The End of the Roadie (A Mystery for D.I Costello) (24 page)

“I was rung up, wasn’t I?”

I might have guessed
, thought Angela. “Who did you meet?” she asked.

Alex looked at her and shrugged. “I don’t know his name, but I saw him once on the tour. I was having a drink with Olly, and a load of people he knew came into the pub. He said they were part of the team. We didn’t join them, though.”

“So,” said Angela. “Just to be clear; this man is connected with Brendan Phelan’s tour team in some way, and he came to meet you in a pub?”

“Near Ladbroke Grove, yeah.”

“And he now has the disc with Oliver’s ticketing program on?”

“Yeah.” Alex looked almost grateful that Angela didn’t ask for details of how that had happened, but she didn’t need to.
It must have been like taking candy from a baby
, she thought.

“And you don’t know his name?”

“No, well, ‘H’ was all he said.”

“The initial ‘H’?”

“Yeah.”

Angela sighed.
If I was a criminal mastermind and you wanted to be a part of my organization, I would recommend you go and find some gainful employment
, she thought.

“Right,” she said. “We’re going to show you some photographs. We want to know if you recognize this ‘H’.”

Stanway leaned his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers as he listened to Angela. She’d recounted the outcome of the stake-out at the supermarket, brought him up to speed on what Gary had finally remembered, and put before him a scenario of how she thought the murder had been committed.

“Hmm… What you’ve said makes a great deal of sense, and I’ll certainly get a search warrant organized for you. We’ll need forensics on that, because it’s going to be pretty specialized. Of course, if we find anything, we’ll need DNA samples to compare.”

“Yes, sir, I’m aware of that.”

“OK, then.” He beamed at her. “Good work, Angie.”

Angela smiled back at him. “Do I sense a following ‘but’, sir?”

“You do. The scenario you’ve presented me with is ingenious and it works. It could even be the solution.
But.
If you’re correct, we might be looking at a different motive from somebody merely trying to muscle in on the ticketing scam.”

“Yes, I had thought of that.”

Stanway looked down at Angela’s open notepad on his desk. “As motives go, though, it’s still the front runner and you’ve got to chase it up. And there’s no question Joplin had come to the attention of some rival scammer.”

“Or scammers, sir.”

“Yes, indeed. Well, this Alex chap has definitely fingered one of the suspects, so we’ve got to follow it through. How much store do you set by this initial ‘H’?”

“I think it’s a bit like the flourish someone might add to a signature, sir, but it does tie up with my theory.”

“Yes, I can see that it would, but we have to move with caution, Angie. Theories are wonderful things, but they aren’t necessarily facts. You’ll need to keep a very open mind on this.”

“Don’t worry, sir, I will.”

“We don’t know that ‘H’ is the perp.”

“I’m aware of that, sir. We can only be sure of his involvement in the ticketing scam. We’ve still got most of the main players knocking about in the vicinity of the stage door at the time of the murder.”

“Motives?”

“Hmm, that’s a tricky one. Don Buckley has a bit of history from way back when his band was struggling to get established. Oliver latched himself on to them but used their gigs to peddle dope. It nearly ruined their fledgling career.”

“So, an old score to settle there, maybe?”

“It’s possible. The band seemed to have recovered from the scandal, and Don doesn’t strike me as the vengeful type, but you can never tell. For all I know, Attila the Hun was kind to his granny.”

“What about these two on the management team, Doug Travers and Jack Waring?”

“Protecting their star would be my first guess. Brendan was under the impression nobody knew about the blackmail, but Terry Dexter had found out about it – so why couldn’t they, as well?”

“Yes, indeed; everybody not telling everybody else what they know, yet making plans to remove the threat. Are you assuming the same motive for Dexter?”

“Yes. He and Brendan go back a long way and their friendship is very deep-rooted. I should think he was the
most aware of all of them about the strain this was having on Brendan. He probably felt very angry about it. I mean, it had affected Brendan’s ability to write songs.”

“It sounds as though things might have been coming to a head when the murder occurred.”

“I think it’s possible, sir. I reckon Brendan thought he’d spend the rest of his life paying for Oliver’s silence. A status quo had been established he’d learned to live with. But if his music was suffering, then things couldn’t go on as they had, could they?”

“And yet he would have seen no way out – the situation was hopeless. He couldn’t possibly have foreseen Leanne finding out the truth behind that birth certificate.”

Angela remained silent for a moment as she thought about this last point. “Are you saying I should keep Brendan on the suspect list, sir?”

Stanway rested his chin on his steepled fingers. “I think we’ve established he couldn’t have actually pulled the trigger, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved in a conspiracy to get rid of this particular thorn in his flesh.” Angela’s shoulders sagged and she let out a sigh. Stanway cast a quizzical expression at her. “Become smitten with the man, have we, Angie? I gather he can do no wrong in Leanne’s eyes.”

Angela grinned. “It’s not that, sir, although I have to admit, I’ve warmed to him more each time we’ve had to go and see him. It’s just – if you’re right – who was in on it? One of them? All of them? What a nightmare to try to untangle.”

Stanway laughed and tapped Angela’s notebook. “Well, it looks to me like you’ve got your work cut out with these latest developments. You and Gary can chase them up while the rest of the team tries to unearth a plot with Brendan Phelan at the centre of it.” He closed the book and handed it to her.
“I’ll let you know when the warrant is in place, and I’ll set up the search team.”

Thank you, sir,” replied Angela, taking her notebook and heading towards the door.

“By the way, Angie…”

Angela stopped and turned back. “Sir?”

“Another thing we mustn’t forget; this murder was a shooting and we’ve got a recent unfortunate history with guns, haven’t we?”

After the clutch of fear she’d felt when she thought Alex Lindsey had a gun, Angela hardly needed reminding of that previous investigation when an unstable and desperate suspect had taken a shot at her.

“Yes, sir.”

“This isn’t just one poor, deluded man pointing a pistol. Most of our suspects in this case are very familiar with the use of firearms. Some of them even have prizes to prove it.”

“You’re right, sir, but the real guns are all locked away somewhere.”

“I know I’m right and I don’t care how secure they are. Once we’re satisfied about the evidence we will move with extreme caution and we
will
have an armed response unit standing by.”

“Sir.”

Stanway gave a small grin and nodded. “That last ‘do’ could have gone so wrong for us. I’m not taking any chances.”

“Understood, sir.”

“What are the team doing this morning?”

“They’re all going out on a DNA hunt.”

“Yes, of course; you’ll need matches, won’t you? OK, then, Angie. Keep me in touch,” he finished by way of dismissal.

Back in the incident room she took the team through the morning briefing, gave them their instructions and passed on
Stanway’s cautionary advice. “Any questions?” she asked, after she’d finished.

Leanne frowned. “Suppose someone doesn’t want to give us a swab, guv?” she asked.

“They have the right to refuse, of course,” replied Angela. But given that they’re all in the frame, the person refusing would only be directing a spotlight onto themselves. I think they’ll all cooperate.”

“No problem, guv,” said Leanne, rising from her chair. “I think Brendan and his team will be rehearsing this charity gig.”

“The one you’ve got special guest tickets for?” said Jim, with a grudging smile. Leanne blushed and couldn’t help giving a self-satisfied smirk. “How’re you going to get his sample, then?”

“OK, everybody,” Angela cut in; she could see the conversation deteriorating. “You all know what you’re supposed to do. Rick and Jim, you chase up Don Buckley and his band. Derek and Leanne, get over to wherever the rehearsals are going on and ask Brendan and his lot. If anybody refuses to cooperate, don’t insist, just tell me about it.”

They all got up and went to get their coats. Within five minutes, Angela and Gary were the only two people in the room.

He looked at her. “So what do you want me to do, Angie?”

“We’re going to go over everything we’ve got so far, Gaz. I think this is as watertight as it can be without the forensic findings, but I need to be sure.”

“So we’ve got a brainstorming session, then?”

“Not immediately.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes,” she smiled at him. “I’ve got a loose thread hanging on this case and it’s annoying me. Before we do anything
else,” she drew a small plastic wallet out of her bag, “we’re going to watch a DVD of
Fantasia
.”

Jack Waring stood just behind the glass-panelled front doors of the Apollo theatre in Hammersmith, gazing out at the street, so lost in his own thoughts he didn’t hear the approach of Barry Grieves. He jumped slightly at the sound of Barry’s cough, looking round and nodding in acknowledgment of the other man before turning back to his contemplation of the scene before him.

“How are the rehearsals going?” asked Barry.

“OK.” Jack shrugged, then thought about what he’d said. “Actually, more than OK.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, Brendan’s in really good form and that’s making for a good atmosphere.”

“Is he not normally in good form, then? He’s never struck me as one of these prima donna types.”

“No, he’s not. He’s pretty stable, is Bren, but he’s firing on all cylinders today. I can’t remember the last time I saw him so buoyant.”

“That’s good.” Barry stood facing the same direction as Jack. “Not a view with which you’re familiar, I should think,” he said, after a moment.

“True,” replied Jack, turning his attention upwards towards the flyover passing above them a short distance away. “I don’t often come front of house; too busy backstage, usually, especially at show time. How did Georgia Pensay do?”

“Very well. We had full houses every night.”

“Lot of cowboys turning up?”

Barry laughed. “Not exactly, but I did see quite a few obvious country and western types. Watching the audience arrive never ceases to fascinate me,” said Barry. “I watch them
meet and greet and queue and wait. You really do see some strange sights.”

“You get some pretty weird happenings at the stage door as well.” Jack checked himself. “I don’t mean like the recent event.”

“I know what you mean,” said Barry. “And I suppose you must, fans trying all sorts of tricks to get in and things like that.” Just at that moment he became aware that one of his staff had approached with two other people. He turned. “Are you looking for me? Oh, hello,” he added, as he recognized Leanne and Derek. “You have some more questions?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Derek. He looked at Jack. “We need to have a word with you, Mr Waring,” he said.

Jack raised his eyebrows and moved away from the front doors. “Let’s go backstage,” he answered. “I think better there, where I belong. See you, Barry,” he said, as he led the way through the auditorium in the direction of the pass door. The noise from Brendan, the musicians and the backing singers working on one of the songs made conversation impossible, but Jack led them to the empty green room behind the stage and they were able to put their request.

“DNA?” he queried, once he’d heard them out. “May I ask why? Olly was shot, by all accounts, from a bit of a distance. I don’t see how DNA samples are going to help you.”

Leanne took refuge behind her junior rank. “I’m sorry, sir, it must be something to do with the way the investigation has progressed, but you’ll need to ask D.I. Costello if you want any further information.”

Jack shrugged and smiled. “It’s no problem,” he replied. “It just seems a bit bizarre, that’s all. Do you want to do everybody?”

“Yes, we’re afraid so,” said Derek.

“OK, start with me and I’ll go and round up the others,” said Jack.

Leanne thanked him and Derek started to unpack the kit they’d brought with them.

Don Buckley blinked as he looked at Rick and Jim. It seemed he didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed by their request. “You mean, like a lock of my hair, something like that?”

“It’s more usual to take a swab from the inside of the cheek,” said Rick.

“Yes, but I was there, wasn’t I?” said Don. “I came out of the stage door first and went over to Brendan. Then I got a chair, a coat and a drink for him. I passed Olly lying on the ground a few times. I mean, my DNA’s bound to be somewhere around at the scene.”

“Yes, sir,” said Rick. “We know that, and obviously it will be taken into consideration.”

“This is for elimination purposes,” added Jim.

“Well, I suppose if you must,” answered Don, finally. “I think I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”

“You do have the right to refuse,” said Jim.

“I know that and I refer you back to what I just said.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, sir,” replied Rick. “It really is a very simple procedure.”

Stanway addressed the entire team the following morning. He faced them all with a grave expression and made it very clear they should all listen closely. “You’ve all done a thorough job,” he said. “And we’ve got a case that hangs together very well. I fully expect we’ll be winding it up today at this place.” He looked across at Angela. “Where is it, Angela?”

“The Apollo theatre, sir, in Hammersmith.”

“But I understood Brendan Phelan and this other band are rehearsing. Don’t show business people usually rehearse in some obscure, out-of-the-way place?”

“That’s often the case, but Georgia Pensay has just finished there and it’s dark again until next week. That’s why it’s available for this charity gig.”

“Dark. I see. Yes.” Stanway didn’t ask for an explanation of what “dark” meant. Angela hid a smile as she caught a look at Jim and realized he had been hoping for an appearance of bewilderment on the D.C.I.’s face, so he could jump in and enlighten him. “Well, anyway, we were caught on the hop on the last case. Angela ended up facing a crazed man with a gun.” He looked round at them all to make sure they were each paying attention. “This
will not
happen again.” A general murmur of assent could be heard from all points around the room. “That could so easily have gone very, very wrong, and the ramifications would be with us still.”

It suddenly struck Angela that the dramatic final scene in the Kirsty Manners case might have caused Stanway more sleepless nights that it did her.

Jim, rushing in, somewhat foolishly, it seemed to Angela,
spoke: “This isn’t the same, though, is it, sir? The guns used in this show are all stage guns with blanks in.”

Stanway glared at him. “Have you been following this case at all, Wainwright? Brendan Phelan and his bass guitarist, or whatever he is, might amuse themselves taking potshots at clay pigeons in the home counties, but they – and from what I gather, the majority of the people around them – are all very familiar with real firearms of all types; what’s more, they’re all crack shots. And do I have to remind you how the victim died? A real gun was in the theatre that night, and there could be one today.”

Jim blushed and lowered his eyes. “Sorry, sir.”

“I should think so too!” Stanway paused, and calmed down a little. “I know I might seem oversensitive about this, but you weren’t in that room when Angela got shot at. I was. I can still go into a cold sweat at the memory. I’m not leaving anything to chance.”

“Sir.”

Stanway addressed the room again. “So there will be an Armed Response Unit in attendance. You will all wait for instructions from either Angela or me. Nobody is to even think an independent thought without the say-so of either one of us. Is that clear?” Another general murmur of assent travelled the room. “Are there any questions?”

“These ARU people, sir,” asked Derek. “Where will they be stationed?”

“You won’t see them but they’ll be at strategic places around the auditorium. A staff meeting for all personnel, on some pretext or other, took place just a short while ago in the bar. This was to keep everybody out of the way while they were introduced into the place. As far as is possible, staff are to be given duties which will keep them away from the auditorium, but if any one of them should spot a man with a gun, the line is that police are in control of the situation
and they must keep quiet on pain of immediate dismissal. But,” he added, raising a finger, “you must act as if they’re not present. All right, everyone. Let’s get going.”

The mood in the car on the way to the theatre was sombre. Stanway was obviously nervous and disinclined to speak. When they arrived they could see that a handful of fans had got news of who was rehearsing within. A barrier had already been erected to prevent them spilling across the entire pavement and obstructing passers-by. They cheerfully joked and gossiped, swapping “Brendan” stories among themselves. As the police moved into the theatre, Angela could hear the fans speculating who the newcomers might be.

Inside, a rather flushed Barry Grieves met them. “Good morning,” began Angela. She indicated Stanway at her side. “This is Detective Chief Inspector Stanway.”

Barry nodded at Stanway.

“Is everyone in place?” asked Stanway.

“Yes, the last of them got into position about five minutes ago,” answered Barry.

“And nobody on your staff or any of the performers are aware of their presence?”

“Not apart from my immediate deputy, and I hope none of them have a reason to find out,” Barry assured him. “But I must say, Inspector,” he added, “I think this is all rather dramatic.”

“I prefer to be accused of overdramatization before an event, than negligence afterwards,” replied Stanway, unmoved. Barry had clearly been ready to further his protest, but he bit back whatever response he’d planned and merely nodded.

“All right,” continued Stanway. “Let’s just forget about the invisible company, shall we? We’re a team of police officers who need to speak to those people currently rehearsing in this theatre. Lead on, please.”

Barry led them through to the back of the auditorium.

The noise hit them immediately. They stopped and took in the scene. Among the few people sprawled in the front few rows, Angela recognized Jack Waring and Doug Travers, and she saw Carla move out from the wings to settle in the seat beside Jack. Don and his band sat close to each other, absorbed in the music. All the action, and the sound, came from the stage. Brendan, in his element, belted out a very lively song, a tale of love lost and found. He pranced about the stage, holding the microphone close to his lips, throwing it high and catching it again. He smiled with obvious pleasure, and the upbeat melody infected everyone on stage with him. Feet tapped, hands clapped, heads nodded in time with the music and a smile could be seen on everyone’s faces.

“Looks like we’re being treated to an impromptu concert,” remarked Stanway, putting his mouth close to Angela’s ear.

“Not so impromptu, sir,” replied Angela. “This is a rehearsal, after all.”

“What? Oh – oh, yes of course,” he murmured. Angela looked and saw that his hands were jigging about in time to the beat. She looked to her other side and saw that Barry Grieves was caught up in the performance as well. Just at that moment he turned and saw her looking at him. He grinned.

“This is a new song,” he said, leaning slightly over to her. “Jack told me this morning that Brendan hasn’t written anything new for quite some time, but he’s got his mojo back now. That’s what he told me. I didn’t realize it had gone. He’s written a cracker here, though, hasn’t he?” Angela nodded; she could only agree.

The song had none of Brendan’s hallmark use of gunshots and whip cracks. Instead, an intricate and cheery riff cut across the melody at the end of a verse. They’d obviously already had a few teething problems with the timing because once
the melody had been played right through, Angela and the others could see them smiling, nodding to one another and even heard a cry of: “Yay! Got it!” Brendan beamed round at them all, and threw the microphone up into the air again, gleefully giving them all a thumbs-up before catching it in the few seconds before the song continued and he started on the next verse.

Barry recognized the moment when the song began to wind down to its close. He moved down the centre aisle, half-turned and indicated with a gesture that the others should follow him. As the music came to a complete halt, his was the voice that could be heard in the silence. “Mr Phelan, Mr Waring, I’m sorry to interrupt this rehearsal, but the police have made a request to come and speak to you all.”

Brendan put the microphone back into its stand and came to the edge of the stage. He peered out into the semi-darkness. “Inspector! How nice! And D.Cs Gary and Leanne – good to see you.” He spoke into the microphone. “OK, let’s take a break, everybody.” He then leaned down as Angela and Gary reached him. “Have you got everything sorted?”

“We think so. We need to address those who were in the area of the stage door at the time Oliver was shot.”

“OK, well Doug and Jack are already here.” He looked round and saw Terry bending over the keyboard. “Terry,” he called. Terry looked up and Brendan inclined his head towards Angela and Gary. “Police business, mate.” Terry nodded, made his way to the front and jumped lightly down into the auditorium, followed by Brendan. Carla, looking wide-eyed and slightly apprehensive, made to rise from her seat beside Jack.

“Is this a private party?” asked Jack.

“Not especially,” replied Angela. Carla smiled at Jack and sat down again.

Angela looked around. Apart from themselves and Barry Grieves, who’d placed himself a few rows back, the place seemed deserted. She found it difficult not to strain her head and try to search out at least the shape of a gunman hiding in the shadows.

With an effort she kept her eyes on the small gathering. “This has been a really tricky case,” she began. She saw Brendan and Terry glance at each other and away again. Doug looked at Jack but the latter kept his eyes front, intent on Angela. Don sat just along the row from Terry and Brendan, and kept his head down. Carla gazed with undisguised longing at Brendan.

“It hasn’t been a picnic for us, either,” remarked Don.

Angela nodded. “I’m sure not. You were all in the vicinity of the stage door when Oliver Joplin was shot and you all, naturally, came into the frame for his murder. You, Don, have a history with Oliver. He nearly scuppered your band once before, didn’t he?”

Several heads turned in Don’s direction. Don looked up. “Yes. If I was the vengeful sort, I’d have a motive.”

Brendan raised his eyebrows. “Even me? You surely can’t ascribe a motive to me?”

“It’s true you probably couldn’t have fired the shot,” she smiled. “We worked on that scenario. But you could have been involved in a conspiracy, Brendan.”

This consideration clearly hadn’t occurred to Brendan. He narrowed his eyes as he thought about it. “D’you know, you’re right? I suppose I could have.”

A horrified gasp escaped Carla. Jack laid a restraining hand on her knee and spoke. “Why on earth would Brendan want Olly dead?” he asked. “He wasn’t
that
bad a techie.” A ripple of nervous laughter ran through the group. Angela smiled to acknowledge the joke, inclined her head towards Brendan and raised her eyebrows.

Brendan nodded. “It’s OK,” he said. “I would have told them at some point anyway.”

“Oliver Joplin had set Brendan up, several years ago. He and his sister arranged a situation that made it look as though Brendan had committed a crime. Brendan can give you the details later if he wants to. But suffice it to say, if this ‘crime’” – Angela sketched quotation marks in the air – “had become known, he would have faced a severe penalty, his career would probably be in ruins and he would have been publicly disgraced.”

Doug and Jack looked at her with almost identical shocked expressions. “Blackmail?” ventured Doug. Angela nodded. Doug turned and looked at Terry. “Did you know about this?” he asked. Terry nodded.

Jack gave a low whistle. “No wonder he had a guaranteed place on the crew.”

“Not just that,” said Brendan. “He was on a nice little kickback. He had me over a barrel.”

“Happily,” continued Angela, “the investigation exposed this lie and there’s no possible danger to Brendan from this matter.”

“Ah!” Doug slapped his forehead. “No wonder you’ve been so buoyant the last couple of days.”

“And he’s started writing songs again,” added Terry, with a grin.

Doug thought for a moment. “Yes, I hadn’t really thought… I hadn’t; I mean you’ve got so much stuff you wrote years ago that you can use, I hadn’t stopped to think.” He ground to a halt and gave a shiver. “The bastard!”

“Yes. Sadly, Oliver doesn’t leave any fond memories with most of those who knew him,” said Angela. “His sister appears to be cut from the same cloth. This case really has turned the normal perception of ‘victim’ and ‘abuser’ on its head. If
Brendan decides to press charges, she’s going to find herself in deep doo-doo.”

“I probably won’t in the end,” said Brendan. “But I shall certainly leave her to sweat for a while.”

An uncomfortable look appeared on Doug’s face and he turned back to Brendan. “OK, so I can see why the police would think Olly’s murder could have been a conspiracy, Bren, but… you didn’t – did you?”

“No way! I’m strictly a clay pigeon man,” Brendan assured him. Doug nodded and passed his gaze on to Terry.

Angela could almost see the thoughts going through his mind. “We had to consider all these options,” she said. “Was Brendan involved? Did Terry fire the actual gun? As I said earlier, you were all there at the scene. We had to look at motives for all of you. Terry, you and Brendan go back a long way; you’re like brothers. You could see the torment Brendan was in, and you knew it was getting worse.”

Terry looked at her, his face solemn. “Don’t think I didn’t consider it once or twice.”

“I don’t know what motives the rest of us could have had,” said Doug. “We didn’t know anything about the blackmail.”

“Ah, but blackmail wasn’t Oliver’s only sideline,” answered Angela. “He’d started out on a brand-new venture; ticket fraud.”

“Ticket fraud!” exclaimed Brendan. “No! Was he ripping off my fans?”

“Brendan really cares about his fans,” murmured Carla. Brendan looked across at her.

“Yes, that’s exactly right,” affirmed Angela. “He might not have had much of a reputation among you all as a techie but he could definitely find his way round a computer when it suited him. He’d launched a two-pronged attack on your audience, Brendan. He’d developed a program which duped people into
buying fraudulent tickets and then, on the relevant nights, knowing how many he’d sold, a friend of his, acting as a tout, approached the disappointed fans and offered them proper tickets at inflated prices. That little scam ran like a dream. My detective constable here watched it in action on the night of the murder. But, unfortunately for Oliver, this proved to be his undoing. He’d brought himself to the attention of a much bigger operation and they didn’t want him getting in their way.”