be guilty.”

“Well, perhaps he’s not. Let’s hope so. Now, we also need to trace this man with the tattoos on his arms. Have you and Madeleine got any more concert visits planned?”

“No, but I can trawl the gig venues before the shows. I think there’s a big one in Brixton tonight.”

“Wembley’s got something on tomorrow,” said Jim. “My brother’s going.”

“Fancy giving him a lift there and mingling among the crowds beforehand?” asked Angela. “You’d recognize him from the picture, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m sure I would. But if I wasn’t certain, I could shoot off
a couple of stills for you to look at.”

“Good idea,” agreed Angela. “It can’t be that difficult for us to catch up with him.”

“Do you want us to bring him in, Angie, if we get hold of him?” asked Jim.

“You may ask him to accompany you to the station,” cautioned Angela. “But go gently. Remember, it’s not illegal to sell tickets.”

“It is if he hasn’t got a street traders’ licence,” put in Derek.

“Which is more than likely the case, but there’s no need to push that angle. Either get him in or get his contact details. We just want a word. Don’t anyone mention anything about ticketing scams. We’ve got no evidence; what Gary saw before Brendan Phelan’s concert could just have been coincidence. In any case, those scams can be very sophisticated enterprises. This man is probably just a lowly foot soldier way down the pecking order.”

A deafening silence filled the room.

Angela became aware that her entire team had stopped working and were looking in her direction. “I just said something noteworthy, didn’t I?”

“I think you may have done, Angie,” said Rick.

“‘Very sophisticated enterprises’, I said.”

“We could be talking
very
big business,” added Gary.

“I went out on a raid during my first year in the force,” Jim put in. “
That
was a ticketing fraud case, sporting events. There was even a shoot-out, nearly scared the you-know-what out of me. I started wondering about doing something else for a living.”

“OK,” said Angela. “It’s an interesting thought and we need to look at it properly; but let’s consider, first, what we’ve already got.”

“We know Oliver Joplin was a blackmailer,” said Leanne.
“But that puts Brendan right in the frame and I can’t believe –”

“We’ve got to be dispassionate, Leanne. If blackmail is the motive, then we have to put Brendan in the frame.”

Leanne nodded her head with obvious reluctance.

“Brendan might not have been his only victim,” suggested Rick.

“Yes – good point. You don’t need to be rich and famous to have something you don’t want everyone to know about. Right; moving on to the other aspect?”

“The only person who looks anything like a friend of Oliver Joplin is thought to be a tout,” said Derek.

“So is he a lone operator or part of a much larger organization?”

“He looked a bit seedy to me,” said Gary. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find he’s just one man on his own.”

“But we can’t assume that. We need to find out for sure.”

“Yes, of course.”

“OK, Gary, you go and play ‘I Spy’ at Brixton tonight; and Jim, you’re doing the same tomorrow at Wembley. I’m sure we’ll run into this man before too long. I want to go through what we’ve got so far; make sure I’m up to speed.” Humming to herself, she went over and sat at the console she habitually used when in the incident room.

“Have you remembered what that tune is yet?” asked Gary.

“What tune?”

“The one you were just humming. The manager, Jack Waring, was whistling it when we went to see him at that warehouse the other day.”

Angela looked at Gary and smiled. “I had no idea I was humming,” she said, “but to answer your question; no, I haven’t remembered. Have you?”

“No, ’fraid not.”

“Have we seen the report on the gun, yet?”

“No; at least, I haven’t. Do you want me to chase it up?”

“Yes, please, Gary. Oh – might you be passing by the coffee machine on your way back?”

Gary grinned. “Yep, no probs.”

Angela got stuck into the case file. When Gary put a cup of coffee on the desk beside her some moments later, she looked up at him with a quizzical expression.

“What?” he asked.

“I’ve just thought of something we haven’t given enough attention to.”

“Yes?”

“A member of the crew who might have been better acquainted with Oliver than the rest.”

“Oh, really, who’s that?”

“Carla.”

“Of course, we’re assuming she’s the woman Oliver’s neighbour heard coming back to the flat with him, aren’t we?”

“Yes – and she did openly admit to cutting a deal with him that was supposed to get her a chance with Brendan. However, perhaps it’s a woman thing, but there was something in her expression when we first spoke to her that I didn’t take much notice of at the time. Some sort of – er – dislike.”

“All too understandable if, having ‘obliged’ him, he then didn’t fulfil his side of the bargain.”

“She wasn’t around the stage door at the relevant time, though, was she? You need more than dislike to kill someone, anyway.”

“No, I’m not saying she did it, but we’re trying to get an angle on Oliver and I think we haven’t asked her the right questions.”

Gary thought for a minute. “Well, she’s the one that told us Oliver supplied Brendan with his women, and now that I’m thinking about it, she’s the only one who seems to believe this.”

“Exactly; he spun her this line in order to play his own little power game with her.”

“That makes sense. OK, shall we pay her another visit?”

“Yes, let’s pop out there now. We’ve got a bit of time in hand.”