Cherringham--Killer Track

by Matthew Costello

  The boy now changing schools in Manchester. And then — nothing. No records. No football stories. No school registration.

  Both parents apparently gone.

  But a link to anything that could have inspired the Phoenix?

  Nothing.

  Until, Daniel at her shoulder, watching, keeping her company, said: “A big fire — like in the song? That would have to be front-page news, right?”

  She turned to him.

  “Of course.” She looked at her son in thanks. Gave his hand a squeeze.

  She used every combination of search words, scouring the Manchester press and websites, both big and small, focusing on the summer when eleven-year-old Ryan Crocker’s life seemed to turn inside out.

  *

  Jack reached the area in front of the Valley Stage just as Unlost were finishing their sound check.

  He could see hundreds of people had already grabbed their place on the grass, a buzz of anticipation for the new headliners — with more people drifting over from the other stages so they didn’t lose out on a good spot.

  Up on the stage he saw Alfie, Ryan and Jess setting up, the stage crew checking gear, mikes being adjusted, cables plugged.

  At the side of the stage he spotted a couple of members of Lizard, seated on cabinets, chatting. And Jamie, their guitar tech watching on.

  He caught Jamie’s eye, gave a nod. Jamie smiled — waved back, then Jack turned and drifted into the crowd.

  He’d finally given up on the list from Becky. Too many gaps — and maybe too late to follow up.

  But there was one thing he’d noticed from the logs that could be key: Declan Welch had passed through the security gate, and on into the artists’ area the night of the van fire — more than once.

  So he’d lied about that. Why?

  Would Declan be here now, tonight, watching? If so, Jack needed to find him.

  For now, though, he knew there was nothing else he could do but stay near the stage, watch the crowds, look out for anything unusual — and hope Sarah got lucky.

  *

  Just when she thought she would have to give up — Sarah found it. The story of a fire right there, as if a mirror of the words of the Unlost song. Right at the start of that summer when Ryan’s life had terribly, brutally, changed direction.

  A giant hulking gas depot, abandoned, save for so very much inside that could easily catch fire, burn quickly. A disaster should anyone be caught inside.

  And then the terrible part of the story.

  There was someone in the building: a young boy, trapped by the crashing and burning girders, and the collapsing walls of the dilapidated building. A fire that, according to the police, he had set, and that consumed him.

  The boy’s name — Liam Keane, just eleven years old.

  Sarah kept all the files she found about Ryan open as she dug deeper into the story.

  The discoveries now coming almost too fast. That depot, just a few hundred yards from Ryan’s school, and right near where he lived.

  And in a follow-up article, some woman who had called the police said she saw “two of them kids climbing the gates of the depot”.

  Them. Two people.

  And yet, only one body had been found, one young teenager trapped in the maelstrom.

  That fact, and what it might mean, hit Sarah hard.

  The thought: two kids seen — and one died.

  The identity of the other kid — a mystery.

  But then the thought: How does this connect to Ryan now? To Unlost? To Cherringfest?

  She knew that only one person could answer these questions.

  Ryan himself. And even though he and the band were about to go on stage for the most important gig of their lives — Sarah knew she had no choice.

  She had to ask him. Had to tell him what she had discovered.

  She picked up her phone, hit Jack’s number.

  “Sarah,” he said, though she could barely hear his voice over the noise from the crowd around him.

  “Jack — you hear me?”

  “Just.”

  “Okay. I made the connection. It’s Ryan all right — when he was a kid — a big fire, and somebody died—”

  *

  Jack huddled against the side of the control tent, phone pressed tight against his ear, and listened as Sarah explained what she’d uncovered.

  All around him, the crowd chanting for the band to hit the stage.

  “What are you going to do?” he said, when she’d finished.

  “We need to talk to Ryan — now. Maybe he’ll tell us what happened, maybe we’ll get a name.

  “Good idea,” said Jack. But then, he saw and heard the crowd around him erupt. He looked up — to see Alfie, Ryan and Jess walking onto the Valley Stage, and heard the hum of speakers coming to life.

  “Oh no,” said Sarah, and Jack guessed she could see on her monitors that Unlost’s set was about to start.

  “Yep. Too late.”

  “No, not too late. Send me the lists, Jack, I’ll carry on searching. You watch the stage. And Jack — stay safe.”

  Jack laughed. “Thanks for the reminder. Minute you got anything — better text me. Don’t think I’ll be able to hear you.”

  He quickly forwarded the email with the list of names to Sarah, then he clicked the phone off, slid it into his pocket.

  He looked up, the stage in darkness, the clouds above now heavy, a feeling in the air that bad things were about to happen.

  To the side, the production manager, Becky, headset on, stepped out of the sound tent and came over to him.

  “Jack,” she said, “anything wrong?”

  Jack could tell that she was worried. The Unlost set not even started; but until it ended — anything could happen.

  Then — a raindrop, big, a spatter — on his forehead. And another.

  “Great,” Becky said. “Just what we need.”

  Now to add to Jack’s difficulty scanning the crowd, plastic ponchos appeared, all different colours, but most looking like dark shapes in the scant light.

  Then those random heavy drops turned steady. And Jack knew it wouldn’t take long for the field to quickly turn into a slippery, muddy mess.

  “This normal for you, Jack? Situation like this? Looking over everything, just waiting?”

  “’Fraid so.”

  “And usually … goes okay? Get your suspect and all that?”

  Without any humour Jack said, “Sometimes.”

  But before she could say any more, the whole stage lit up with a burst of white light and Jack saw Ryan step forward to the mike, arms aloft and shout out, the words booming through the PA system.

  “Hello … Cherringham!”

  And again, the crowd erupted, and then it was mayhem as Unlost jumped straight into their first number, a power track loud enough — Jack wished — to drive the rain way.

  *

  Sarah opened the list on the computer. Over her shoulder, Daniel looked on. Even here in the Press tent, the sound of Unlost on the big stage was making the tables vibrate.

  Such a long list of names on the screen in front of her — hundreds. And next to the names — home addresses, emails, numbers, company names, bands, manager details, labels, PR.

  Somewhere in here, there had to be a link to Ryan. The fire. Manchester.

  Had to be.

  Sarah forced herself to go slowly. The names not organised by band, but alphabetically — with the band affiliation after.

  She used her finger to force herself to be careful.

  Moving down the list.

  Her heart beating fast. Rain spatters hitting the tent canvas.

  With the idea: Was Ryan Crocker the second kid who went inside that abandoned building?

  Then, her finger sliding to the bottom of the page, a mouse click bringing a second page, mid-alphabet, all the names meaningless.

  *

  As Unlost got into their set, Jack moved around the edge of the crowd, watching.

  He wi
shed he could have enjoyed this — the young band seizing their chance, taking this rain-sodden crowd with them on a roller-coaster — but he had work to do out here.

  As he came round by the food trucks, he spotted Declan Welch, in what looked like a spanking new Lizard jacket, talking to some of the other cleaning crew.

  Jack walked over and — still feet away — Declan turned, shook his head.

  “Wot? Bloody hell. You again?”

  “Look Declan, been thinking. You know, how you said you never went into the artists’ area? Hate to say this, but got a nagging feeling you’re not telling us everything.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?”

  At this Declan turned to the men he had been talking with a head bob that said: watch this.

  And so fortified, Declan turned back to Jack, took a step forward and then, quite amazingly, planted his meaty right hand on Jack’s chest.

  “Well pal, you can take your nagging feeling, and just—” With the next words, accompanied by a push. “Bugger off!”

  While Jack had hoped — as he always did — that this chat would go down easily, his old instincts kicked in quickly.

  He reached towards Declan’s upper right arm, and — in a move that took a mere second — he had twisted that arm around, also making Declan spin, then yelp, as Jack kept it, quite easily, locked in a moderately painful position.

  “So, as I was saying, how about you tell me more about what you were up to the night that van went up in flames?”

  The other men, seeing the scene turn like this, had drifted away.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  And Declan nodded as Jack — not too quickly — released the pressure on the twisted arm, and gave Declan a moment to shake it off.

  “That hurts, that really hurts,” he said.

  “It was meant to,” said Jack. “Nice jacket, by the way.”

  “This?” said Declan nodding to his new top, then he grinned. “Yeah, cool huh? Got it off.”

  Then he stopped dead.

  “Don’t want to incriminate yourself, huh?” said Jack. “Let me guess. Your little trips in and out of that area — you were dealing, yeah?”

  “Dealing? I dunno what the hell you’re talking—”

  Jack quickly gripped Declan’s arm again, pushed him backwards against a wire fence.

  “Look — I don’t have time for this. Yes or no?”

  “Okay, okay, yes!”

  Jack released his hold.

  “And this little gift from Lizard — they doing the buying?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Taylor?”

  “Eh? No. Jamie.”

  Jack paused to think for a second. Jamie hadn’t pitched his meeting with Declan as a deal — he’d made it all sound like an innocent fan’s meet.

  In other words, Jamie lied.

  “So, Jamie runs the deals for Lizard?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That why he met up with you yesterday?”

  “Yesterday? Um. I dunno. No, that was, er, something else.”

  “Go on. What else?” said Jack, now not knowing where this was going.

  “Said he needed some gear urgently. For the Lizard show? Asked me if I knew where to get hold of it.”

  “What kind of ‘gear’? From what I see, they got truckloads of gear.”

  “They got bounced from playing tonight, remember? So, you see, Jamie said Lizard … they wanted their set tomorrow to be especially awesome? Spectacular, he said.”

  Jack felt that slow-motion feeling he sometimes got when a case took a sudden, dangerous turn.

  “So exactly what gear did you buy for him, Declan?”

  “Mortars, obviously. The big fireworks? Usual stuff for pyrotechnics!”

  Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Mortars?”

  “Yeah,” continued Declan, pleased with himself. “Big display ones. From China. Pal of mine in Swindon … he gets them cheap. Top quality, they are. I tell you — they’re just the thing. Especially if you want something to go with a real bang.”

  But Jack wasn’t listening any more. He had turned, and was looking at the stage, where Unlost looked ready to play the final song of their set.

  And all he could see was the enormous crowd that lay in his way.

  17. A Last Chance to Kill

  I’m running out of time, Sarah thought. So many names still to check. Pages and pages.

  Then she saw the link she’d been looking for.

  A last name on this list of hundreds that she recognised.

  Keane.

  The same last name of the boy who had lost his life.

  James Keane.

  Then, as if there was any doubt, she saw this James Keane’s band affiliation.

  Lizard.

  “Oh, God,” she said, the knowledge not coming with any plan of what to do next. She stood up. Daniel still close.

  And from the Valley Stage she heard the sound of the amazing opening chords of “Phoenix”.

  She took out her phone to text Jack. Wrote just two words:

  It’s Jamie.

  Then she hit send.

  And listened to the song swelling outside, its epic retelling of the massive fire that she now knew was real, that Ryan Crocker had been in.

  *

  Jack ran, slipping and sliding in the mud, towards the sound tent, where he could see Becky, headset on.

  It was so hard to see the way: the stage lights had been dimmed, with just a tight, bright spot on Alfie for the amazing guitar solo — which Jack knew was just minutes from that overwhelming finish.

  As he got close, she turned to him, smiling, but then her face became serious when she saw his urgency.

  “You seen Jamie Keane around?” he said. “Lizard’s guitar tech?”

  Becky shook her head. “Well, a while ago, sure. But he’s off duty, maybe he’s taking the night off?”

  Jack paused, thinking.

  It all makes sense. Jamie befriending Ryan. On stage with them. An expert on the tech. Unsuspected.

  But what if he was wrong?

  His phone pinged and he took it out. A simple message from Sarah.

  He read the screen — and relief washed over him. But also, he knew now what he had to do.

  “Becky — listen. I think something’s been planted on the stage. Something dangerous. I don’t know if you can see from this distance. But is there anything at all on that stage looks off?”

  He waited, as Becky turned and peered towards the stage, studying it.

  And then — as if by some kind of miracle — at that moment, as the guitar solo reached its climax, the full lights slowly returned, bathing the whole stage in light.

  “Hang on,” she said. “That’s not … not the risers! They’re all wrong. Too high. There must be something—”

  But Jack quickly spun away from Becky, slowly lowering the phone, his heart racing with a sudden icy alarm.

  And then, even he could see it. The risers used to elevate the band … so much higher than they needed to be.

  Of course.

  To make room for something. Something planted right under the three performers. As “Phoenix” stretched towards its massive climax.

  Boxes likely filled with powerful, even deadly, explosives. Mortars!

  He barely looked back at Becky trying to get someone’s attention as she now yelled into her head piece.

  But there was no time for that, Jack knew. None at all.

  And with that, he bolted, running hard, fast, even as he pushed all the people in ponchos one way, or the other, even sending some slipping to the muddy ground.

  Jack felt he wouldn’t be able to make his way through.

  Or maybe he’d bump into someone big enough so he’d go flying into the mud.

  Then he’d be too late, he kept telling himself.

  But too late … for what?

  *

  Sarah stood outside the Press tent, Daniel by her side, in the drenchin
g rain.

  And in the crowd she could see Jack.

  Her partner actually acting like a human wave, rushing to the stage, trying to create a channel in the dark, wet sea of still-excited guests, the last minutes of the Unlost song seemingly being ruined by some crazy guy bulling his way forward.

  He must know something, she thought. And whatever that is — it’s about to happen.

  Triggered by someone out here. Waiting. Watching.

  Jamie Keane.

  She reached out to grasp her tall son’s wrist, and — without stopping the scan of the crowd — she said, “Daniel, stay with me. Okay?”

  “Yes, Mum, but what—”

  Sarah shook off the question. If Jamie was looking at the stage — the timing important, for something to occur — he might stand out. Maybe even with their plastic hood down, eyes locked on the stage through the curtain of heavy rain.

  Then — she saw him.

  And without another word to Daniel, Sarah started racing to an area on the right, away from the crowd, far from the stage.

  But close enough, she guessed.

  As long as the music still played — that was all the time she knew she’d have.

  *

  Having even garnered a few punches on the way, Jack reached the stage. As he clambered up — no easy task — he saw the alarmed stage crew and security guards start towards him.

  But Jack charged straight towards Ryan, Jess, Alfie.

  Yelling as he did so …

  “Drop the instruments! Get off the stage now!”

  Jack looked down, and he could see something wired to the open gap under the riser.

  And now, an even greater physical challenge — all feeling like it was simply too much — he began pushing the riser as hard as he could, trying to get the damn thing to move towards the open back of the stage.

  And here the rain helped, the stage itself slippery from the windy rain, the riser actually sliding.

  Then, he felt it move even more easily as Ryan, and then Alfie and Jess too, appeared on either side of him, and with their help, the metal riser now moving like a sled.