The Late Greats

by Nick Quantrill

  ‘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.

  ‘Alright?’ I asked.

  She nodded, but wasn’t convincing.

  ‘We need to talk’ I said.

  She told her assistant to take a break and closed the door behind her. She found us some chairs and we sat down.

  ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t able to find Greg’ I said.

  ‘I’m sure you did your best.’

  It was my turn to nod unconvincingly. I explained how I worked for Tasker’s parents. ‘Now’s the time to say if you know anything. Anything at all.’

  ‘Why are you working for them?’ she asked me.

  ‘I owe them.’

  She didn’t press me. ‘I don’t know anything.’

  She was clearly upset, but she also had her guard up. She wouldn’t look me in the eye. ‘We’re on the same side here’ I said.

  ‘I can’t help you.’

  I told her how Tasker’s parents were suffering. I got nothing back.

  She lit a cigarette. I must have been staring. She told me it was her shop, she could do what she liked. ‘Have you spoken to that slag, Lorraine?’ she asked me.

  Her abruptness took me by surprise. Without thinking, I nodded and said I’d spoken to her.

  ‘I can’t bear to think about her and Greg. It makes me ill.’

  I said nothing. It wasn’t my place to get involved.

  ‘What did she say?’ Siobhan asked me.

  ‘She wan
ts to know the truth, too.’

  ‘It’s none of her business.’

  ‘How did you find out about them?’ I asked.

  ‘He told me. He said he didn’t want it to be a secret anymore. Can you believe that? He tells me, but expects me to carry on like nothing’s changed.’ She shook her head, took a drag on her cigarette. ‘The arrogance of the man. He was so used to people doing whatever he wanted them to do, he forgot I had feelings. I gave up everything for him to move up here to this shithole and this was how he repaid me. He wouldn’t even live with me. I said it was either me or her. He couldn’t have both.’

  ‘What did Greg do?’

  ‘Carried on as normal. He didn’t think I’d do anything about it.’

  ‘Does Lorraine’s husband know about them?’

  ‘No idea. I don’t think Greg cared to be honest.’

  ‘Had you left him?’ I asked.

  She looked up at me and shook her head. ‘I couldn’t leave him.’

  I gave her a minute, found the kitchen and made us drinks. She was busy opening windows when I returned.

  ‘You should have stopped me smoking in here’ she said, trying to force a laugh.

  I smiled. ‘Would you have listened?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  I passed her a mug of tea. ‘I spoke to Steve Priestley’s wife this morning’ I said.

  ‘Never met the woman.’

  ‘She said she didn’t want him to be part of the reunion.’

  She sat back down. ‘I’m not sure Greg really wanted it, either.’

  ‘I thought he wanted to relaunch his solo career?’

  ‘That’s what he kept telling himself. To be honest, I think he let himself be talked into it.’

  ‘Major?’

  ‘He could never cut his ties with him.’

  ‘He could have just said no.’

  ‘I think Greg thought he owed him something. He couldn’t walk away.’

  ‘But he wasn’t so keen?’

  ‘I don’t think so, but they both needed the money. Greg’s studio wasn’t doing too well and he said Kane needed something to happen for him.’ She put her empty mug down and walked over to the front door. ‘I’m sorry I can’t help more, but I haven’t got time to be sitting around talking like this. Greg gave me enough money to get started here and his family are going to want it paying back, aren’t they?’ She turned back to face me. ‘Look, there’s something I should tell you. The last time I saw Greg, he came in here, didn’t say a word to me, just emptied the till and left.’

  I missed a call from Julia as I drove away from the boutique. Parking up, I called her back and we agreed to meet for some food. I was pleased there didn’t seem to be any awkwardness between us. She’d insisted on eating on Princes Avenue. It was fast becoming her favourite part of the city. I laughed and told her she must be missing London.

  The bar was surprisingly empty for early evening, so I had no trouble finding Julia in the corner. Even in the trendiest area of the city, it seemed like some places were trendier than others. I didn’t mind. The peace and quiet was welcome. Julia was studying the menu and didn’t see me walk in. I spoke as I approached the table. ‘How’s it going?’

  She looked up and put the menu down. ‘Alright. You?’

  ‘Had better days. Don thinks we should be walking away from the job and he’s not shy in telling me so.’

  ‘What does Sarah think?’

  It was a good question. ‘I think she’s more inquisitive than her father.’ My mobile started to ring. It was Major, finally returning my call. I let it go to voicemail. He could wait for an hour. I told Julia that Tasker had emptied Siobhan’s till shortly before his death. She had told me she hadn’t been to the bank for a couple of days and he’d walked out of the boutique with over £2,000 in cash. Given the price of the dresses, there was every chance the money would mount up like that. It raised more questions, but it helped fill in the timeframe. Greg had told her not to tell anyone that she’d seen him and she’d kept her word. She felt bad over it, but I told her it wouldn’t have made any difference to the search to find him. I’d tried to tell her it wasn’t important now, but I knew it was going to weigh heavily on her.

  ‘I can solve one mystery as well’ she said. ‘I know where Greg was hiding out.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Bridlington.’

  ‘What was he doing there?’ Bridlington is a small seaside resort, thirty miles north of Hull. Not far away, but as good as anywhere if you wanted to lie low, I supposed.

  ‘No idea. He was staying in a cheap B&B. The landlady rang the paper once she recognised who her guest was.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Nothing of any use. Just that he paid a bit extra to use the room in the day time. Apparently he just stayed in there, playing his guitar. That’s how she realised who he was.’

  ‘Right.’ There was nothing else to say. He’d obviously wanted to get out of Hull for a bit, like Siobhan and Priestley said he often did, but what had been the trigger? And why had he come back for money? ‘Did she say anything else?’

  Julia said she hadn’t. ‘Tell me about your day’ she said.

  I took her through it. ‘I dropped by at Greg’s studio’ I said. I’d wanted to speak to the people on the site directly. It was a long shot because if they had any information, the police would be all over it by now.

  ‘Anything?’ she said.

  ‘No.’ I told her that it had cost me £20 to get the security guards to speak to me. And they weren’t even the ones who’d been working that night. I explained that they’d called their mate and passed me the phone. The police had already taken statements from them and they had nothing to add. They hadn’t seen or heard anything and the CCTV hadn’t been working properly. I wasn’t surprised. They hadn’t seen me walk past them. A dead end.

  I moved on and told her how defensive Priestley’s wife had been towards me at their house, and how I hadn’t been able to speak to him. ‘Who do you think really wanted the New Holland reunion?’ I asked.

  Our food arrived and we ate in silence for a few minutes. Julia put her knife and fork down. ‘I assume they all wanted the band to reform. Money. What else?’

  I shook my head. ‘It doesn’t feel right. Priestley’s wife said he had to be talked into it and Siobhan said Greg was only doing it because he felt he owed to Major.’

  ‘Greg did have a solo record ready to release, though.’

  ‘Cynical, but true.’ It would still be released. Death doesn’t stop the music industry. ‘Doesn’t it strike you as odd? It doesn’t seem like he really wanted to be back in the public eye. He was choosing to live in Hull, which I can’t imagine is particularly clever if you want to be a musician. I get the feeling he was going against his better judgment on this. I don’t think he really wanted to be back in the band.’

  Julia considered what I’d said. ‘He could have said no to Major.’

  She wasn’t wrong, but it seemed like a lot of people had a problem saying ‘no’ to him. Me included. I knew I still had to return his call.

  ‘Don’t forget there would have been a lot of money to be made. It would have been difficult to turn down’ she said. ‘I don’t mean to run Greg or Steve down, but they need the band. They wouldn’t make anything like the same amount through their solo work. It just wouldn’t happen.’

  She was right. ‘How bad was the falling out between them?’

  ‘They’ve only just started speaking again. They went their separate ways when the band finished. I don’t suppose they had reason to be in touch. It’s the way it is when bands fall apart. Too much anger.’

  ‘Long time to bear a grudge.’

  ‘Priestley was always a little bit weird.’

  It was difficult to weigh up. I’d read Tasker’s drug intake had rendered him all but useless when it came to recording their last album. Maybe he felt like he’d lost face, that the rest of the band hadn’t been grateful for his contri
bution over the years. Equally, Priestley had done what was required. Situations change, the status quo can’t always remain. But it was naive to think there wouldn’t be any lingering bitterness. Priestley’s wife had suggested her husband wanted the reunion to be about the music and not money. I wasn’t ready to swallow that unconditionally. If Tasker and Priestley had a volatile relationship, I knew arguments could get out of hand. The smallest thing can be blown up and magnified.

  ‘How do you reckon Greg spent his days?’ I asked.

  ‘His studio?’ Julia said.

  I shook my head. ‘Didn’t like the place by all accounts.’

  Julia shrugged. ‘I don’t know, then.’

  ‘Neither do I’ I said, but I wanted to know. If he wasn’t working in his studio, he had to be doing something with his day. It had to bring him into contact with other people. Potential witnesses. Potential suspects.

  ‘I went to the police’s press conference this afternoon’ Julia said.

  ‘Anything?’

  We’d both finished eating and put our empty plates to one side.

  ‘Nothing. DI Robinson said their investigation was following several lines of inquiry, which seems to be their way of saying they’re hedging their bets for now, certainly at least until they’ve got some forensic results. He wouldn’t be drawn any further than that.’ She checked her notes. ‘And he appealed for any witnesses to come forward. Standard stuff, really.’

  I nodded. We sat in silence until I broke it. ‘Are we ok?’ I asked. It needed saying.

  ‘Why wouldn’t we be?’

  ‘After last night?’

  I stared at her until she spoke. ‘We’re both adults and we’re both single. Why should it be a problem?’

  ‘I was worried I’d taken advantage after breaking the news about Greg’ I said.

  ‘You didn’t take advantage.’

  Our hands were on the table, inches apart. I couldn’t decide whether to bridge the gap or not.

  My decision was made when she withdrew her hand back under the table.

  ‘I don’t want to cause you any trouble, Joe. I wouldn’t want to be in your way or anything like that.’