Ravenscourt Studios had taken over an old Gothic Revival building off the Tower Road and converted it into recording facilities and offices. The red brick edifice was graced with arched windows on the top floor with ornate carved stone frames. They looked like stern eyes frowning down on the street below. I suddenly wished I’d brought my camera to try to capture the feel of the place. Ornate and yet slightly eerie. Out of place in the midst of the renovated buildings on all sides.
The goth receptionist did little to dispel the overall sense of gloom, but I strode to the desk with purpose and asked for John Reynolds.
“He’s not here yet,” she said. “Is he expecting you?”
“Yes,” I fibbed. “What about Jai Kapur? I could stand a word with him while I wait.”
Goth girl looked me up and down, tapping her long black nails on the desk as if trying to decide if I was a threat. “Hang on,” she said finally. “I’ll see if he’s free.”
She had a hushed conversation with someone on the other end of the line, then hung up and rose reluctantly to escort me into the inner sanctum. As we neared the stairs, the phone on the front desk buzzed. Goth girl looked torn. Her five-inch spike heels were clearly not made for jogging up long flights of stairs. After a moment’s hesitation, she turned back to the phone gesturing over her shoulder. “Top of the second staircase on the left.”
I followed the heavily carved railing up to the second floor and found Jai Kapur in the glass-enclosed sound booth adjacent to a small studio covered in floor-to-ceiling insulated wall tiles. It looked a bit like a padded jail cell. Jai was focused on the keyboard in front of him, and I had a moment to observe him before he was aware of my presence. He was lithe and well built. His chiseled cheekbones gave him an air of exotic sensuality, and the silken curls of dark hair at the nape of his neck were curiously inviting. If nothing else, Tina still had excellent taste in men. He looked up to find me watching him and he pulled back, startled.
“They sent me up from downstairs. I’m Abi Logan. A friend of Tina’s,” I lied. Jai looked slightly apprehensive. “I’m here for a meeting with JR, but Tina said if I was in town I could look you up, maybe get a quick tour of the main studio.”
“I suppose. If no one’s using it,” Jai said with a shrug. “Let me just finish ’ere.”
“Can I watch?”
“If you like.”
“Do you get to work with a lot of famous musicians?”
“Nah, I usually come in after the tracks have been laid down and make the adjustments the producers want.”
“Don’t know many producers,” I observed. “Except Simon Moye.” I watched Jai’s face for any reaction.
“Actually, Simon’s alright like. ’E’s been on both sides. Knows what ’e’s talkin’ about and ’e’s not greedy. An’ ’e’s dead brilliant with the digital mixing. No one’s better with the high-tech gear.”
Good enough to launch a computer virus? I wondered. “I was hoping to catch up with Simon while I was in town. Any idea where he might be?”
“ ’Aven’t seen him since the show in Stirling last week. Think ’e was a bit shook up by everything. ’E an’ Lion Man ’ad been friends for years. Sad business, that.”
“You were there, then?”
“Yeah. We were laying down the tracks for a video for Mayhem. I was backstage when everything went mad. Didn’t really see what ’appened till after the lights came back on.”
That answered that question. “Was Tina with you?”
Jai looked jittery again. “Look, I don’t want no trouble,” he said in a low voice. “ ’Er ’usband ’as an office right downstairs. If ’e figures out about me an’ Tina, I’ll be a dead man.”
“He won’t hear anything from me,” I promised. “But you got to admit something weird’s going on. That video was creepy. I talked to Gerry Wilson after the show and he had no idea who could’ve done it.”
“Well, there’s no way it was Tina. She’s no fan of Rory’s, but anything with computers makes ’er ’ead spin.”
But not yours, I thought, studying Jai carefully. Uneasy, overlooked, but skilled came to the forefront of my mind. Jai had access to the sound booth and all of the backstage areas, including the area around Rory’s dressing room. No one would have looked at him twice. Was Tina manipulating him for her own ends? Could she have had him plant the virus, scrawl the message on the wall, and then cut the lights at the crucial moment?
Jai looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Do the police really think it might be Tina?”
“Well, not Tina alone,” I said, studying Jai’s expression. “I think they figure she’d have to have help.”
Jai’s eyes grew wide. He stood up suddenly and started pacing back and forth in an agitated manner. “It’s not me, if that’s what they think. No way. Look, I feel sorry for Tina, alright? She ’as a tough time with that sod she’s married to. ’E hits ’er like a punching bag, but I’m not takin’ the fall for shite like this.”
“I’m sure the police have no idea about you and Tina,” I said soothingly. “After all, who would have told them? I didn’t, and Tina wouldn’t.” I didn’t mention that they’d been somewhat indiscreet at the show, but Jai seemed to be contemplating the logic of my statement.
After a minute he sat heavily and started rubbing his temples as if trying to force the pain out. “I suppose you’re right. I’m just a little strung out. We’ve been working on this project for the past forty-eight hours straight. ’Ardly seen the light of day since Tuesday.”
That meant Jai wasn’t in Stirling at the time of Penrose’s death. “Any idea where Tina’s got to?” I asked. “I’d like to see her while I’m in town.”
“She’s in Milan for some fashion thing. ’Aven’t seen ’er all week. Look, if you want a tour of Studio A, let’s get on with it. I ’ave another session starting in twenty minutes.”
Jai led me up to the third floor. The main studio was much larger than the one Jai was using. It had a raised stage opposite a huge glass tech booth that looked like the flight deck of a massive commercial jet.
“This is where Hamish Dunn used to record, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Jai narrowed his eyes.
“I was a big fan.” I tried to look suitably infatuated. “This isn’t where he died, is it?”
Jai nodded.
I reached out and touched the keyboard reverentially. “What a tragedy, and such a waste of talent.”
Jai turned to leave, and I quietly opened the narrow closet door behind me. The space behind was empty. Hamish’s stash of drink had been taken away, but Michaelson was right, the computers were easily accessible to anyone in the studio. Doors didn’t seem to be locked, and as Jai said, people were in and out of the facility at all hours. Finding the culprit could be near impossible. I scanned the ceiling in the studio but saw no video surveillance. Whoever launched the virus onto Gerry’s computer was safe from that at least.
“Hey, as long as I’m here I’d like to leave a note for Simon. Do you mind taking me by his office?”
Jai looked at his watch. “His office is down there on the left,” he said, pointing down the corridor. “Can you find your own way? My studio guys are arriving any minute.”
“Sure, no problem.” I headed off to Simon’s office, struck again by how easy it was to wander around the place unsupervised once you’d cleared the front hall. Simon’s office was small and felt even smaller with the mass of clutter accumulated on every surface. Stacks of CDs leaned against the walls like towering PlayPlax skyscrapers, and several recording industry awards had been abandoned casually on top of a file cabinet. A quick peek inside showed it was being used as a bar, not a filing system. The walls were covered with tour posters and recording schedules. Front and center was a photo of Simon and his wife on a beach somewhere. She was a tiny brunette with an animated smile, proudly displaying a very pregnant belly.
Hard to believe Simon would risk a wife and family to exact revenge after all t
his time. Didn’t he realize he already had the best revenge? He looked happy and fulfilled by life in a way that Rory and Hamish never had been. Other than the photo of his wife, there were no other pictures. No photos of coworkers, or clients. I got the impression from talking to him that Simon called his own shots and set his own schedule. My initial sense of him as self-contained and wary rang true.
There was no one in the corridor when I left Simon’s office. I took the opportunity to wander slowly down the rest of the hallway. The last office on the right was Gerry Wilson’s. A small space for a man of Gerry’s position, but then again his main office would be at Southfields. I slipped in quickly and shut the door behind me. Gerry’s office was the exact opposite of Simon’s. Extremely organized, with a wall of videotapes all neatly labeled and shelved chronologically. The file cabinet was being put to a more traditional use and was stuffed with expense reports and location logs for various video shoots.
The wall behind the desk was a montage of photos. Gerry posing with Stewart Copeland, Bob Geldof, Adele, and Eric Clapton. There were also a number of pictures of Bonnie and Patty as well as Summer. It certainly jibed with Patty’s description of the fun they’d had working at Southfields with Gerry. On the desk in a gilt frame was a photo of Gerry’s wife and a sweet-faced blond girl of about eight, presumably his daughter. The office spoke of a man of discipline and routine. An anchor in the rock-and-roll madness around him.
I slipped out and retraced my steps to the main staircase, almost running headlong into John Reynolds coming up two steps at a time.
“I heard you were here,” he said. “Come on up to my digs.”
I followed him up another flight of stairs, through a door and along a dark narrow hallway to a large room crowded with light bars and reflectors, the walls adorned with schematics instead of tour posters. He closed the door behind us and said, “Rory told me you were trying to help out and I’m glad.” He cleared space on an unbalanced wooden stool and offered me a seat. “Welcome to the attic.”
The grimy dormer windows on the back side of the building did little to light the space, and fluorescent tubes running down the middle of the room gave the place an industrial feel.
“Did Leo Moore have an office up here too?”
“He’s next door. I mean, he was next door.” JR settled himself into a worn leather armchair behind the desk, fussing with some papers to hide the emotion in his eyes.
“I really am very sorry for your loss. How long had you two worked together?”
“Twenty-five years or more. We were on the first Rebels tour together.”
“That must have been crazy?”
“Oh man, you can’t even imagine.” JR rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Different venue almost every night. Set up, rock out, tear down, get loaded, sleep for a few hours, and start all over again. Wild, but it was fun. By the end we were all really close.”
“With the band as well?”
JR nodded. “With Ian and Rory, at least. Hamish and Stewart—they were a whole other level of crazy. But Rory and I’d known each other since we were kids. We were drinking buddies from way back. Killed half the brain cells God gave us, but we were happy drunks.”
“He has a temper,” I noted. “That ever show up when he’s drunk?”
JR hesitated. “No more’n most. Rory’s temper burns hot, but it fades fast.”
“How long did you and Leo stay with the Rebels?”
“We toured with them full-time on the first three albums, and then on and off after that.”
“Bet you’ve seen some real highs and lows along the way.”
“Some great music and some lousy women.”
“Bonnie?”
“No. Not Bonnie.” JR smiled softly. “She was a sweet girl, just wasn’t strong enough to handle Rory. With Rory you had to push back or you got run over.”
“From the outside it looked like a constant parade of booze and drugs. Was it as bad as it looked on the inside?”
“Worse. Rory was drunk onstage half the time. Hamish was totally out of control. The crew nicknamed him the Heroin Fairy. He got hooked hard, and he went out of his way to hook others. Mainly to make himself feel better about his own crap.”
I stood up and wandered over to the window. “He must have made a number of enemies?”
“When you messed with Hamish, you knew what you were getting involved with, even in the early days,” JR insisted. “He was a drug addict, plain and simple. A loose cannon. You couldn’t depend on him. He had two crew members and a doctor on the payroll just to get him upright and onstage each night.”
“That must have been a hard pill for Simon Moye to swallow?” I said, turning back to face JR.
“I suppose so, but he had sense enough to stay away. He formed his own band and toured through Europe. They didn’t have the success the Rebels did, but then again, they had a more normal life.”
“Simon had a good reason to feel hard done by when it came to Bruce Penrose and the Rebels.”
“Suppose he did.”
“Could he be mad enough to be seeking revenge now?” I’d asked Rory, but JR knew Simon better now.
JR thought for a moment, tapping the screwdriver against his index finger. “Reasonable question, but I’d have to say no. He’s stubborn and exacting, but he’s not cruel. I’d have a hard time seeing him hurting anyone. He’s more inclined to just walk away like he did at the time.”
“He has a family, right?”
JR nodded. “He’s mad about his son. That’s another reason I’d say no. He’d never risk hurting them.”
“You know all the characters floating around this mess. If you were a betting man, who would you pick?”
“Penrose.”
I sighed heavily. “I’d have been inclined to agree, but unfortunately he was found dead yesterday.”
“Dead?” JR sat bolt upright in his seat. “How?”
Watching his reaction, I’d lay money this was news to JR. “Someone cracked his head open with a guitar?”
“Any idea who did it?”
“The murder weapon was a custom red and black Fender Stratocaster. One of Rory’s favorites, I believe.”
“They can’t think—”
“You just said he had a hot temper. Is it crazy?”
“I thought you were working for Rory, not against him,” JR said angrily.
“I am, but until I can prove who it is, my only other option is to try to prove who it isn’t. Help me prove it’s not Rory.”
“If you’re wasting your time looking at Rory, you’re missing the real culprit.” I could see from the anger in his eyes that I’d lost JR. A closed look came over his face, and he stood up from his desk. “I have a staff meeting to get to. I’ll show you out.”
I rose to leave, then turned back. “Just one more question. Where were you yesterday?”
“At Southfields working on a video. In front of witnesses,” JR added, escorting me to the stairs. I could feel him glaring at my back as I descended.
Emerging onto the street, I looked back up at the Gothic facade of Ravenscourt Studios. So much talent walked those halls, but most were haunted by the ghosts of their own success, the anger, the pain, and the self-loathing. Rory was proof of that.
So which one of them had finally snapped?
Chapter 22
I grabbed a taxi from the studio to the London Bridge Hospital and asked for directions to the ICU. I was stopped at the entrance and told family only, but I hit pay dirt when the nurse on duty was able to tell me that Ian Waters’s wife had gone down to the café.
I found Patty sitting at a corner table by the window, staring out at the tourists strolling along the riverbank. She looked surprised to see me, but gestured to the chair opposite hers.
“They don’t have a care in the world,” she said wistfully, “yet in here worlds are falling apart.”
“I was in town for the day,” I explained, “and promised Summer I’d stop by to see if ther
e was any news on Ian.”
“Nothing positive, I’m afraid.” Patty twisted a napkin around her fingers. “I read to him most days. Trade press, newspapers, anything really. They say it might help, but so far, nothing.”
“Do you have family nearby?” I asked gently. “Anyone who can be with you?”
“Gerry came by almost every day at the start, but he’s still up in Stirling. Thank God he’s been able to make excuses to stay up there so he can be close to Summer. For me there isn’t anybody else. No family, no kids.” Patty roughly brushed away a tear that rolled down her cheek.
“Summer’ll be back down soon,” I said gently.
Patty dabbed at the corner of her eye with the folded napkin.
“You and Ian didn’t want kids?” It was a touchy subject, but I felt the question needed asking.
“Sure we did,” Patty said softly, “but sins of the past catch up with you.”
I looked at Patty sympathetically, expectantly, hoping she would continue.
“I got pregnant before Ian and I got married,” she admitted finally. “Botched termination and that was me finished. Ian knew about the abortion. He was really sweet about the whole thing, and he never asked who the father was.”
Patty’s face was pale and gaunt, and there was a deep sadness in her eyes. The father of the baby obviously meant something to her as well. Patty was in love with Ian, which made me think the only other man it could be was Rory. I hated to intrude on her grief, but I had to ask. “Did Rory know?”
Patty’s eyes flew to my face. “Rory told you that?”
My guess had been right. “Not about the baby. Just that you two had a brief relationship.”
“Even he didn’t know until recently,” Patty said miserably.
“How did he find out?”
“Someone wrote him an anonymous letter.”
“Who would’ve known?”
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