The Late Greats

by Nick Quantrill

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Someone who might know where he is. His girlfriend thinks they were having an affair.’

  Don had finished his call. ‘This isn’t the job we signed up for’ he said.

  ‘It’s the job we’ve got now’ I replied. He hadn’t been keen on me taking the contract. If it went well, the work would go on for several months. And steady work wasn’t to be turned down. There weren’t many jobs coming in. Although Don was the senior partner, I’d made a judgment call. I knew Sarah would side with her father, but my decision was for the best. Don was old-school. I could see the bigger picture. The bank account was running on empty.

  Sarah worked quickly, searching Google, until she found the website. I walked across to her desk.

  She pointed at the screen. ‘There you go.’

  I asked Sarah to email me the link and went back to my desk. The website was basic, but up to date, the news page hinting that the band was considering reforming. Lorraine had some level of inside information. I clicked onto the contact page. Just an email address. It would have been too easy any other way. I typed out a message, asking her to contact me. It was the best I could do for now.

  ‘You reckon he’s with her?’ Sarah asked me.

  ‘Best lead I’ve got so far’ I replied.

  ‘Maybe he’s lying low?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  We both looked up as Julia Gowans knocked on the door and walked in. Don must have left it unlocked. She was wearing jeans and a casual top, but she was carrying her laptop. She was here on business.

  I smiled and said hello. ‘Wasn’t expecting to see you.’

  Don picked his coat up and said he needed to be somewhere. I said I’d speak to him later. I turned to Sarah and shrugged. She turned away from me.

  Julia spoke. ‘The area hasn’t changed much since I left. I must have staggered down the cobbles a fair few times when I was younger.’

  Our office was in the Old Town of Hull. It sat on the edge of the city centre, nuzzled quietly up against the River Hull. In the past, warehouses lined High Street, now it was small offices and the museum quarter. The area boasted some of the city’s oldest drinking places only yards from our office, but the increase in apartments and student accommodation meant the loud chain pubs were moving in. It wasn’t change for the better in my eyes.

  ‘What have you been doing?’ I asked Julia.

  ‘I’ve been working from the hotel. Keeping busy.’

  Sarah stood up and left the room.

  ‘What are you working on?’ she asked me, taking a seat.

  ‘This and that’ I said, closing down the New Holland website.

  ‘Heard from Kane?’

  ‘Not since earlier.’

  She leaned closer to me. ‘I was hoping you might know if Greg was feeling any better.’

  I smiled. ‘Can’t help, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I was hoping to get to their next rehearsal’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure Kane will let you know when they’re ready for you.’

  ‘Maybe we could drop by the rehearsal room, see how they’re getting on?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do for you.’

  She sat back in her chair. ‘Are you a fan of the band?’ she asked me.

  ‘That would be telling’ I said.

  ‘You’re a diplomat. That’s good, but you don’t have to worry, I won’t mention it in my reports.’

  ‘They’re not my favourite band in the world’ I admitted.

  ‘Not even the early stuff?’

  ‘The first album’s not bad. They had something then.’

  ‘You should have seen them before they were famous.’

  ‘Big fan, were you?’

  ‘I went to a lot of their early gigs when I was a student. The Adelphi. The Blue Lamp. Good times. Once word got out about them and they started to attract a crowd, it changed.’ She paused. ‘You were probably a bit too old given that you’d been Greg’s babysitter.’

  She was playing with me again. I smiled. ‘I’m not that much older than you.’

  ‘I’ve still got their debut single somewhere’ she said. ‘Limited edition vinyl. Yellow, I think. Might be worth something now. I think I’ve still got a demo tape they sold at gigs somewhere, too.’

  ‘Hardcore fan’ I said.

  She stood up and headed to the door. ‘I’d love to continue chatting, but tell Kane this wasn’t what we agreed. He said I’d have full access to the band whenever I wanted it. I haven’t got time to be sat doing nothing. If he’s got a problem, any kind of problem, you should tell him to give me a call.’ She turned back to face me. ‘And don’t forget he told me you’re at my disposal.’

  I watched the door close. I was sure she knew something was wrong.

  I called Major. Early evening and I’d made no progress. If I was going to have Julia on my back, he was going to have to be more helpful.

  ‘What’s the score?’ he said after he’d eventually answered my call.

  ‘Still looking.’ I could hear noise in the background. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m going outside.’ He told me to wait a minute. It was quieter when he came back on the line.

  ‘I’m at the fucking Guildhall. A Civic Reception.’

  ‘Why?’ I didn’t understand. I knew the place, but I’d never been invited in. Not even when I had been playing rugby.

  ‘Do you think I want to be here, PI?’ Major said. ‘There’s a lot riding on this reunion. Not just for me. It makes the city look good, too. PR. Everyone wants a piece of good news, especially the freeloading arts cunts who invited me here.’

  I stopped his rant and updated him on what I’d been doing and my lack of a breakthrough.

  ‘Fuck’s sake. You keep looking, alright?’ he said.

  ‘It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.’

  ‘No it’s not. That’s why I’m paying you. You’re supposed to be a professional. We’re in Hull, not London. This place is like a fucking village by comparison.’

  ‘It’s not my job’ I told him.

  ‘Your job is whatever I say it is.’

  ‘My job is to keep an eye on the band and Julia Gowans.’

  ‘Don’t you think that includes keeping an eye on the singularly most important member of the band?’

  I was tempted to hang up. I took a moment. Made my decision. ‘My invoice will be in the post.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’re done. It’s not the job I signed up for. You should go to the police. They can help you. I can’t.’

  ‘Hold on, PI. Without Tasker, there’s no band’ he said. ‘And with no band, there’s no reunion. With no reunion, there’s no story. And with no story, there’s nothing. We’re all wasting our time.’ He paused. ‘I’ll double your money, alright?’

  It was as close to an apology as I was going to get. And the money would be useful. Not that I’d seen any yet.

  ‘Start again. What have you got for me?’ he said.

  I told him who I’d spoken to and how I hadn’t turned up any concrete leads on where Tasker might be.

  ‘The studio’s a waste of time’ he said.

  ‘His engineer said he wasn’t there too often.’

  ‘Sounds about right. It’s a shithole. It isn’t hi-tech enough to attract decent bands, but it’s too expensive for your local bands.’ He shrugged. ‘Pointless. No good to anybody.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to Greg’s girlfriend’ I said. ‘She thinks he was having an affair with a woman called Lorraine. She runs a New Holland website.’

  ‘I know who you mean. She’s been hanging around the band like a bad smell from day one. She’s fucking weird.’

  ‘Weird?’

  ‘Too interested, wants to get too close. The kind who’s probably got a shrine dedicated to the band in her back bedroom. Might stick a knife in your back one day, you know the sort.’

  ‘Do you know where I’ll find her?’

  ‘No idea, PI. I’m
not in touch with her, other than the odd email. She’s been sniffing around, wanting to know if there was going to be a reunion. I wouldn’t be surprised if Greg’s been opening his mouth to her.’

  ‘Are they sleeping together?’ I asked.

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘I need more’ I said.

  ‘All I know is he’s been with Siobhan for a while. Dragged her up from London. The works. If he’s been a naughty boy, I wouldn’t know about it.’

  I changed the subject. ‘We might have a problem with Julia’ I said.

  ‘What kind of problem?’

  ‘She was sniffing around earlier, wanting me to sort her some time out with the band. I think she knows he’s missing.’

  ‘She knows nothing. She’s rattling your cage, trying to see if you’ll let anything slip. I know people like her. They’re parasites. She’ll use you to get what she wants and then she’ll spit you back out again. You tell her nothing and I’ll keep her in line if she gets out of hand.’

  I didn’t like the suggestion I couldn’t handle her, but I didn’t push it any further. ‘Do you think Greg’s alright?’

  Major went quiet. I could hear the party going on behind him in the background. ‘I know where you’re going with that thought, PI. But I’ll tell you this; you’re wrong. Greg played me a CD full of new songs recently. He’s going to be massive again and I’m going to make sure it happens. What happened before was a mistake. It was a long time ago. Greg said it had been a cry for help, nothing more. It’s not relevant. Are we clear on that? He’s coming back.’

  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 yo
u 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?’