A fatal end, p.14
A Fatal End, page 14
He saw Martin look at the young Welshman without much enthusiasm as it dawned on him that Titus had been speaking about the Rainbirds.
‘He’ll be great as a back-up singer too, as he’s good at harmonising,’ Titus added smoothly.
‘I don’t think the band needs another member,’ a cold female voice cut in, and Titus felt his hackles rise as Jenny Wren, who’d come down to be with her man and join in the celebration of the Rainbirds’ return, slipped around them and settled down in Martin’s lap.
The bass player gave her a happy leer and said something slightly ribald to Martin, who merely smiled abstractedly. He was still looking at Ewan thoughtfully. ‘Jenny’s right, you know. You heard us up there tonight – the four of us sounded good.’
‘Yes, you did,’ Titus said at once, far to wily to contradict him openly in front of the other members of the band. ‘But five is a better fit for you, I think. Gives you more range and scope. And like I said, I think Ewan is going to be good for you guys. Trust me, I know how to make you more marketable.’
Jennifer Renfrew looked daggers at Titus, who shrugged elaborately. She knew his game all right. As if she was going to let this good-looking young interloper into the band now! ‘The fans seem to like the band just as it is. Didn’t you hear them cheering?’ she challenged.
‘Sure,’ Titus said, determinedly holding on to his smile. ‘But they’re just a small bunch, in a small club, in a small town. If you want to make it big – in London, hell, maybe even in America, you need to widen your appeal.’
Jenny’s hand curled around Martin’s forearm protectively, but the truth was, she was in something of a quandary. She knew this man had the contacts to give the Rainbirds their best shot at fame. But she also knew he was a shark who would fleece them for all they had, if they weren’t careful.
‘If you want my help, you need to take my advice,’ Titus said more firmly now, ignoring Jenny’s hard stare, and looking Martin in the eye. Soft-soaping his stars was all part and parcel of his business, but he knew that sometimes you had to remind them who was boss. Who the brains was and who wielded the power behind the scenes. And it was time Martin understood that he would need to toe the line. ‘I know what I’m talking about. I know what the movers and shakers in the music world are looking for. I know what image I can sell. You’ve got the voice and you can write the songs, but that’s not enough. There are hundreds of bands out there who can say the same. If you want me to take you on and push you to the top, I gotta know you’re gonna be smart and work with me. Otherwise, what’s the point?’
Unspoken in the air lay the threat that Titus could always find another band with just a click of his powerful fingers.
Marty sighed and backed down – just as Titus had known he would. ‘Fine, we’ll give him an audition,’ he said casually. He winced as Jenny’s fingernails dug deeply into his arm, but wisely, she said nothing.
But as Titus smiled and accepted a glass of unwanted beer from the keyboard player, he knew that Jenny Wren was maybe going to be even more of a problem than he’d originally hoped. Her long, level, hard gaze told him as much.
She wasn’t going to want a rival in the band who might steal Marty’s limelight – as, if all went to plan, Ewan was sure to do. He understood it, could even admire it, in a way. She was protecting her man, and her meal ticket.
But he wasn’t about to let the little schemer get in his way. She might think she could wrap Martin Cuthbertson around her little finger – and maybe she could, in one way. Beautiful women had always been able to lead men around like a bull with a ring through its nose. Hadn’t history taught them that? But he’d seen another kind of hunger in the lead singer’s eyes just now, when Titus had mentioned helping them make it to the big time. And that was a hunger for fame. Riches. Success. A hunger to get away from being a nobody and become a somebody.
And he had the feeling that pretty Jenny Wren wasn’t going to find it as easy to control her man as she thought. Once Ewan was ensconced in the band, and the contracts were all signed, he’d make sure that Ewan kept him apprised of everything that went on in the band. He’d owe him, after all, and Titus would make it clear that he expected his loyalty. And if, as usually became inevitable, the band eventually cottoned on to the fact that he was raking in most of the profits, and started to become troublesome, he wanted to know all about it well in advance.
And if anybody became really annoying and started making too much fuss, they could always be ‘voted’ out of the band. Nobody was indispensable, after all.
And nobody got in the way of Titus and his profits.
*
On the dance floor, the next act was belting out more noise than melody, and Trudy had managed to shake off Duncan, who’d gone off in search of other prey.
He’d noticed two young-looking girls, who were nervously staying close to a wall and chatting only to each other. One of them – a thin, small little thing – looked as nervous as a cat at a dog show and the other, bigger girl looked distinctly star-struck. Duncan guessed it was probably her first time at a club.
He made his way to them without any real hopes of success, but something incongruous – and slightly touching – about their obvious innocence intrigued him. They were not the usual kind of rebellious teenager he associated with places like this. He saw them look at him nervously as he approached, as if unable to believe he’d noticed them at all and unsure what to do. Simultaneously, they abruptly stopped speaking to each other and watched him with wide, nervous eyes. Both were wearing glasses, and a look of mixed alarm and repressed excitement passed between them as he came to a halt in front of them.
‘Hello, ladies,’ he said, amused to think of himself as the big bad wolf – which was clearly how they’d tagged him. Not wanting to disappoint them, he smiled widely. ‘You two haven’t danced all evening. Can’t have that – if the rest of the young men in here are blind as well as stupid, I’m neither.’
Both blushed to the roots of their hair. ‘Now, which of you can I persuade to give me a dance first?’
Delia gulped and without hesitation, pushed her friend under the bus. ‘My friend, here. Hilda. She said she’s been wanting to dance all night long.’
‘Have not!’ Hilda squeaked, but looked thrilled and terrified in equal measure as the handsome, older man held out his hand.
In a daze, she allowed the vaguely amused man to lead her out into the writhing mass that was ‘dancing’ to the wail of electric guitars.
Delia watched them go, not sure whether to be relieved or jealous, and wished that her headache would go away. She was really beginning to feel unwell now. She should never have let Hilda persuade her to come back here. She knew it was a mistake.
She made up her mind then and there that it was time to leave. She’d finish her drink and then go. Hilda would be all right on her own. The last bus home wasn’t for an hour yet, and she probably wouldn’t want to leave early anyway. Besides, Delia reasoned spitefully, now that her friend had her handsome dance partner to distract her, Hilda probably wouldn’t even notice that she had left.
Out on the dance floor, Duncan watched his companion with detached amusement. ‘Your first time here?’ he asked.
Hilda immediately looked horrified. ‘Oh no! Can you tell? Is it that obvious?’ She looked so appalled that Duncan had to laugh.
‘Only a little! But it doesn’t matter. So what made you decide to come tonight?’
‘Oh, Delia, my friend. She comes here all the time, and I just wondered what it was like, that’s all, so I decided to come with her this time.’
Duncan cast a look in Delia’s direction. ‘For someone who’s come out to have a good time, she doesn’t look very happy, does she?’ he said thoughtfully, taking in the girl’s drooping posture and the quick, nervous glances she kept darting around.
Hilda frowned. ‘No. I know. I don’t know what’s up with her. She’s been moping a lot just lately.’
Duncan didn’t think that particularly surprising or noteworthy. He remembered his own teenage years, when his moods were all over the place.
‘So who’s your favourite band?’ he asked.
‘Oh, the Rainbirds. Well, I mean they’re Delia’s,’ Hilda amended. ‘She’s in love with the drummer. I don’t really know that many groups, but I liked their songs tonight …’
Hilda suspected she was blathering, but couldn’t seem to stop herself. It was like a fantasy come true – go to the club and have this gorgeous older man pick her out and dance with her. She could see, now that they were being forced to dance close together and all but shout in each other’s ears, that he had green eyes. She’d never met anyone with green eyes before. And he was so handsome.
She felt a little bit breathless just looking at him. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked daringly.
‘Rudolph, like the red-nosed reindeer,’ Duncan teased her with a grin. ‘So, if your friend’s a Rainbirds fan, she must be pretty cut up about their lead singer dying.’ Even though his dance partner seemed a non-starter as a source of information, it wasn’t in his nature not to try out even the least little lead to see if it might lead him somewhere.
‘Oh, she is. She was actually here … you know … the night he died.’
Clearly Hilda found this fact thrilling, but to Duncan it meant nothing. Most of the people in the room could say the same thing. He nodded. ‘Don’t suppose she ever got to speak to him?’ he persisted half-heartedly.
‘I don’t think so,’ Hilda said, frowning thoughtfully. ‘But she did say, once, that she had this plan all made up, where she could get close enough to talk to that drummer she fancies on his own.’
Duncan perked up a little at this. ‘Oh? What sort of plan?’
‘Oh, I dunno.’ Hilda shrugged. ‘Something about sneaking in the back way or something.’
Duncan turned to look at the now far more interesting Delia, and with a start, saw that her space by the wall was empty. ‘Where’s she gone?’ he said out loud.
Hilda’s head swivelled in the same direction, and she felt a lance of alarm shoot through her to see that Delia had gone. ‘She’s probably just gone to the loo,’ she said hopefully. It was one thing to be here with a friend, but it was another thing to be here all alone.
Duncan nodded. But throughout the dance, and then the next one, he kept his eye on the vacant spot near the wall. And so did Hilda.
But Delia didn’t return.
It wasn’t much, but Duncan thought it odd enough to make a note. It was easy enough to charm Delia’s full name out of Hilda and get an idea of where both she and her now absent friend lived. And when Hilda grew visibly more restless and worried at being abandoned, the hardened newspaper reporter found himself touched enough to walk the girl from the club and wait with her at the bus stop.
Ten minutes later, Hilda was still waving forlornly at him through the window of the departing bus as he turned and made his way back to the club.
With a bit of luck, he thought, he might manage to get another dance out of a certain pretty police constable.
Chapter 23
When the club finally closed that night, Trudy and Vincent briefly compared notes and had to admit defeat. Neither one of them had come up with anything worth writing home about. She told Vincent that she’d have to put her thinking cap on overnight, and then meet up and discuss things with his father to see if they could come up with some new ideas to advance the case. She also let him drive her home, but once at her house, thanked him hastily and hopped out before he could say much more that a startled and quick ‘goodnight’.
Duncan Gillingham left the club in a fairly bad mood, not having got his second dance with Trudy Loveday. The club closed up – the doors were locked, the shutters came down and the lights were turned off. Walton Street became quiet once more.
The big doorman, David Deane, said goodnight to his boss, Felix, who was busy greedily counting the night’s takings in his office. He left by the back alley. He went straight to his old Norton motorbike, and drove east, making his way through the less salubrious parts of the city of dreaming spires to a small, terraced house, in a dark, narrow street.
There he parked his bike on the pavement and let himself into the small communal hall. The house, even as small as it was, was divided into four so-called flats, and his tread was heavy on the stairs as he shifted his bulk upwards on the uncarpeted stairs.
He paused outside one of the doors off the landing and put his ear to the wood. All was quiet. Good. Patty wasn’t ‘entertaining’. He knocked softly on the door and a few moments later, it was opened cautiously.
Patty Nesbitt looked at the big man smiling at her and sighed, pulling open the door. ‘Come in, Davey,’ she said, a shade wearily. She’d had a long but not particularly profitable day, and the last thing she needed was this big lug coming around with that look on his face.
On the other hand, he liked to think of himself as her boyfriend, and amiable though he usually was – in spite of his size – it wouldn’t be smart of her to give him any reason to start believing otherwise. In her line of work, having a big and known bruiser for a boyfriend came in very handy. Although Dave’s primary job was to keep the peace at the Bootleggers, most of her clients were aware of who he was, and thus were careful to treat her with respect.
It paid to keep him sweet.
With a happy smile, Dave reached inside his leather jacket and withdrew a bottle of gin he’d filched from the bar. He knew that Felix was well aware that he sometimes helped himself to the odd bottle or two, but Dave looked on it as part of his wages, and since he never said anything, so – presumably – did his boss.
Patty perked up a bit at the sight of the booze. ‘I’ll get some glasses. What a day I’ve had. How was the club tonight?’ she asked chattily. She wasn’t about to go back to the Bootleggers any time soon, of course, but she wanted to keep an ear to the ground about what was happening there.
‘Not a bad night. The takings were up a little, I’d guess by the numbers that came through the door,’ Dave said, taking off his leathers and slouching back on Patty’s second-hand sofa. It squeaked a little under his weight, but it had been sturdily built. ‘That band that lost their singer, the one who took a header down the stairs, they were up and playing again tonight. From what I could hear, they sounded good as ever. I reckon most of the extra punters only came because they read about the death in the club. Proper lot of ghouls, people, have you noticed?’ He opened and took a swig from the bottle, unwilling to wait for a glass, and belched. ‘Not that I reckon that bloke dying did them any harm. That bigwig is still sniffing around ’em and still looks keen enough to sign ’em up.’
Patty returned with the glasses and took the bottle from him, pouring them both a healthy dollop, all the while being careful to look casual. ‘Sounds like it’s all business as usual then?’ she murmured, sitting half on his lap, half on the rest of the sofa. She knew he liked it when she snuggled against him.
‘Yeah. Mind you, the boss ain’t particularly happy,’ Dave mused lazily. He was a Birmingham boy, born and bred, but had come to Oxford years ago ‘on loan’ to Felix from a fellow club owner back in Brum, and had somehow never returned to the country’s second biggest city.
Not that he minded. Oxford was a queer place, with too many push-bikes, and at certain times of year, you stumbled across fellas in them fancy colourful gowns that meant they were something big in the university, but Dave didn’t mind the eccentricities. The youngest of a huge family, he was used to just getting along. It was smarter that way. Like on the door – he seldom had to get physical, preferring to talk a drunk down, or reason with some obstreperous young student who thought the world owed him a living. Mind, he could get rough if need be, but there was never anything personal in it, with Dave.
‘Oh? What’s he got to be upset about then?’ Patty said bitterly. ‘He’s sitting in clover. He’s got a cushy job, and plenty of hangers-on to do any dirty work that needs doing for him without him sticking his neck out. He’s got it made.’
Having to do that dodgy favour for Felix still rankled. As if she liked touching a dead body!
Dave, oblivious to his companion’s angst, merely shrugged. Felix was the boss, and as long as he kept the money coming in, everyone was happy. That’s how life worked. Why kick against it? And if Felix fell down on the job, he’d be replaced quickly enough. What did it matter to him who he worked for so long as he could eat good, had a pretty girlfriend like Patty to keep him warm on a winter’s night, and had a decent roof over his head. He took a swig of the neat gin – this time from the glass Patty had given him – and sighed contentedly.
‘I mean it,’ Patty said, seeing from the sleepy look in the big man’s eyes that he’d nod off on her if she didn’t poke him a bit – and she was unwilling to let her grievances go. Besides, she needed to know what might be going on with the slippery, always dangerous nightclub manager. ‘What’s he unhappy about?’ she demanded.
Ever since she’d had to do Felix that favour on the night Ray Reason died, she’d known that she was going to have to tread carefully for a while. And Felix’s unnecessary warning to her to keep her mouth shut had been playing on her mind.
If something was in the air, she needed to know about it.
‘Dunno,’ Dave roused himself to say, putting a meaty hand on her thigh and squeezing it suggestively. Patty gave it a quasi-affectionate pat. ‘I think he don’t like having the cops nosing around the place. Don’t sit right, does it? Stands to reason.’
Patty almost shot off his lap in alarm at this, but forced herself to relax back against him. ‘Cops?’ she repeated super-casually. ‘What do you mean? Why are there cops at the club? I thought Felix kept everything under the radar?’
‘Relax,’ Dave said with a grin. ‘I don’t mean flatfoots in uniform, raiding the place and frightening the fish. Hell, if the club had been raided, I’d be in the nick now, wouldn’t I?’ he said, trying to reassure her. It was funny what women worried about. ‘Nah, it’s just some female copper dressed in civvies, sniffing around and asking questions. She’s something to do with that man who deals with dead people and stuff. They came to the boss’s office before, but he wouldn’t play ball. Then they came back earlier today, and next thing I know, he tells me when this female copper turns up at the club tonight, I’m to turn a blind eye.’
