The Late Greats

by Nick Quantrill

  ‘Was he using again?’ I asked.

  The man was a mess; a shadow of the one who was the centre of attention only a few days ago in the Princes Avenue cafe bar. He looked stressed and tired. But if I was in his position, I wouldn’t be sleeping comfortably, either.

  ‘Of course he was fucking using’ Major said to me.

  ‘He wanted you out of his life.’

  He laughed. ‘I made Greg. He was only a star because I spotted his potential. Look, all you need to know is that when all’s said and done, we were best mates. We did everything together.’

  I told him Siobhan was leaving the city.

  Major put his glass down. ‘So what? There’s nothing for her here, is there?’ He stared at me. ‘Are you still fucking Julia?’

  I let it go. Didn’t answer him. ‘What did Greg say about Siobhan?’

  ‘I asked you a question, PI. I warned you about Julia. She’s poisoning your mind. I can tell. You’re not thinking straight.’

  ‘We’re talking about Greg.’

  He laughed. ‘Don’t be a killjoy.’

  ‘Tell me about Greg and Siobhan.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to know.’

  ‘I knew he was seeing her, but I don’t really know much about her. Why would I?’

  Because he was supposed to be your friend, I thought. ‘Don’t you have regrets?’ I asked him.

  He stared at me and eventually nodded. ‘Of course I do. I’ve lost everything. I’ve got nothing left apart from people chasing me for money.’

  ‘Sarah’s left me’ I said. ‘I’m on my own.’ I wasn’t sure why I was talking like this to him, but it felt like a release. I needed answers for Tasker’s parents and to get some self respect back. It wasn’t working.

  He looked confused. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Her and Don were never keen on me taking the job. They’ve gone away until it’s sorted.’

  Major shrugged. ‘You can’t rely on people and that’s the truth. You can have that bit of advice for free, PI.’

  I was trying to please everyone and failing miserably to please anyone, including myself. What should have been a straightforward job had spiralled out of my control. And I still hadn’t had seen the final tab for my actions. I stared at him. DI Robinson’s warning was still at the forefront of my mind. I should be looking closer to home. Major was drifting away from me, drinking himself into oblivion. It was probably going to be the only way he would sleep tonight. I wasn’t going to get anything more out of him. I left him to his own misery.

  I walked home, the cold night air not bothering me much. Julia sent me a text message to ask if she could come around to my flat. I sent her a message back, telling her it was fine. I crossed Ferensway and stopped at the Tesco in St. Stephen’s shopping centre to buy food. The centre was the flagship building in the area’s regeneration, but as usual, it was practically empty. A handful of people were leaving the cinema. A handful of people were out late night shopping. I thought back to a man I’d met during a previous case. Christopher Murdoch had a genuine vision for the city’s regeneration. This wasn’t it.

  I wasn’t in the mood for cooking, so I paid for a couple of ready meals and a bottle of wine and continued on my way down Spring Bank. Julia was waiting for me outside my flat. We went inside and I put the food in the oven, opened the wine. I watched her flick through my CDs.

  ‘Anything you like?’ I said, passing her a glass.

  She laughed. ‘Joking, aren’t you?’

  I knew she’d interviewed Tasker’s mother earlier in the day. I asked her how it’d gone.

  ‘Poor woman. She comes over as quite calm and detached, but she’s not. How could she be? She’s lost her son.’

  I wasn’t surprised. We sat down on the settee. ‘I had a drink with DI Robinson earlier’ I said.

  ‘Didn’t have you down as mates.’

  ‘Neither did I.’ I repeated what he’d told me about Max Fitzjohn.

  She said she’d see what she could find out about him. ‘Sounds like Robinson’s had enough, too.’

  I figured him as a proud man, not the kind who’d take kindly to being told what to do in his own city by outsiders. But his co-operation was only going to go so far. I was still very much out on a limb. I should be looking closer to home, he’d said. ‘Seems like the fire at Trevor Bilton’s flat was the last straw.’ I asked her if she had any news for me.

  ‘The police are saying nothing about the fire, won’t say if it was arson or just an accident.’

  I nodded. A stalling tactic, but while I appreciated their hands were tied, it didn’t mean I had to like it. And clearly, neither did Trevor Bilton. I didn’t like the thought of him placing himself beyond my reach, either. It had been made clear I should leave him to look after his own business, but I wasn’t going to be doing that.

  ‘Has Bilton got their money?’ she asked.

  I’d thought about this some more as I’d walked home. ‘I really don’t know’ I said. Trevor Bilton was a typical small-time operator. I’d be surprised if he’d go head-to-head with someone like Fitzjohn. He ruled his area by fear, and if you want to maintain that level of fear, it’s easier to prey on the weak and the vulnerable. Maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew and was now regretting it. Maybe he’d tried to make an example of Tasker and it had gone wrong. Helping him didn’t sit well with me, even if Julia was genuinely concerned for his brother. I could see through him. What was more important was that Fitzjohn thought he had the money. I switched the television on and flicked through the channels. Nothing worth watching. I went back into the kitchen and plated up the food, wishing I’d made more of an effort now. It was supposed to be Spaghetti Carbonara, but all the plastic tray contained was a depressing looking mess. I wasn’t hungry. I passed Julia her food. She took it from me without a word. We ate in silence. Neither of us cleared our plates.

  ‘Robinson told me to look closer to home’ I said, breaking the silence. ‘Implied that I should be looking at Major.’

  That got her attention. She thought about it and shrugged. ‘Anything’s possible.’

  I told her about Jay Harrison and Greg Tasker. It didn’t come much closer to home than that. It took her a moment to digest the news.

  ‘You didn’t think to tell me this?’ she said.

  I put my food down and walked across to the window. I looked out onto the street. I rubbed my face. I hadn’t told her because I knew I couldn’t trust her. Recent events had confirmed that for me. I’d been wrong from the start. I watched a young couple hurry past on the other side of the road, wondered where they were going. I turned around and faced Julia. ‘I wasn’t sure what to do’ I said. It was the truth.

  ‘Because I’m a journalist?’

  ‘Partly.’

  ‘Thanks a lot.’

  ‘Don’t take the moral high-ground, Julia. You wrote the story about Priestley’s suicide attempt and you’d been in contact with Rusting without telling me. This goes beyond the story. It could ruin people’s lives if they knew the truth.’ I paused. ‘Can I trust you? You tell me.’

  She said nothing.

  I continued pacing the room. I told Julia I’d gone looking for Major earlier in the evening, but bumped into Whittle at his office. ‘He was on his way out of Hull’ I said.

  ‘I don’t blame him.’

  ‘I found him in the end.’ I brought her up to date and told her it was off the record for now.

  ‘Off the record? What do you think I am, Joe?’

  I wasn’t sure what to say. There was no right answer.

  ‘Do you think I’d do that?’ she said. ‘Really?’

  I had nothing to say. She stood up and got her coat.

  I sat there with the bottle of wine to myself. Seeing the fire at Trevor Bilton’s flat had stirred bad memories for me. I’d taken my guilt out on Julia, which was wrong of me, but my thinking was valid. First and foremost, she was a journalist and she wanted the story. If that was inc
ompatible with our friendship, then that was the way it had to be.

  I put the first New Holland CD I could find on the stereo. I’d picked up the second album. Steve Priestley had told me it had been recorded in between tours. I knew the cracks were already starting to appear in the band by then. It was clear from the lyrics that Greg Tasker wasn’t happy, even when the band was at its peak. Lorraine Harrison had told me he wanted Kane Major out of his life. I wondered if he’d argued with his friend. If they had, how far had it gone? How violent had it been?

  I put my glass down and thought about calling Julia to apologise. Whatever my feelings were, she’d gone out on a limb for me by keeping the full story away from her editor. I felt like shit. I needed all the friends I could get and I’d blown it with her.

  I thought about my talk with DI Robinson. I had no reason to doubt him, but I didn’t like the way I’d been continuously played. How far could I trust him? I poured another drink. My suspicions were turning towards Major and Fitzjohn, but Priestley and Harrison had motive, which I couldn’t ignore. It was late and I was getting tired. I drained the last of the wine and sprawled out on the settee. The CD had finished, but I didn’t move to replace it. I sent Julia a text message. I waited in silence for a reply. I didn’t get one. I tried to figure out how I’d got myself into this whole mess, but I was too tired to think clearly. I couldn’t be bothered to move. I fell asleep where I was.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I woke feeling rough. It took me a moment to realise I was still on the settee. My back ached. I slowly sat up and headed into the kitchen for a glass of water. I drank it down in one, poured another and stretched, feeling better for it. I searched for my mobile. I hadn’t missed any calls. I had a new text message from Julia. It was short and to the point. I should call her. I jumped in the shower, scrubbed myself clean. I towelled myself dry and sat back down in the front room. The New Holland CD cases were spread about where I’d put them down the previous night. I looked at the band photo on the first album and wondered where it had all gone wrong. I decided Julia would wait for now. I tidied them up, called the hospital.

  ‘I’m ringing about a patient’ I said to the receptionist ‘Steve Priestley.’

  ‘Are you family?’

  I hesitated. Her tone suggested I wasn’t the first to be calling. No doubt the media had been bothering them. I remembered my conversation with him in his studio. I said I was his brother, Richard. I waited. I could hear her tapping away on her computer. ‘It would appear your brother has discharged himself.’

  ‘Right.’ I thanked her and put the phone down. I was going to have to speak to him. I headed out, locked the door behind me and switched on my mp3 player, ready for the walk into the city centre and the office. As I walked down the path, someone shouted my name. I turned to look. Max Fitzjohn.

  ‘Good morning to you, Mr Geraghty’ he said.

  ‘Same to you, Mr Fitzjohn’ I said. He looked surprised I knew his name. He was leaning on the bonnet of his car, his men sat in the back, watching me.

  ‘I’m impressed’ he said. ‘You’ve done your homework on me.’

  I didn’t like the fact we were doing this outside of my flat. ‘What do you want?’ I said.

  He walked to the back of his car, opened the boot. ‘Get in’.

  I laughed. Didn’t move.

  He stepped towards me. ‘Get in.’

  ‘Are you mad? It’s a public street.’

  It was his turn to laugh. ‘And who the fuck do you think gives a shit?’ He told his men to get out the car. I thought back to what Gary Bilton had told me of his beating. The same thing was going to happen to me. I wasn’t walking away from this. But I had no choice. I got in the boot. The journey was uncomfortable. I curled up in a ball to reduce the impact of the blows as the car cornered. I had no idea where I was being taken, nor did I have any sort of plan. The car stopped, the sun dazzling me when the boot was opened. I was hauled out and thrown onto the ground. Any thoughts of escaping were soon driven away by the first kick to my stomach. I rolled over and vomited. Fitzjohn laughed and told his men to take me inside. We were in a disused factory of some sort. Maybe agricultural. I had no idea where I was, most probably out in Holderness somewhere. There were no landmarks I recognised. Just fields. I was thrown into a chair, my hands quickly tied behind my back.

  ‘The money’ Fitzjohn said.

  ‘I haven’t got it’ I said.

  ‘I don’t think you’re trying very hard.’

  ‘I’m doing my best.’

  He smiled and took a step towards me. Took some leather gloves out of his pocket. ‘I don’t think you are.’ He nodded to one of the men, who stepped forward and punched me in the stomach.

  I shut my eyes, waiting for the worst of the pain to pass.

  He continued. ‘You know my name, so you know exactly who I am.’

  We both knew the situation wasn’t my fault, but that was no help to me at the moment. ‘I’ve spoken to Major’ I said. I had to take deep breaths to get my words out. ‘He’s putting some deals together. He’ll have something sorted soon.’ I repeated his words. ‘There’s a lot of interest in the band.’

  ‘I dare say, Geraghty, but cash is king.’ Fitzjohn walked behind me, out of my eyeline. He grabbed my hair and pulled me backwards. I screamed in agony.

  ‘Can’t do it, I’m afraid’ he said, before releasing my head ‘Do you think I’m stupid? Are you trying to take me for an idiot?’

  ‘He just needs to sort the deals out and you’ll get your money’ I said.

  He walked back around the chair to face me. He stepped forward and punched me in the mouth. I swallowed back the blood. A tooth was loose.

  ‘I think you’re taking the piss out of me’ he said. ‘I know your assistant isn’t in the country. Do you think I’m stupid? I asked her neighbour. He told me she’d gone away.’ He smiled at me. ‘Take that as a warning. I’m smarter than you, so you better shape up. Do I make myself clear? I want the money and I’m running out of patience. I thought you had more about you than that idiot who works for Major. Nearly shat his pants when I spoke to him.’

  I said nothing.

  ‘Give me your finger’ he said to me.

  I shook my head violently, desperately trying to move my wrists away from him.

  He stepped closer, smiling. ‘Your finger.’

  He held my wrist tight, undoing the rope.

  ‘Open your eyes. I’ve got all day.’

  I opened my eyes. He leaned in, inches from my face. I waited for the pain to hit. I’d dislocated fingers playing rugby. I knew what it felt like. He smiled as he pulled my little finger back. This time I couldn’t stop the screams. Once he was done, he stood up and left his men to pick me up. Moments later I was back in the boot of the car. I curled up in a ball, willing the journey to be over. Eventually I was thrown out on the grass verge next to my flat.

  ‘Remember our problem takes priority’ he said before getting back into his car and driving off.

  I kept a first aid kit in both the office and my flat. I wasn’t sure if it was commonsense or a damning indictment of how things were turning out for me. I found the antiseptic and went into the bathroom to clean myself up. The cuts on my face stung and my finger was bent out of shape, but ten minutes later I was feeling almost human again. I knew what I needed to do. Both my flat and office were now compromised. I found an old jiffy bag and went to work. I taped it up and addressed the contents to Sarah before heading out.

  At the office, I sat at my desk and put my hands to my face before quickly removing them. The stinging was still intense. I started my laptop up and surfed the Internet for news. There was nothing new. Closing it back down again, I sat back in my chair and tried to make connections in my head. I looked up as Lorraine Harrison walked straight in and sat down opposite me.

  ‘I want to talk to you’ she said.

  She didn’t mention my face, or stare at it for longer than necessary. ‘I’ve left my husband
in HMV, looking at computer games.’

  ‘With Jay?’

  ‘He’s at his grandparents. It’s just me and Jason in town.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘How’s Steve?’ she asked me. ‘I saw it on the news.’

  ‘On the mend. I’ll pass on your regards.’

  She ignored my comment. ‘My husband didn’t kill Greg.’

  ‘You said.’ I didn’t mean to sound rude, but I wasn’t hearing anything new from her. ‘But somebody did.’

  ‘It wasn’t him.’

  ‘I’m not really in the mood’ I said. ‘Why have you really come, Lorraine? We’ve been through this before.’

  ‘Greg was doing really well, happy within himself for the first time in ages. He’d made his mind up. He said he was going to tell Siobhan he was leaving her, whether or not I wanted him. He wanted to release his new music and start again.’

  ‘Were you tempted to start again with him?’

  She hesitated. ‘Of course I was. I might have done it, but it was Greg. He doesn’t live in the real world. He only knew how to please himself. I was worried he’d get bored of us. What would he do if Jay was ill? Would he take him to the doctors? Would he go to the supermarket for me? He wouldn’t be able to change, and deep down, I knew it.’

  ‘Did you speak to your husband about it?’

  ‘No, but he knew something was wrong. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t bear him touching me. I needed some time to think it through properly.’

  ‘He hated Greg. Surely you can understand that?’

  ‘Of course he hated him. I’m not stupid.’

  I said nothing and waited for her to continue.

  ‘DI Robinson spoke to me earlier’ she said.

  She had my attention. ‘When?’

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said you’d been asking questions about Jason. That you thought he might have killed Greg.’

  Robinson had certainly been busy. ‘It’s not a secret.’ I didn’t think his alibi really stood up. He was still a decent suspect to my mind.