The End of the Roadie (A Mystery for D.I Costello) (25 page)

Brendan clicked his tongue. “I suppose it would be naive of me to pretend it doesn’t happen.”

Angela nodded at him and continued. “Oliver’s computer contained enough information to give our IT people and our financial investigators plenty to keep them occupied. They’re still at it, in fact, but we have enough to go on.”

“Just a minute,” interrupted Doug. “Are you saying the murder is linked to some ticketing scam?”

“Partly,” replied Angela.

“Partly?” Doug looked puzzled, then shook his head as if to clear it. “But…” Doug looked all around at the assembled company. “We’re a fairly tight-knit group so it’s… it’s one of us.”

“That’s the conclusion to which our enquiries have led us,” answered Angela.
There you go
,
Angela
, she thought.
You’ve gone all formal.
Doug nodded and leaned back in his seat. He’d turned a little pale.

Angela continued. “It was a question of gathering everything we could to build up a picture. We had no way of knowing if the guilty party was jogging along in the centre of the pack, keeping his – or her – head under the radar; or pushing themselves well into the limelight so we’d be used to their presence and stop noticing it. Different things work for different people.”

“Brendan’s the only one in the spotlight around here,” smiled Jack, “and, perhaps, Terry.”

Angela turned her attention to him. “Actually, you’re wrong, you know. Brendan’s place in the spotlight is only on stage. As a character he’s quite self-effacing. He’s made it as a celebrity and he doesn’t need to over-egg it.” She moved towards Jack. “You’re the one who looms large.”

Jack smiled. “Come again?”

“You might think you’re one of the backroom boys, unnoticeable, but we kept finding evidence of your influence everywhere. You probably got into the way of it in your magician days; being seen without being seen, if you get me.”

Jack smiled and shook his head. “You’re going to have to explain that to me.”

“I think you know what I mean, but I’ll indulge you. In the first place, my detective constable here got that tune stuck in his head. I had to put up with it every day for quite a while.”

Jack laughed. “I know the one you mean. I’m always humming it. I don’t even know I’m doing it.”

“Possibly not, but I got stuck with it,” she said. “It bugged me until my family reminded me it came from Walt Disney’s film,
Fantasia
.”

“Among other places,” replied Jack.

“You’re right. It’s called ‘The Sorcerer’s Apprentice’. I’ve only just learned that Goethe wrote the original poem and Paul Dukas produced the music about a hundred years later. Walt Disney used several classical pieces in the making of that film.” She paused. “It’s barely a step from sorcerer’s apprentice to magician’s lad.”

“What are you saying?”

“This melody wasn’t the only way in which I sensed your influence. All the crew members can perform at least one
card trick. I wouldn’t be surprised if one or two of them can produce coins from behind the ears of anyone they’re talking to, and I’m sure there’s someone here who, if pushed, can get a rabbit out of a hat.”

A small laugh could be heard among several of those present. Jack grinned. “Yes, well, it’s no secret. They’ve been good pupils on the whole. It’s how I started in the business; I like to keep my hand in.”

“Yes. You used all the techniques, Jack – sleight of hand, diverting attention. But you pulled off the big one right under the eyes of my detective constable.”

“Hey! I hope you’re not accusing me of this murder.”

“No, but you cleverly deflected our attention at the time. And you know what? You almost succeeded. You’re quite a magician.”

Jack frowned.

“You talked about every trick in the book, Jack, but after our first meeting you didn’t once mention this one.” Angela turned her head and looked pointedly at Carla. “The girl in the box.”

Slowly Angela moved her attention to Carla, sitting wide-eyed beside Jack, shrinking back as far as she could into her seat.

“Jack! What shall I do, Jack?” Jack moved an arm round Carla’s shoulders as tears welled up in her eyes and her face crumpled.

“You did it, didn’t you, Carla?” said Angela. “You finally realized Oliver would never be your ticket to getting together with Brendan. Did he promise you’d get your chance with him before the end of the tour? Was it like that, Carla?” He’d been stringing you along, hadn’t he? Using you for sex himself and not giving you what you wanted. You thought he supplied Brendan with young women, didn’t you?”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Brendan jerk his head up and heard a gasp of amazement from him. She pressed on. “You wanted to punish him, Oliver, for his deception, didn’t you?”

In a flash Carla leapt out of her seat. “He promised!” she shouted. “He said he could make Brendan do whatever he wanted. I knew he was blackmailing him and I hated him for it. He said he had him in his pocket!” Suddenly she stumbled her way to the edge of the seats and started up the side aisle. She had on a short denim jacket and as she raced away they all saw her put her hand into one of its pockets. Halfway up the auditorium she turned and stopped. The metal in her hand glinted into the overhead lights.

“She’s got a gun. Everybody down!” Stanway’s voice came sharp and authoritative. Even as she ducked down before the
front row, Angela couldn’t help registering the slight note of satisfied vindication in his voice.

“I did it for us, Brendan!” Carla sobbed. They could all hear the desperation and hysteria in her voice. Angela looked along the row to where Brendan was lying, saw him glance at Terry next to him, saw the look of hopeless pity in his face.

“Carla!” Stanway’s voice rang out again from behind the safety of one of the speakers at the side of the stage. “There is an armed response unit in this theatre. I suggest you put the gun down and hand it over to one of the officers.”

“What?” On that single word Carla sounded suddenly weak and vulnerable. Angela gingerly raised her head above the level of the back of the seat. The young woman stood halfway along the centre aisle. A sob escaped her, tears streamed down her face and she looked very much like the teenager she tried so hard to be. Three tall shapes stood at intervals along the back of the auditorium. Each of them held an automatic rifle pointing in her direction. Slowly, Carla turned and saw them. She gave another sob as she realized she was trapped.

She raised her gun high so they could all see it before she threw it away from her, among the rows of seats. Then she turned and raced down to the front towards Brendan.

“I did it for us, Bren!” she repeated. “I rescued you, so you would be grateful and fall in love with me. I knew how much he was getting to you. I had to do something so you and me could be together and be happy, like we’re meant to be! I know I can make you happy. I just needed the chance to show you. Then you’d see. You’d know too. But he refused me that chance. He refused me my destiny. I saved you, Bren!” She crumpled in a heap at his feet and the sound of her sobbing was the only noise in the shocked, stunned silence.

Angela looked across at Leanne and nodded, but even as Leanne moved towards Carla, Brendan stood up and gently
raised her up with him. A long procession of young women who thought they were the only ones who could make him happy had provided good training for this moment. “Carla, I had no idea how you felt. But what you did was wrong; very, very wrong. Come on,” he soothed. “Nobody can make someone else love them. This can’t be.”

Carla continued to sob, but more quietly now. She leaned in towards Brendan and he put his arms round her. “Oh, Carla,” he whispered, in a tone she’d probably longed to hear from him. “It’s all over now. You’re going to have to go with Leanne.” He looked at Leanne over Carla’s head and nodded. Leanne disengaged Carla and led her away.

Angela turned back to Jack. “You were very close to her, weren’t you?”

Jack opened his eyes wide. “Yes. I’m friends with her dad. I look out for her. I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Spare me,” replied Angela, with disdain. “We both know she didn’t do this alone. You’re an accessory, Jack, before, during and after the fact.”

“You’ll have trouble proving it.”

“I don’t think so. And I won’t have any trouble proving who was behind the ticketing scam.” She saw a momentary flicker of acknowledgment behind his eyes before his face hardened into impassivity. “Oh yes, we’ve got enough to go to court.” She looked towards Barry Grieves, who’d risen from his seat and was approaching her down the centre aisle. “You and your partner,” she said. “You had a prime position, didn’t you, Mr Grieves, standing in the foyer night after night, looking out at all the punters arriving, watching the touts go into action, noticing a system that worked slightly differently from the others?”

A look of alarm crossed the manager’s face. “I had nothing to do with the murder,” he said.

“I’m sure not,” she assured him. “That was something strictly between Carla and Jack. She, because – well, we all know her motive, don’t we?” She glanced back to the production manager. “You played on that, didn’t you, Jack? You played on her obsession with Brendan and ultimately used it to get rid of your business rival.” A flash of anger appeared in his eyes. She nodded. “Yes, it should have worked like magic, shouldn’t it? But at the end of the day, it’s all trickery and you forgot that, didn’t you? I worked out the final flourish, by the way. ‘H’ for Houdini.” Angela looked over to Jim and Rick and nodded. “You arrest him,” she said, turning away. “I’ve got a very nasty taste in my mouth.”

Some days later, Angela and Patrick entered the secluded room of a restaurant a short distance from the Apollo. Like Leanne, she and her team had been given guest tickets for Brendan’s charity concert and they’d decided to have dinner together first, as a way of celebrating a successful outcome to the case.

“Hey! It’s the boss-lady,” said Rick. He stood up and leaned over to the two empty places with a bottle of wine. “Red or white?”

“Red for me, please, Rick,” answered Angela, relinquishing her coat into the waiter’s care and making for one of the empty seats.

Once the order had been taken and everybody had a drink, Stanway stood up. “Before everyone gets a little merry,” he said. “I would like to propose a toast. Actually, it’s not a proper toast but I just want to say, ‘Well done, all of you.’ In following the trail of the murder you’ve uncovered two other very nasty crimes and I’m proud of you.” They all raised their glasses and a general murmur of “Cheers” and “Thank you, sir” could be heard echoing around the table. Stanway
turned towards Angela. “Sterling work, Angela; I have just one question.”

“Sir?”

“When we were involved in the mopping-up operation, I asked you how you fixed on Jack Waring at the end.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“You said that young man, Alex Lindsey, had fingered him as the man he’d given the disc to. That tied up with the ticketing scam, but you also said some ‘eureka’ moment for Gary blew the case open for you, showing you he couldn’t have done the actual deed. What was that all about?”

“Ah yes.” Angela looked round at them all. “You’ve all seen the mock-up of the scene and the photographs, so picture this; the night of the murder, right?”

“Right,” came the chorus.

“Gary hears the shot and goes rushing along to the stage door where he sees Brendan Phelan standing rigid and shocked and Oliver Joplin lying on the ground, dead. There’s a van almost blocking the stage door and a flight case on the pavement, waiting to be loaded onto the van.”

“It was full of equipment to be taken to the O2 for the charity gig,” said Gary.

“Almost immediately it starts to get very confusing. Don Buckley comes out of the theatre and is quite helpful; then a small crowd of other people turn up, who aren’t.”

“Mucho confusion,” murmured Rick.

“You’re not kidding,” added Gary, in a loud whisper.

“One of the other people turning up at that point is Jack Waring, pushing another flight case bound for the O2 and Gary, who’s on the phone to me at this moment, breaks off in the middle of our conversation and tells him to take it away again as he’s contaminating a murder scene. Gary then doesn’t take a lot of notice, his attention comes back to our
conversation and he also has to sort out a local CID officer who comes along to help secure the scene and then there’s all the argy-bargy of the rest of us turning up and getting on with things.”

“Quite a night, as I recall,” said Gary.

“Absolutely. Well, here’s where Jack was so cool. The original flight case was, in fact, empty. Carla, hidden under a couple of bin bags and a lighting gel on top of the van, killed Oliver and immediately jumped straight down into it, pulling the lid closed over her.”

“That’s the noise that I thought was the stage door banging to,” said Gary.

“So, as she’s hiding in there, all the kerfuffle starts and Jack turns up with the second flight case which he’s ordered to remove.”

“Ah!” said Patrick. “This is where the legerdemain comes into play.”

“Yes, Paddy; you’re right. In the few seconds Gary’s attention was deflected, Jack moved the new flight case into position behind the van and pushed the original one away.”

“So removing the murderer from the scene! Oh, how neat.” Stanway nodded. “You can almost admire the man’s colossal cheek, can’t you?”

“Almost,” agreed Angela.

“Why wouldn’t Brendan have seen what was going on?” asked Derek.

“Carla knew how wound-up Brendan got whenever he had to have one of these meetings,” replied Angela. “Oliver had told her – had boasted to her, probably – about how he’d got one of our biggest pop stars in the palm of his hand, and he’d become increasingly stressed by the whole blackmailing business. Well, we saw how shocked he was when we arrived, didn’t we?” Angela turned to Gary, who nodded. “I don’t think Brendan
was up to noticing anything beyond his own emotions at that point. In any case, even if he saw the shot fired he wouldn’t have been able to positively identify Carla. She would have just been a shape on top of the van that disappeared very quickly. And the noise he thought he might have heard he assumed to be the stage door banging shut as well.”

“Yes,” objected Stanway, “but you still haven’t explained how you realized all this.”

Angela looked at Gary. “Go on, Gary, you tell them.”

“That’s the ‘eureka’ moment. It was almost subliminal,” said Gary. “I didn’t realize I’d even seen anything until Derek and I did that mock-up and I just couldn’t get hold of the memory until I saw Patrick wheeling the hostess trolley across his dining room floor, and then it hit me. When Jack Waring pushed that flight case over to the van he huffed and puffed a bit and it slewed about a bit because of its weight. They can be worse than supermarket trolleys to manoeuvre. He certainly had difficulty controlling it – not surprising when we looked later and saw it full of heavy-duty cables and stuff. I just caught the tail end of him pushing the ‘same’ case back into the theatre and this time it was gliding smoothly across the pavement.”

“This one just contained a slip of a girl,” said Angela. “Carla Paterson, five feet two inches and all of seven stone, if that.”

“Of course… a girl in a box,” said Patrick.

“Exactly,” replied Angela. “And she obligingly left us quite a bit of DNA in that box for us to find.”

“Including one of those false fingernails,” said Gary.

“Even so,” said Rick, “he took a risk.”

“Yes, a fairly small one, though. As the production manager, he could probably assign everyone jobs that would keep them out of the area of the stage door.”

“Yes, but people don’t always do what they’re supposed to, do they?” countered Rick. “He couldn’t guarantee nobody wouldn’t nip out for a crafty cigarette or a breath of air.”

Gary nodded. “I expect he’d factored that in and could deal with something like that. But it was a sheer fluke that I was in the audience that night and just happened to be hovering around those gates at the relevant time. He had no way of knowing I’d be so distracted and turn away to try to block out the noise as he wheeled the flight case back inside. That’s when it got very chancy.”

“He certainly kept his cool,” said Angela. “It’s a shame about the criminal bent, because he’s someone you’d want on your side in a difficult situation.”

“And,” Stanway beamed round at them all, “I was totally justified in calling in the Armed Response Unit.” So pleased was he with himself, he didn’t notice all his fellow diners were avoiding each other’s eyes and trying not to laugh as the risible image of Alex Lindsey’s arrest swam into view. They’d all got a great deal of mileage out of this episode, and the mere mention of guns or firearms set them off again. That briefly tense and dramatic moment at the back of the supermarket had become known as the “Loaded Banana Showdown”, and after a very slight wrangle with her conscience, Angela had decided not to include this detail in the report of the incident.

It would remain their little secret.