The Late Greats (3 page)

I ended the call.

I left the office and headed to Sarah’s house.

‘Any luck?’ she asked me.

I shook my head and slumped into her settee. She’d invited me to her house once I was finished for the day. I was beginning to wish now I’d never taken the job from Major. Maybe she was right. It was going to involve a lot of late nights and already it was clear dealing with him and Julia Gowans was going to be my worst nightmare. ‘There’s no business like show-business’ I said.

‘And you don’t even like the band.’

‘I don’t mind their early stuff.’ It was becoming my stock answer.

‘That’s because you’re a music snob.’

I’d inherited my older brother’s record collection when he’d left home, so I was brought up on ska and punk. The Specials and The Clash in particular. Now my taste ran more to acoustic singer-songwriters. I asked if there was anything I could eat. Sarah went into the kitchen and came back out with lasagne and salad. I thanked her. There weren’t many friends prepared to cook for me.

‘You don’t think he’s done something stupid, do you?’ she asked me.

‘I don’t know.’ I was beginning to worry and Major hadn’t eased my fears any.

She told me about a couple of small jobs which had come in throughout the day. With me working exclusively for New Holland and Don slowly reducing his role within the partnership, Sarah was taking on more of the day to day jobs. She’d always been good at the work, but I suspected she’d got a real taste for it now. ‘I don’t think your dad is best pleased with me’ I said.

‘He thought it was going to be a straightforward job. No messing about’ she said.

I’d hoped so, too. ‘But it is what it is.’

She seemed to accept what I was saying. ‘What else have you got on your showbiz agenda?’ she asked me. ‘Entertaining Ms Gowans?’

I ignored her. Sarah put New Holland’s debut album on the stereo. She turned the volume down. Opening track, ‘Welcome to Hell’ had been their biggest hit, making the top three. I looked at the CD cover. It had been released in 1995, so the band had been lumped in with the burgeoning Britpop scene. To be fair, they were better than that. Five years later and a further two albums, it was all over for the band.

‘Have you looked through the press clippings I printed off for you?’ Sarah asked me.

She’d given me a full ring-binder of stuff to read. ‘Only briefly.’ I’d read the earlier ones, amazed at how arrogant Tasker had sounded in those days. The tone of the articles was patronising, like a band from Hull shouldn’t be expected to succeed, but he hadn’t done himself any favours, writing off almost every band that had gone before New Holland. I wondered how far his words had been twisted. Flicking through more printouts, I suspected not too much. Despite myself, I couldn’t help smiling at his words. He’d claimed that what good music there had been had come from the North. The South didn’t do anything for him. Not that it had stopped him moving down to London.

‘Have you read the more recent articles?’ Sarah said to me.

‘Not yet.’

‘There’s some stuff about the opening of his studio, basically saying how much he was looking forward to coming home, leading a quieter life and making the business a success. You know the kind of thing.’

I found the article. I quickly scanned it, but didn’t find anything else of interest. I turned back to the coverage of Tasker’s suicide attempt. It had happened just over five years ago, shortly after his solo comeback album flopped. I held the page up for Sarah. ‘Do you remember this at the time?’

‘Vaguely. I wasn’t that interested, to be honest.’

The BBC report said Tasker had taken an overdose of pills and made an emergency call for an ambulance.

‘Skip a few pages’ Sarah said, ‘there’s a couple of bits about the aftermath.’

I found them. Tasker had gone into rehab and received treatment for depression. Seemingly, he couldn’t come to terms with things.

I turned back to the more recent articles in the file. The photographs of Tasker showed he hadn’t aged well, but that he was still just about clinging to his rock star looks and haircut. I’d been thinking about things. I put the file to one side and called Major.

‘Any news?’ he asked me.

‘No.’ It hadn’t been that long since I’d spoken to him. ‘I need to talk to the band properly’ I said. ‘Steve Priestley in particular.’

‘Why?’

‘He might know something. Something he didn’t want to tell you.’ Priestley had been Tasker’s long-standing co-songwriter in the band. They’d been friends back then.

‘I’ll sort it. First thing tomorrow’ he said.

‘Good.’ I terminated the call and turned to Sarah. ‘Gut feeling?’

She sat down next to me. ‘If the band’s about to reform, why would he kill himself? It doesn’t make sense.’

That was the way I saw things, too. Unless something came to light to suggest otherwise, I was treating Greg Tasker as missing, but nothing more than that.

‘They should go to the police’ she said.

I shrugged. ‘It’s Major’s call.’ I’d been thinking it over. Sarah was right, but it wasn’t a situation I could force. There was no guarantee the situation would be taken seriously. That said, crossing your fingers and hoping for the best wasn’t the way it should be handled.

Sarah yawned and looked at her watch. I took the hint and stood up. Looked for my coat.

‘Your brother called the office earlier’ she said.

‘Niall?’

‘Have you got another?’

‘What did he want?’

‘Said to just give him a call sometime, you know, like families sometimes do.’

‘Ok.’ I started to make a move, but I didn’t want to go back to my flat yet. I could make last orders at Queens if I was quick. It was where I always retreated to when I needed to think.

CHAPTER THREE

Major called
me at lunch time to tell me Priestley would be expecting me at the rehearsal room on Bankside. Music is a nocturnal business, so I’d spent the morning in the office, trying to get a handle on where Tasker might be. I’d read articles, looking for any clue or hint of a favourite place. I called a handful of associates who can usually help with missing persons, but they hadn’t called back yet. The reality is that it’s easy enough to disappear if you really want to. I was frustrated and getting nowhere. I shut my laptop down and headed out to meet Priestley. If you walked in a line from my office, out of the Old Town and along the River Hull, you’d find the area. It was nice to know some of the buildings still had a purpose, even if they weren’t the important warehouses where goods were once docked. The building I was looking for backed directly onto the water. It was nondescript from the outside, but that had probably been the attraction for the band. If you weren’t looking, you wouldn’t notice the place. I found the door around the side of the building and walked in. No one there. The instruments were neatly set up on the stage, untouched and quiet.

‘Joe?’

I turned around and nodded. Steve Priestley. ‘Nice to see you again.’ He was about forty years old, like Tasker, but time had been kinder to him. He’d probably looked after himself better over the years.

‘I’m the first here’ he said, pointing me towards a pair of plastic chairs. ‘Any luck in finding him?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Right.’ Priestley nodded. ‘Kane said you wanted to talk to me.’

I sat down and asked him if he was looking forward to the reunion.

‘Of course.’

‘Honestly?’

He smiled. ‘I want us to record some new stuff, but that’s a way off yet. I can’t say I’m looking forward to the media side of things. No offence, but having people like you and Julia tagging along isn’t my idea of what it’s all about.’

It was understandable. I knew he lived on a farm, well away from the city. A rural retreat. I turned to business. ‘Did Greg say anything about going away? Drop any hints?’

Priestley shook his head. ‘I’d have told Kane if he had.’

‘Was he troubled in any way?’

He thought about my question. ‘I wouldn’t have said so. But maybe he was putting an act on, so he didn’t look weak in front of us, I don’t know. It still feels like we’re circling each other, finding our feet, if you know what I mean? It’s been a long time since we played together. Maybe he was actually full of confidence.’ He picked up his mug of tea. ‘I can’t read him that well. I don’t know how he thinks.’

‘What’s your relationship like?’

‘We don’t really have one. Those days are gone. Until Kane contacted us about the possibility of a reunion, I don’t think I’ve spoken to Greg for six or seven years. I always knew what he was doing through the Internet and stuff, but we never actually made contact. It’s what this business does to you. It builds you up, tells you you’re the best thing in the world and then it demolishes you. And some things don’t survive it.’ He swallowed the last of his tea. ‘Our friendship was one of them.’

I wasn’t surprised by what he said. It fitted with what I’d read in the pack Sarah had given me. After I’d left Queens, I’d stayed up late flicking through it. The music industry was littered with such stories. I hesitated, then asked the question that needed asking. ‘Do you think he’s done anything silly?’

‘Because he’s tried to kill himself before?’

‘Maybe the pressure was too much?’

‘I really wouldn’t know. He was my best friend a long time ago, but too much has happened since. We didn’t split on good terms. His problems were too much for us. We couldn’t continue. I’m sorry he took it so hard, but there wasn’t anything I could do.’

I understood what he was saying. I’d played professional rugby league before injury finished me, just as I was getting started in the game. The margins of error were so small, there was always the chance that however well you did your own job, your team-mates could let you down. You need them to be strong.

‘So you wouldn’t have any idea where he might have disappeared to?’ I asked.

‘Assuming he hasn’t changed that much, he’s probably sleeping a binge off, or holed up somewhere recording some new songs on his own. That’s the way he used to work. He’d disappear for a few days and then turn up like nothing was wrong, like we were all supposed to just deal with it. Used to drive me mad.’

That was what Siobhan had told me. I asked him if he’d met Tasker’s girlfriend.

‘He told us about her when we first rehearsed a couple of weeks ago, but I’ve not met her.’

I asked Priestley about Lorraine and her website.

He told me he knew her. ‘She was a fan from the start. Coming to the early gigs and supporting us. She even used to jump in the van with us and sell demo tapes and T-shirts at gigs.’

‘Kane said she was a bit weird, that she can’t let the past go.’

‘We were happy enough to use her when we needed a hand, but once we became more professional, we got rid of her without a second thought. I still feel bad about that. She did nothing wrong.’

‘Do you think she’s still in touch with Greg?’

‘I wouldn’t really know. Maybe they’ve rekindled their relationship? I know they stayed in touch, even when he moved down to London.’

I was surprised. ‘Rekindled their relationship?’

Priestley picked up his guitar. Started to tune up. ‘They were an item before we left Hull. Kane used to hate it.’

I went back to the office and looked over the paperwork Sarah had left out for me. She’d also left me a sandwich. As I ate, I wondered how a famous man simply disappears. Clearly, there was plenty about Tasker I still didn’t know, not least his private life. My mobile vibrated on the table. I looked at the display – Sarah.

‘I’ve got an email for you from Lorraine Harrison, the woman who runs the New Holland website’ she said. I listened as Sarah summarised it for me before finding a pen in my pocket to take the details down. I didn’t know if Lorraine would lead me directly to Tasker, but she was the best lead I had. I must have been lost in thought, as I didn’t hear Julia Gowans walk into the office.

She sat down opposite me and smiled. ‘What’s new?’

‘Nothing.’

‘No need to be so defensive. It really doesn’t suit you, Joe. We’re all friends here.’

She had that glint in her eye again. I couldn’t decide whether she was flirting with me or not. I was out of practice on that front.

‘I’m not being defensive.’ It was the best I could manage.

‘Have you spoken to Kane?’

‘Not since this morning.’

‘Did he tell you Greg is missing, nobody knows where he is?’

I tried not to show my surprise. There was nothing I could say. I stalled for time, taking another bite of my sandwich, hoping she would go away. It wasn’t the best of plans.

She continued. ‘Are you telling me you’ve not been running around trying to find him?’

What kind of investigator was I? She knew at least as much as me. ‘What makes you think he’s missing?’ I said.

She smiled at me. ‘Cut the shit, Joe. You’ve got two choices here. We can either work together or I can file the story right now. Kane will no doubt tell you there’s no story yet, but don’t believe him. There’s always a story. You need to choose the first option. You need to find Greg and it looks like you need all the help you can get.’

We headed out of the office to my car. Major wasn’t going to be happy, but I’d weighed the situation up. There was no choice: I’d told Julia she was in. A story now about Tasker’s disappearance would be damaging. I was trying to control the situation. Major would surely see that. As we drove, I asked her how she knew Tasker was missing. She said she’d spoken to Michael Rusting, the man at Greg Tasker’s studio. He’d happily told her about our conversation the previous day.

‘What do you think?’ I asked. She knew what was going on, so there was no avoiding the big question. I kept my eyes on the road.

She said she had no idea. ‘Until the interviews I did with him last week, I hadn’t spoken to him for years. Certainly not since the New Holland days.’

I was surprised. ‘I thought you were closer than that.’

‘We go back, but it’s not the same thing. He was off touring the world with the band. I was trying to make a go of things with my job. It was good enough for my paper, though. They think I’m in some sort of inner circle, so I got the job.’