The End of the Roadie (A Mystery for D.I Costello) (21 page)

“So who is this grown-up sister who allowed me the pleasure of her body?”

“Her name’s Katie-Jane. We went to see her a few days ago. She answered to ‘Kay’ when we were there. She did admit she’s sometimes affectionately known as Kadey or Kadey-Wadey.” Angela remembered the woman taking a call in her kitchen, when they were there, and passing it off as a pet name. “We’ll need to see her again.”

“I don’t know what to say. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Well, there is something you can do.”

Brendan’s eyes crinkled into a smile. Angela’s heart lurched as she was reminded of Patrick. It gave her an insight into the fascination Leanne and Madeleine felt. “Ah yes,” he said. “This blackmailer still wants to collect, doesn’t he?”

“Yes. It would help us enormously if you could play along with us there.”

Brendan leaned back into the sofa and extended his arms. She realized he looked truly happy for the first time since she’d met him. “Oh, Inspector,” he said, a broad smile splitting his face in two. “It would be my pleasure.”

“What a result!” exclaimed Gary, once they were back in the car and heading south.

“Yes, indeedy,” agreed Angela. “We might manage to close up the gaping hole in the middle of our investigation if this blackmailer is who we think it is.”

“He’s probably not the murderer, though,” added Gary.

“It doesn’t seem likely. Mind you, Oliver could have sneaked him in backstage for reasons best known to himself – but I’m sure somebody would have noticed and mentioned seeing him.”

“If I was the actual murderer and I saw him hanging around backstage, I would definitely mention it in my statement. I’d want to cast suspicion on him, for a start.”

“Exactly!”

They continued in silence for some minutes. “I just wish I could remember what I saw that was important,” remarked Gary, eventually.

“What, the thing you picked up on when you did the reconstruction?”

“Yes. I’m sure it’s nearly flashed into my head a couple of times, but when I tried to grasp the memory, it disappeared.”

“It’s very irritating when that happens. All you can do is relax and not think about it. You never know,” she added, “it might turn out not to be important at all.”

“That’s true,” mused Gary.

“Let’s go back to this list of names that sent Oliver emails,” said Angela. “The presence of one of them puzzles me. Can you guess which one?”

“Er…” Gary thought for a moment. “Barry Grieves?”

“Yes. He’s not a member of Brendan’s management team, nor one of the regular crew.”

“Neither is Don Buckley.”

“That’s true, but he and Foursquare were on the tour with Brendan.”

“Oh yes, of course. OK, so why do you think the inclusion of Barry Grieves is odd?”

“It might not be, but I’m curious. I’m sure show business is like any other industry; some people you get to know better than others. If, as we think, a bigger ticketing fraud gang was muscling in on Oliver’s little operation, it might just be that whoever’s running it knows Barry Grieves, and decided to use his name as well. The fact that it was the last gig of the tour and he runs the Apollo might be significant.”

“Possibly,” replied Angela. She remained in thought for a few moments. “Actually…”

“What?”

“I know you saw this incident of the man and his daughter and her friends who had the duff tickets, but I don’t think you’ve ever described the scene to me.”

“Haven’t I? There’s not much to describe. I became aware of this man talking with one of the front-of-house staff and I could hear from the tone of his voice that he was half-embarrassed, half-angry. The man checking the tickets was blushing like you wouldn’t believe. He looked young and I got the impression he couldn’t handle it very well, but Barry Grieves came over and obviously he’s got a lot more experience and clout. He dealt with the man; very regretful and polite, but firm. The poor bloke still wasn’t going to get in to the concert, not on those tickets, anyway.”

“Well, he’s got to be like that, of course, hasn’t he? He can’t let people in on fraudulent tickets.”

“Yes. He did it very smoothly, I must say.”

“Probably gets a fair bit of practice. So then what happened?”

“The party went out, the birthday girl was crying, I think, and probably wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. They’d just got to the edge of the pavement when I noticed the man with the hawk tattoos. Maddie had joined me by then and we both watched him approach the girl’s dad and they started talking. We didn’t watch any more. We went in to find our seats at that point.”

“Oh, right. Thanks, Gary. That’s all a bit clearer for me now.”

In the exclusive area of Mayfair, two men sat nursing drinks in the dimly lit corner of a hotel bar.

“Do you think we can relax yet?” asked one, the larger of them. He had slicked-back blond hair and a smooth complexion.

His companion, slighter of build, crinkled his eyes with amusement. “I wouldn’t like to call it, but it seems to me the police are going in a straight line looking for the murderer.”

“That’s what you’d expect, of course, but I’m still concerned –”

“I know what you’re concerned about,” cut in the smaller man. “But you don’t need to worry. You’re prone to panic, that’s your trouble.”

“The police found those email addresses on Olly’s computer –”

“So what?” He picked up his drink and took a sip. “They can’t trace them to us.”

“Are you sure? I got such a fright when they asked me about my email address. It gave me a real turn.”

The smaller man quelled a momentary impatience. “They
asked me, too. No sweat. It’s a dead end, I keep telling you.” He studied his companion for a moment, noticing the beads of sweat on his upper lip. “Are you getting rattled?”

The larger man took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. “No, no, of course not; it’s just that when I signed up for this, I didn’t sign up for –” He cast a glance round the bar, nearly empty at this time of the day, and lowered his voice. “Murder!”

The melodramatic way in which he uttered the word brought forth a smile from the other man. “Keep calm. You signed up for a nice little earner and it’s worked well so far, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, but –”

“But what?”

“Well, I’d have thought it obvious; Olly’s dead.”

“He was muscling in on our territory and it had to be dealt with.”

“Yes, you said that, but I thought you were only going to frighten him off.”

“Somebody offed him altogether, didn’t they?” The smaller man paused, a smile playing round his mouth. “Did you think it was me?”

A horrified look appeared on the smooth, well-fed face. “Oh no! Of course not! I mean… It wasn’t you, was it?”

The other man laughed outright at this. A couple of heads on the other side of the bar looked briefly in their direction and turned immediately away again.

“Of course it wasn’t me. Do you think I’m stupid?”

The large man wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. His fellow drinker was completely cool and unruffled. He even seemed amused by the turn of events. He had to admit, this sangfroid was one of the reasons he’d thrown in his lot with him. The man exuded confidence. He didn’t expect to
ever find him wiping sweat from his face. He took a deep breath and told himself he was imagining problems where there weren’t any.

The smaller man nodded, the smile very visible in his eyes as well as his mouth. “That’s better; you just calm down and rely on me. I’ve seen you all right so far, haven’t I?”

“You have. I have to admit it. I’m puzzled about one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Why do you want this disc and that stationery from Olly’s friend?”

“The stationery’s not so important. Olly was probably only using it when he started, to print his own tickets and send them out. He must have stopped doing that a while ago. It’s the disc I want. It’s got the program on it that he’d got together, you know, for setting up the duff tickets.”

“Yes, I realize that; but we’ve got our own system.”

“Yes, but we need to make sure his is out of circulation.”

“Of course.”

“In any case, I always like to know how my business rivals operate. I don’t think Olly was too bad at the old IT stuff. Might have had some good ideas; could even be a better program than ours.”

“That makes sense.”

“He was a silly boy, though, doing Brendan’s concerts.”

“That surprised me, I must admit. Bit close to home, wasn’t it?”

The other man nodded. “Rule number one: protect your own patch. And there’s another reason I want that disc.” He tapped the side of his nose. “We’ve got to let his ‘business associate’ know who runs the territory.”

The big man smiled, completely relaxed now. “Shall we use him, do you think?”

A shrug. “We’ll see. Depends how amenable he is to doing what he’s told, doesn’t it?”

“I’ve got to hand it to you; you know what you’re doing. And you know how to keep your cool doing it.”

The man smiled slowly, self-satisfied. “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?” He held up his glass. “Chin, chin.”

They clinked their glasses.

The journey from Mayfair to Ladbroke Grove didn’t take very long, but a huge social divide separated the two places. Alex sat in the same dingy corner of the pub he’d been in three days earlier. He wore the same grubby anorak, and his hair, pulled back into its customary ponytail, looked greasy. He wondered why he was doing this. The person he’d met on the previous occasion had made it clear he wanted Oliver’s disc. And here he sat, waiting to hand it over, and he didn’t quite understand why. He had an uncomfortable sense in the back of his mind that Olly wouldn’t be doing this. Olly would ask a few questions, make his own demands, talk money. It always came down to money with him. Alex remembered the time he’d asked for a bigger cut. He’d been told in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t like the arrangement, he knew what he could do. The trouble was, he
didn’t
know what he could do; he had no other experience than a life of petty crime. Meeting up with Oliver and becoming part of the ticket scam had been a career step up for him – the closest thing he’d ever done to steady work.

Thinking about Olly cheered him. He could just imagine Olly in this situation. He might very well see the value of handing the business over to a bigger firm, but he’d be no pushover. He’d play hard to get; then he’d hedge. Hedging would become haggling, then bargaining, and finally negotiation, leading to a reasonable deal. That’s what
happened in industry all the time. Yeah, he shouldn’t wonder that a takeover bid had been made. It was only natural. Olly had a product worth selling.

The door opened and he saw the other man enter. He wore an expensive-looking raincoat with a pure wool scarf slung round his neck. Alex sat up a little straighter, smoothed his hair back and ran a hand over his ponytail.

He swallowed. No longer Olly;
he
held the marketable commodity. He’d offer him a drink and start with some small talk. That was the way to do business.

The man didn’t approach Alex’s table immediately. He got himself a drink, a tonic water, and sat down opposite him. “Well?” he began.

Alex raised his own glass in a toast. “Evening, Mr H; cheers,” he said, with a small smile.

The other man barely moved a muscle in his face. He raised his glass and took a sip. “Have you brought it?”

“I’ve got it nearby,” replied Alex. He patted his pocket and cursed inwardly when the other man’s eyes flew straight to that pocket.

“Let’s have a look, then.”

“We need to talk a bit first.”

“What about?”

Alex swallowed. “This program didn’t come cheap.”

“Yeah, right,” came the reply. The man didn’t even bother to hide his disdain at this.

“I’ve got a couple of other people interested,” continued Alex, but even he could hear the nervousness in his voice, and he knew it would be obvious to the other man.

“Of course you have.” Disdain had been matched with unbelief. “Look, I haven’t got time to play games. Hand it over.”

“It’s got a price tag,” said Alex in a near-squeak.

This brought forth a weary smile. “Listen. You either hand it over here and now or you find the police on your doorstep tonight. The choice is yours.”

Alex gulped, took the disc out of his pocket and laid it on the table between them. The man flicked his eyes down at it but didn’t pick it up. In spite of himself, Alex was impressed. Cool. The man took a long swallow of his drink and put the glass down on the table. “OK, now you’re acting sensibly. I like that. Do you want to work for me or don’t you?”

“I might; if I’m free.” The man laughed outright at this. A surge of resentment reared up in Alex. “This isn’t my only business.”

The man cast an appraising glance over him. “What else are you into, then?”

Alex shrugged in a hollow show of nonchalance. “That’s for me to know.”

“You’d better not be peddling drugs. My operation steers clear of that.”

“I’m not peddling drugs.”

“Doing ’em yourself?”

“No.”

The man nodded. His hand came out and the disc disappeared into his raincoat pocket. “Make sure you don’t,” he said. “I don’t tolerate that among my operatives. We’ll have a cooling off period. I’ll give you a call in a couple of weeks.” He downed the rest of his drink, stood up and was gone.

Alex was left staring as the door swung shut behind him. A familiar sensation crept over him as he saw his erstwhile drinking companion move unhurriedly past the window near where he sat. He’d been shafted. He never knew how it had happened until the process was almost complete, by which stage any protest would be completely useless. He took his mobile phone out of his pocket. He had one small crumb of
comfort to bolster his crushed ego. As he’d said to the man, he had an alternative business on the go. He scrolled through his contacts until he came to the number he had for Brendan Phelan.

Brendan Phelan pushed his empty plate away from him, downing the final mouthful from a bottle of vintage champagne. He set his glass down on the table and beamed at his brother. He’d done a great deal of beaming throughout the meal. Every so often the memory would come to him afresh, and an involuntary smile would light up his face. “That was magnificent, Des; who’d have thought my brickie bro would have turned into such a good cook.”

Des smiled and took a sip from his own glass. “I think I could have done beans on toast with mouldy cheese tonight and it would still have tasted good to you.”

“You’ve got
that
right. It still hasn’t sunk in.” Brendan closed his eyes for a moment and let out a long, slow breath. “I’m free! I’m actually free!”

“We must phone Mum later. She’s been praying for this day.”

“Yeah, I’d given up hope, I really had; but she never did.” Brendan remained in silence for a moment. “I know it’s small-minded of me, but would you believe I have one slight regret in all this?”

“What’s that?”

“That I didn’t know the truth when Olly was alive so I could deal with him directly. I’d have loved to see his expression when I threw it all in his face. Then I’d have got him sorted once and for all and booted him off the crew.”

“I can understand that temptation,” said Desmond. “It’s a shame you’re going to be denied that pleasure but it’s a small price to pay for being free at last.”

“I wonder what he’s going to think up for collection? With Olly it was like a drugs deal, a slapping of palm on palm and over in a minute before anybody could be sure they’d seen a thing. But, of course, that won’t work now, will it?”

“It wasn’t always that arrangement, though, was it? What about those times when you weren’t touring?”

“Yes, you’re right. I had to put him on the guest list for a TV show once, didn’t I? Remember how I had to hand the money over in the dressing room and you were in the en suite?”

“Yes, and he narrowly missed having Doug walk in on him as well, if I remember rightly.”

“Yes, but he was always going to find a way. As a crew member it didn’t attract anyone’s attention, but now…” Brendan shrugged.

“Well, I hope he thinks up something dramatic; in the middle of the Heath at midnight or some such scenario.”

“So you’re still OK with that?”

“Oh, absolutely! The more cloak-and-dagger it is, the better I shall enjoy it. The very idea reminds me of all those adventure stories we read when we were kids. I hope the police will let me lurk in the bushes and watch what goes on after I’ve done the drop.”

Brendan smiled. “I love that – the idea of you lurking in the bushes.”

Des smiled back and pursued the image. “I thought, a false moustache and glasses; what do you reckon?”

“Go for it! And a red wig.”

“Oh – a bit over the top, don’t you think, bro?”

Brendan laughed outright at this. “You might be right.”

“I hope he doesn’t take too long getting back to you with his demands.”

“So do I; I wonder what the police will do when they catch him.”

“At the least, they’ll have to arrest him for attempted blackmail,” surmised Des.

Just at that moment, Brendan’s mobile, on the table near his plate, sprang into life. “Ah! It’s Tilly,” he said, looking at the screen.

“I’ll just start clearing, then.” Des stood up and began collecting the empty plates.

“Hi, Tills,” said Brendan, into the phone. “Hold on a minute.” He pressed “mute” and turned to his brother, a look of wonder on his face. “I’ve just realized, Des.”

Des paused. “What?”

Brendan waved the phone in the air. “It’s
all
going to be different now. I’m not… I can move forward.”

“You’re free.”

“Yes!”

Des gave a small smile. “Move forward with caution, little brother. New-found freedom is heady stuff.”

“I hear you, Des,” grinned Brendan, pressing the button and bringing the phone up to his ear.

“I bet he’s enjoying his evening meal tonight,” said Patrick, picking up a spare rib and gnawing at it.

“Paddy, you could almost see the weight falling off his shoulders,” answered Angela.

“I’m not surprised. What a parasite, though; blackmailing somebody for something they actually did is a bad enough crime, but to set up an innocent man, make him think he’s guilty and
then
blackmail him; it doesn’t bear thinking about!”

“I’m trying to put that in a separate box in my head,” replied Angela.

Patrick looked across at her. “Yes, I know that feeling. I had the same thing once or twice back in the day. You’re investigating a murder, and the more you get to know about
the victim the more you find yourself thinking, my goodness, if I’d met him or her in life I’d have been tempted to murder them myself.”

“I’m trying to stay focused. My job is to do my very best to find his killer, no matter what type of man he was. I’m trying not to judge him.”

“I always found that bit easy, after all…”

Angela smiled at Patrick. “Oh yes, he’s come before the ultimate judge now, hasn’t he?”

“You took the words out of my mouth.”

“I must keep reminding myself of that,” replied Angela.

For a few moments they ate in what would have been complete silence if Angela hadn’t been humming to herself. “He turned out some amazing work over the years, didn’t he?” remarked Patrick, eventually.

“What? Sorry. Who?”

Patrick grinned. “Walt Disney.”

Angela gave a small laugh. “Oh – was I humming from
Fantasia
again?”

“You were. You seem to have picked up the habit from Gary.”

“Actually, he stopped once we realized where the music came from; but now that you mention it, it’s been on my mind for most of today. I’ve got this sense of a loose thread relating to it, somehow.”

“We can watch it later, if you like. I’ve still got the disc and it’s a film I enjoy.”

“Oh, what a good idea! That’ll be fun, and maybe I’ll be able to tie up the loose thread.”

“You might, indeed. Any breaks on the rest of the investigation?”

“Not so far, but I hope that will change just as soon as this would-be blackmailer has contacted Brendan again.”

“What if it turns out to have no bearing on the murder?”

Angela grimaced. “That’s the trouble, Pads. Oliver is the only connection between these two sidelines. I’m disinclined to believe blackmail was the motive, so it looks like the ticket fraud.”

Patrick grinned. “He didn’t have a third iron in the fire, then?”

Angela made a face. “Oh, please! Spare me!”

“So, finding the blackmailer won’t necessarily lead you to whoever was trying to cut themselves in on his ticketing scam.”

“That’s about the size of it; but we’ve got to chase it up.”

“Absolutely, it’s the only lead you’ve got.”

“And we haven’t got very far with trying to find out who set up the email addresses.”

“Have you spoken to all the people named now?”

Angela sighed and looked at him. “Oh, yes. Wide-eyed surprise all round. Every one of them assured me about their addresses, none of which was a buzzmail one.”

“Somebody among them, or someone very close to one of them, is a cool customer.”

“You’re not kidding!”

“Any chance of tracing an originating address or computer?”

Angela raised her shoulders and let them fall again. “We’ve given that task to the lab, but I’m not holding my breath. I wouldn’t be surprised if they can all be traced to a computer in an Internet café somewhere.”

As they sat mulling over these thoughts, the front door opened and they could hear Madeleine and Gary coming in.

“In the dining room!” called Patrick, and the young couple appeared in the doorway. “There aren’t any more spare ribs,” he said.

“Not a problem,” replied Madeleine. “We had a pizza out. You know what, Ange,” she continued, cocking her thumb at Gary without turning round to him, “this ’ere bloke’s going to make one very discreet detective.”

Behind Madeleine, Gary smiled and shrugged at Angela. Angela looked puzzled. “Really, why do you say that?”

“Because he doesn’t tell me a
thing
about this case and it’s very frustrating.”

Patrick and Angela cast surreptitious glances at each other, each thinking of the conversation their entrance had interrupted. “He’s just doing his job,” Patrick said.

“I know,” replied Madeleine. “I wouldn’t care if it was Joe Bloggs the burglar, I wouldn’t even
want
to know, but he accidentally let slip that you’ve been up to Brendan Phelan again today, Angela, and then went all
shtum
on me – and he knows how I feel about Brendan. How do you like that?”

“Sorry, Angie,” said Gary. “I didn’t mean to blab.”

Angela laughed. “Don’t worry, Gary. Mads, our enquiries are proceeding and at some point, all will be revealed. But I can tell you we have no reason to believe Brendan guilty of any crime.”

“Of course he’s not guilty of anything! He’s the sweetest man ever,” said Madeleine. “Oh, I say, is that lemon meringue pie?” The small trolley at the side of the room had riveted her attention. “We didn’t have dessert at the restaurant.”

“Yes, there’s plenty of that if you want some,” answered Patrick, standing up and going over to it. “We’re about ready for it now.” He manoeuvred the trolley away from the wall and pushed it towards the table.

“
Ah!
” Every face turned towards Gary, arrested by the unexpected shout. Angela dropped her fork onto her plate with a clatter as concern filled their eyes – had he hurt himself?

“No need to get excited, Gary; it’s just a regular lemon meringue pie!” Patrick said.

Gary blinked. “No. Sorry to make you jump!” He looked at Angela. “I’ve just remembered what it was that struck me when Derek and I went to do that reconstruction at the Apollo.”

“Ah!”

“Look, Detective Constable Gazza,” said Madeleine, assuming the manner of a superior officer. “This pie is cold anyway, so it won’t spoil. You go and get your notebook and write it all down, every aspect of it while it’s fresh in your memory – including why you think it’s significant; everything you can think of. What?” she asked as three pairs of eyes swung towards her. “Do you all think I learned nothing, growing up as the daughter of a policeman?”

They all laughed simultaneously. “Yes, ma’am,” said Gary, as he went out to where his raincoat hung in the hall.

“You can save it for the briefing meeting in the morning,” Madeleine called over her shoulder. “And whatever you do, don’t share it with your girlfriend, or you’ll end up directing traffic.” She turned back to Patrick and Angela and grinned. “It’s all right, I know you two discuss Angie’s cases all the time, but you’re an ex D.I., Dad, working for the coroner, so that’s different.”

Angela was saved from the necessity of making any comment by the ringing of her mobile phone. “Oh!” she said, excited. “I wonder if we have lift off?”

Patrick, close enough to see Brendan Phelan’s name appear on the screen, poked his head into the passage where Gary stood, still extricating his notebook from his raincoat. “Scramble, Gary!” he called. “It looks like you might be back on duty.”

Gary hurried back into the dining room. “Is it?” he asked Angela.

She nodded and looked at Patrick.

“Deal with it in the living room,” he advised. “Best do the thing properly.”

Gary turned and went ahead of Angela. Once inside, she shut the door and mimed the need for a pen and some paper. Gary opened his notebook at a blank page and presented her with a pen. Angela pressed the speaker button. “OK, Brendan; tell me what was said.”

“The call came through just now,” he said, gabbling in a high-pitched voice. They heard him pause and take a deep breath. “I didn’t realize I’d be so nervous,” he said. “Des and I were talking about it over dinner and joking, would you believe? We were, like, this is a regular boys’ adventure, great fun. And then when I picked up the call and recognized the voice from before, just for a second all the horror came back to me.” He paused. They could hear him taking another deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice had attained its usual timbre. “So, I’ve been told to have the money ready for tonight.”

“How much?”

“Eight hundred.”

Angela and Gary looked at each other. “That’s less than Oliver asked for,” she said.

“I think our friend is new to this and was busking it,” replied Brendan. “I asked him in what denominations he wanted the notes, and I don’t think he quite realized what I meant at first. There was this long pause and I’d just begun to say, you know, fives, tens, twenties, when he said, ‘Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, just mix it up. It doesn’t matter.’”

“He didn’t ask for used notes?”

“No.”

“How is the handover meant to take place?”

“I’ve got the name and address of a supermarket in west
London, out near the A40, I think.” They could hear the rustling of paper as Brendan consulted his written instructions. “I’ve to drop it into a trolley on the outer perimeter of the car park, would you believe.”

“Good grief!”

“Quite. I don’t predict a glittering criminal career for this man. If you catch him and lock him up, you’ll probably be saving him from himself.”

Angela laughed. “And what time is this supposed to take place?”

“What he said was, ‘on the stroke of midnight’. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got a bit of poetry in his soul.”

Angela and Gary could tell Brendan had fully recovered from his initial apprehension and was beginning to enjoy himself. She agreed with him about the likely poetic streak, and told him they would pick him up at eleven. She finished the call and looked across at Gary with raised eyebrows.

“Sounds like a rank amateur, doesn’t he?” said Gary.

“He certainly does,” she agreed. “So, Gary, it could turn out to be a long night. Before we get started, since we’re alone in here and you didn’t get the chance to write it down, you might as well tell me what sparked your memory about the reconstruction.”

“It wasn’t just the reconstruction,” he said. “I’ve realized that’s only the catalyst for showing me something I saw at the time of the murder without really
knowing
that I’d seen it, if you get what I mean.”