The Late Greats (8 page)

I took a deep breath and walked into the office. Sarah sat in the far corner, working on her laptop. Don stopped what he was doing and stared at me.

‘Couldn’t be bothered to ring me, Joe?’ he said.

I apologised. ‘I should have called’ I said.

‘Too right you should have’ Don said. ‘What the fuck have you got us involved in here?’

Don rarely swore. Not that I needed a clue as to his anger. There was nothing I could say. I sat down and opened my laptop, connected to the Internet and went straight to the BBC homepage. News of Greg Tasker’s death had broken. Details were limited, but the information was out there. The fact the band were rehearsing for a reunion tour was now being widely reported. I wondered how much malice was behind the blow that killed him. It indicated an argument, but not excessive violence. Who hadn’t thrown a punch in anger or frustration? Usually the outcome was some minor damage. But not this time.

Don shook his head, stood up. ‘We’re finished with the job.’ He stood up and left the office.

Sarah and I sat in silence for a few moments until she spoke. ‘Long night?’

‘I was going to ring, but I didn’t want to disturb you.’ I told her what I knew about Tasker’s death. She’d read the media reports. She knew as much as I did. I wanted to speak to the engineer at Tasker’s studio again, hear his story firsthand. There was no mention of him on the studio’s website, and he wasn’t going to be there for the foreseeable future, certainly not until the police had finished their investigations there. Finding him could be a problem.

‘So that’s it for us? We’re finished with the job?’ Sarah asked.

I shook my head. ‘Not yet. I said I’d help.’ I explained why I’d involved Julia in the case. Sarah looked like she was going to object, but changed her mind. I shut my laptop down. ‘She has the contacts we don’t have’ I said. It probably sounded weak to her. ‘She can help us’ I said.

We lapsed back into silence. Neither of us had the inclination to push the matter any further. Maybe I was wrong, but it was too late to turn back now. I’d made promises to people. Sarah went back to her work. I knew the last big case we’d undertaken had almost been the final straw for Don. I’d brought trouble to his family’s door. Add to that a general lack of work, and he’d decided it was time to take a step back from the business. Being a former detective, he also had his police pension to fall back on, so he was comfortable. He didn’t need the bother. And I wasn’t his son, despite the sign above the door saying, ‘Ridley and Son Private Investigators’. He didn’t really owe me anything at all.

Whilst we’d been talking, I’d received a text message from Lorraine Harrison. She was in a cafe, a ten minute walk away. I decided the fresh air would do me good. I left Sarah with a list of people I wanted background checks done on and headed out of the office. Walking in, I spotted her slumped in the far corner, staring into space. I was surprised to see she was dressed for work.

‘I take it you’ve heard the news?’ I said, sitting down.

‘On the television this morning.’

I felt bad for not telling her myself. The smell of food reminded me I hadn’t eaten yet, so I ordered a bacon sandwich and coffee. She said she wasn’t hungry, her drink remained untouched. The cafe was hidden away down an old fashioned shopping arcade, just off the main shopping area. It came complete with Formica tables and sauces in plastic containers. A throwback to the days before the trendy cafe bars of Princes Avenue. I think I prefer things this way.

‘Are you on your way to work?’ I asked her.

‘I don’t think I can ask for a day off, do you?’

‘Fair enough.’ I asked her where she worked. She was a receptionist for a firm of solicitors.

‘I can’t let Jason know how upset I am about Greg’s death’ she said. ‘We had a massive row about him the other night. He won’t understand or care. In fact, he’ll no doubt be having a right good laugh about it all at the moment.’

‘It must be tough.’

‘I didn’t want to leave Jay all upset, either, but I needed to speak to you.’ She blew her nose and took a deep breath.

‘I’m glad you called me’ I said. ‘Greg’s parents have asked me to help out. Just to make sure the police don’t miss anything.’ I waited until I was sure I had her attention. ‘I need your help to do that. I need to know if Greg had any enemies. You’re probably the person who knew him best in this city. Did he ever mention anything to you?’

She shook her head. ‘He didn’t have any enemies.’

The waitress brought me my food and drink. It gave Lorraine time to rethink her answer.

‘Obviously he had at least one enemy, but why would anyone want to kill him?’ she said. ‘I know he had his problems with Priestley in the past’ she added.

There it was. I bit into my sandwich and told her to carry on. Priestley’s wife’s behaviour had intrigued me. Lorraine was reluctant, but I told her she wasn’t pointing the finger at him. The more background she could give me, the better picture of Greg’s life I could form.

‘When I met them, they were the best of friends. It was the time of my life, to be honest with you. I used to love listening to Greg talk about how they were going to be bigger than The Beatles. We’d go to Spiders every weekend and then on to a house party. I felt like I was on top of the world. It felt like they ruled the city. It’s hard to describe, but it was just inevitable. I knew they were going to make it. They were just too good not to.’

‘Did you see him when he moved away?’

‘Not really. He was always busy. It was relentless. I can’t deny it hurt when they left, but we always stayed in touch. We’d write to each other every week. He never forgot. Sometimes I’d get pages and pages from him, sometimes it was just a postcard, but we made the effort. It was only really when the band split up that the letters stopped.’

I let her reminisce for a short while before asking why Tasker had fallen out with Priestley.

‘The pressure. Major was always pushing them to do more. Despite what you think, Greg wasn’t cut out for that world and there was always more expected from him. He was the one doing the real hard work. Deep down, I don’t think he particularly enjoyed it. I think all of the living out of a suitcase, moving on from one city to another, took the fun out of it. It was just too much, but Major expected him to keep producing new songs. I can’t imagine many people thrive under those circumstances.’

‘But things changed?’

She nodded. ‘It all got too much for Greg in the end. He ran out of steam. He had writer’s block and couldn’t produce anything. Priestley didn’t need asking twice; he was straight in there with his own songs, taking over things.’

‘Greg didn’t like it?’

‘Of course he didn’t. It was his band, not Priestley’s.’

‘What did he do about it?’

‘He went into a downward spiral of drink and drugs. He had no confidence in himself. Although he eventually got his act back together, Priestley wanted to be the one calling the shots and Greg never felt comfortable trying to take the lead again. Part of me thinks it was just boys being boys, that they both wanted to be top dog, but Greg told me he was really freaked out by how much Priestley wanted control of things.’

‘What about Major?’ I asked. ‘I thought he was Greg’s mate?’

‘It was always about the money for him. He needed the band on the road and making records.’

‘But they stayed in touch after the band split up?’

‘So far as I know.’

‘They weren’t as close to Priestley?’

‘Definitely not’ she said.

‘Priestley’s wife said he was looking to the reunion as being a chance to right some wrongs, say a proper goodbye?’

‘I wouldn’t know about that.’

‘What did Greg want out of the reunion?’

She thought about my question. ‘I think he saw it as a chance to put the past behind him. He’d recorded a new solo album, which he was really proud of. It was a chance to start over.’

I could see that re-launching his solo career on the back of New Holland’s tour made sense. Especially if his previous work hadn’t been well received. It seems that there was plenty at stake for everyone.

The cafe was emptying. A few stragglers remained, making hot drinks last as long as possible.

‘You won’t tell his parents about me and Greg?’ she asked.

‘I won’t tell them’ I said. More secrets and lies.

You’re in a whirlwind of recording and touring. You move down to London. It’s the place to be. You’re sharing a flat in Camden with Kane. Only Priestley has decided to stay in Hull, preferring to travel down when he has to. You don’t understand his attitude. You want to make a great album, but you want to enjoy yourself as you do it. There’s alcohol, drugs and women on tap for you all. Kane joins in, encourages your behaviour. Even though the music press love you, you veer from outrageous self-confidence to crushing self-doubt. You push the thoughts to one side. There’s always another party to go to. You indulge in more alcohol, drugs and women. You play your first gigs in America. New York City. Your dream has come true, but this is like starting again. No one knows you, but you don’t care. You stand in front of the microphone like a giant. You feel like Manhattan is yours. The bright lights of Times Square are all for you. You return to the UK. Your single, ‘Welcome to Hell’, makes the top ten. You’re a star. There’s no place for you to hide now.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lorraine left
the cafe and headed to work, leaving me to finish my breakfast. I wasn’t sure what my next move was going to be, so I headed back to the office for another look through the printouts Sarah had prepared for me. There were no messages and my mobile was quiet. I searched around until I found the CD of New Holland’s third and final album. Glancing through the song writing credits, this was the one that saw Priestley take charge, contributing eight out of the eleven tracks. I only needed to hear the first two tracks to know the band was all but finished by then. Tasker was a spent force with a drug problem. I wasn’t surprised this was New Holland’s final album.

Next, I logged onto the Internet and made another attempt to track down Tasker’s studio engineer. This time I Googled the studio and trawled the message-boards until I found a mention of the man I wanted. Michael Rusting. I wrote his name down. I’d ask Sarah to work her magic.

I flicked through the folder of interviews and articles, which had been filed in chronological order for me. The lead interview to accompany the third and last album had been carried by a more highbrow music magazine. It was a million miles away from their early days as NME darlings. It didn’t make pleasant reading. Tasker and Priestley were jostling for position; the bickering embarrassing.

I put the printout down, switched off the music and put my head down on my desk. I was tired. I wondered what Debbie would make of Julia. More importantly, I wondered what she would make of my behaviour. I’d stopped wearing my wedding ring quite so regularly. At first it was only the occasional day without it, more to see how it felt. Now it was more like second nature not to wear it. It was another step in the never ending process of moving on. It’d be nice if I could pick up the phone and talk to somebody about it. I was still in contact with Debbie’s sister, but her husband had never been a friend, more someone who was just there. I’d had good friends when I’d played rugby, but following my injury, I’d not kept in touch with them. I glanced at the photograph I had on my desk of myself diving over for a match-winning try in a mid-1980s local derby. I wondered what the rest of the players had amounted to. It was professional sport, but it certainly wasn’t Premiership football; they’d all be out there somewhere in the city, working day jobs to pay the bills, just like Keith Tasker. Sarah shook me awake. I’d fallen asleep.

‘You can’t leave it alone, can you?’ she said, taking in the information on my desk.

I quickly came around. I conceded she was right, hoped she was more willing to help me now. I had to get to the truth. I explained about Lorraine’s affair with Tasker.

‘It’s not normal, is it?’ she said.

I had no answer. It was weird. ‘Love moves in strange ways’ I said. ‘They’ve known each other for years’ I offered by way of explanation before telling her I’d spoken to Priestley’s wife earlier in the day.

‘Not the man himself?’

‘He was out walking somewhere.’

‘Must be hitting him hard.’

‘His wife was quick enough to tell me he had an alibi for last night.’

‘Did you ask for one?’

‘No.’

She didn’t look impressed, but at least she was interested. ‘You think he was involved in Tasker’s death?’

I stood up and stretched. ‘Why not?’

She paused, like she was trying to justify an argument. I stopped her before she had chance to speak. ‘I’m just thinking aloud, more than anything.’ I turned back to my desk and started to gather my things. There were other people I wanted to talk to, but I’d definitely be speaking to Priestley again.

I headed back to my flat and jumped in the shower, turned the temperature to cold in an attempt to reinvigorate myself. I closed my eyes and let the ice cold jets hit me before jumping back out. It’d have to do. I drove to Siobhan’s boutique and parked up about a hundred yards from her shop and considered what my strategy should be. All I knew was that she could help me in some way. I could see two men in dark clothing sat in a car parked on the other side of the road. They were staring at me. DI Robinson’s team, no doubt. I wasn’t bothered by them. They could watch me all they liked, they weren’t going to stop me doing my job. The same sales assistant sat near the till. I asked her where Siobhan was. She quickly glanced across to what I assumed was the changing room before reverting back to me. ‘She’s not in at the moment.’

I walked across to the room. ‘I know you’re in there, Siobhan.’ I looked back at the girl. ‘Your assistant isn’t a good liar.’

I waited a few moments before calling out again. Siobhan walked out onto the shop floor. I smiled at her. She looked terrible, like she hadn’t slept.