By the end of the night my mood was dramatically happier than at the start, and after many glasses of wine I was possibly bordering on the wrong side of tactile. And then Mitch offered to share a taxi home at his expense, and in the back of the cab I let my guard down further and kissed him. And it was actually very nice indeed, but I wasn’t inviting him in for coffee, or anything else for that matter, for rather obvious reasons. I did, however, agree to meet him for dinner on Wednesday.
“What happened with the gig?” asked Danny.
It all seemed so long ago.
“They wouldn’t let us in. Bastards.”
“What?”
And then I realised that wasn’t what he meant.
“Who wouldn’t let you in? And who’s us?” he persisted.
“I’d been crossed off the guest list. They seem to have a new manager.”
“So you went to the gig?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you said it was cancelled?”
“No, very much not cancelled although I don’t actually know, now I think about it, as we couldn’t get in.”
“Anna, you’re not making any sense. Are you drunk?”
“A little bit.”
“Jesus.”
“What’s your problem?”
“My problem? I don’t have a problem except I’ve been worried sick. You weren’t answering your phone.”
“Hmmm. Sorry, I didn’t hear it. The pub was quite loud.”
“Which pub?”
“The one I was in, obviously. If another pub had been loud it wouldn’t have mattered because I wasn’t there. I was in the one I was in.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
“Oh, don’t go getting all sweary with me. I’m home now. Thanks for waiting up but I suspect you’ve been busy chatting to your girlfriend.”
“What?”
“Don’t deny it, Danny. But don’t worry, I’ve had a lovely evening anyway. And now I must go to bed.”
“Anna, what are you talking about? Please just try to be sensible for a moment.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“You want me to be sensible?”
“Yes.”
“Danny, I think I’ve had the most sensible night I’ve had in a long time. I have very much seen the light.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Goodnight, Danny.”
“Anna!” He actually shouted at me. I could see hurt in his eyes. I’m not a bitch. I stopped and decided to talk to him, albeit leaning on the sofa for support.
“What?” I asked.
“Can we go back to the start?”
“All right. We met when we were students, and then got on well so we ended up sharing a house and then I fell in love with you.”
“Jesus, you are pissed.”
“Probably less than you think.”
He ignored that.
“I meant the start of this evening,” he continued. “One minute you’re telling me we’re going out and the next it’s off but you went anyway.”
“That’s an accurate summary. You should become a reporter.”
“Very funny.”
“But you missed out the bit whereby I caught you emailing your girlfriend and then tried to hide it by minimising the window.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t deny it, Danny. I saw you.”
“When you came in from the kitchen?”
“Ah, you remember. Top of the class.”
“And by my ‘girlfriend’ do you mean Clare?”
“Obviously.”
“Jesus, Anna. I was not emailing Clare.”
“There’s no need to hide it, I don’t actually care any more.” That bit wasn’t strictly true. “I saw you close the window.”
“I wasn’t emailing Clare.”
“Who then? Have you got another one on the go as well?”
“You’re being ridiculous. If you must know, I’d just been sent a picture from a guy I met in Germany that was horrific. I didn’t want you to see it. I closed it down because I thought it’d upset you.”
“Oh,” I said. And stopped leaning on the sofa, and collapsed into it instead.
“Oh”, I said again.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked. I nodded. I wasn’t sure my brain was up to actual sentences for a moment.
By the time he returned I’d started to think a bit more clearly.
“So, who did you go with?” he asked.
“Just a friend,” I said.
“Which friend?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not really but I’m just curious.”
“That’s okay then.”
“Which friend?”
“You said it didn’t matter.”
“It didn’t matter until you started making an issue out of it.”
“Until I started making an issue out of it? Thanks for the tea, by the way.”
“You’re welcome. So?”
“So what?”
“So which friend.”
I really wasn’t sure about this.
“Mitch,” I said.
“Mitch?”
“Yup, Mitch.”
“Who on earth is Mitch?”
“Just a friend.”
“I’ve never heard of Mitch before.”
“I’ve only known him since yesterday.”
“What? This gets worse.”
And so, I told him about scarf man on the Underground and how I’d bumped into him later in the garage and he’d given me his number and that he seemed like a really nice guy. I didn’t mention the kiss, though. That would have been awkward.
“But you couldn’t get in anyway?”
“No, the fucker crossed me off the guest list.”
“Who did? Someone at the venue?”
“No, their new manager. Oh, I should probably have mentioned that earlier. It was your mate, Graham.”
It didn’t make any sense to Danny either. And now I thought about it, it was utterly bizarre. What on earth was Graham March doing there? It couldn’t be a coincidence, surely. But what did he even know about music?
“The bastard,” said Danny. “He said he’d tell me about his involvement in ‘the arts’. Presumably that’s what he was referring to. What is he playing at?”
“I’ll call Holly in the morning, if she’ll talk to me,” I offered. “I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“If you could, it’d be appreciated.”
And then my phone started ringing. I searched for it in my bag, but it stopped before I retrieved it.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Just gone one.”
“Who’s calling at this time of the morning?”
“Probably Mitch.”
That was a bit cheeky.
And then it started ringing again. I pressed the button to connect.
“Hello,” I said, cautiously.
There was a lot of noise on the line. I could hear sirens and shouting. I was on the verge of ending the call when I heard someone say my name.
“Hello,” I said again.
“Anna?” said the voice. “It’s Holly.” It didn’t sound like Holly. She sounded tiny and distant, voice cracking, as though she was crying.
“Holly? What’s up? What happened tonight?”
More noise. More shouting.
“Anna?” she said again.
“Yes, I’m here. Is everything okay?”
“No,” she said. “It’s Steve.”
“Steve?” I asked. “What about him?”
“He’s dead,” she said. And then the phone line went dead as well.
13
Tuesday, April 5th, 1994
DANNY hit the phone to try to find out what had happened while I discovered just how quickly such traumatic news could help sober me up.
Eventually he managed to speak to someone who had a few of the details. I’m not sure if it wa
s a colleague at the Echo or a contact within the police. My thoughts turned to Colette. Did she even know about her brother? Who would tell her? She was away on a modelling assignment and I didn’t even know in which country. I didn’t know how I could contact her, but equally wasn’t sure it was appropriate for me to break the news. And yet I just wanted to speak to my friend, to comfort her, and be there for her in any way I could.
According to Danny, Steve’s body had been found washed up in mud on the bank of the Thames near the South Bank. It had been spotted by a couple of French tourists on their way back to their hotel after a romantic night out. They were traumatised, and I understood why. It was just too horrible to contemplate. The police weren’t releasing much information, officially, but apparently at the moment they were looking at the possibility of a tragic accident, possibly as a result of a drug overdose, although something more sinister had yet to be ruled out. I couldn’t believe the drug theory. I’d only met Steve a couple of times but he didn’t seem the type. The girls, maybe, but him? It was another thing that just didn’t make sense.
We went to bed around 4am. I didn’t think I’d sleep very well, but I must have drifted off eventually. I came to just before eight, disturbed by movement in the flat. Danny was up, getting ready for work. I wanted to catch him before he left so I dragged myself up, feeling awful as a result of the evil triumvirate of alcohol, sleep deprivation and shock.
He was just logging off the computer when I walked through to the front room.
“Any news?” I asked.
“No, not since last night. How are you feeling? You look awful.”
“Thanks. I feel it.”
I put my hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“What on earth was March doing there?” asked Danny, mainly of himself. “And then the singer turns up dead the same night. Coincidence?”
“It’s too much.”
“Exactly. This wasn’t an accident. I don’t care what the police think.”
“What’s your plan? Assuming you have one.”
“I’m going to the office. I’ll brief Mike. If nobody else has spotted a connection with March, it’s something else that needs investigating. Then I’m meeting Amy at lunchtime if she’s still free.”
“DS Cranston?”
Danny nodded.
“I’ll see what she knows, what she can tell me. It’s bigger than just a news story now. He’s got to be stopped, whatever it is he’s up to.”
“I did have a thought,” I said.
“Go on.”
“It’s probably nothing but you mentioned this homeless shelter thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Could that be the connection? Leah was homeless. Maybe she was there. Maybe she met March somehow and that’s how he got a connection to the band.”
I could see Danny’s thought process.
“Do you have a number for her?” he asked.
“No, but I’ve got one for Holly.”
“Could you ring her? See if you can get a number for Leah?”
“Of course. On it, Poirot.”
“Let me know. Cheers Anna. You’re a star.”
That made me smile. Then suddenly I had a flashback to the previous evening and kissing someone else. Oh God. What had I been thinking?
Danny left for work and I tried to inject some semblance of humanity back into my body via the medium of the shower. It was only a partial success. Tea and toast were very much a requirement.
Just past nine I called Holly. There was no answer. I didn’t leave a message. I always think that gives the initiative to the other person. Once you’ve left a message, there’s no need to ring again, even if they don’t call you back. Don’t leave a message and you can keep trying.
My phone rang. I jumped at it, hoping it was Holly calling back anyway.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi, Anna, it’s Mitch.” Oh God.
“Mitch, hi. Look, I don’t want to be rude but it’s not a good time.”
“Sorry about that. Are you okay?”
“Yes, fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Kind of.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just some personal stuff.”
“That doesn’t sound good. Anything I can help with?”
“No. I just... Oh, I can’t do this now. Sorry.”
“Hey, it’s me who’s sorry. Is it something I said? Or did?”
“No, not at all. I’ve just had some bad news.”
“Really? Shit. Nothing serious I hope. God. Can I do anything?”
“No. I’m going to have to go. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Of course. Just Anna?”
“What?”
“Thank you. For yesterday. I really enjoyed it.”
“Me too.” Why did I say that?
“Call me if you need me, okay?”
“I will.”
I ended the call and tried Holly again. No answer again. I thought back to the photo shoot, remembered meeting Steve. He seemed such a nice guy. A great singer and so down to earth. The only one of the three I immediately warmed to. And yet there was definitely something going on that I was being excluded from. Where were they yesterday? And why, of all the people in the world, and all of the shady characters in the music business and hanging around its periphery, did they end up having anything to do with Graham March? I tried Holly again. This time it was answered.
“Holly!” I said, my heart beating slightly faster. “It’s Anna.”
“Holly isn’t here,” came the reply, in a fragile-sounding voice.
“Is she okay? When will she be back?” I asked.
“I don’t know, sorry. She’s gone. This is Leah.”
“Leah, hi! It’s Anna.” I was repeating myself but she sounded as though she was in a world of her own. Understandable, I suppose.
“Hi Anna. Have you heard about Steve?”
“Yes. It’s just a tragedy. Are you okay?”
“No, not really. I...” Her voice drifted off into silence.
“Where are you? Leah?”
“Yes?”
“Is there anything I can do? Where are you now?”
“He’s dead,” she said. This wasn’t going to be easy.
“I know. Have you heard any more? From the police?”
“No, I.... Just... Fuck.”
“Listen, Leah, talk to me. Where are you? Don’t hang up. I need to talk to you.”
“Why to me?”
“I just want to help. What happened yesterday? I came to see you last night but I couldn’t get in. And Graham March...”
“That wanker.”
“Exactly. What was he doing there?”
“Fucking everything up. Fuck, Anna, I’ve got to go.”
“No, listen, Leah, please don’t hang up. Can I come to see you?”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Leah, where are you?”
“I’m nowhere. And on the fucking edge.”
“Okay, but listen. I don’t believe Steve was an accident.”
“No, not an accident. The bastards.”
“Who are the bastards, Leah? What happened? What can you tell me?”
“Oh, Anna. You don’t want to know. It’s all just so fucked up. And Steve, I just can’t... He was just an innocent guy.”
“Please, tell me. What do you mean? Innocent?”
“He was just a guy. Not his fault. And he’s... The bastards.”
“Leah, have you taken something? I’m worried about you.”
“I’m okay, Anna. Just being careful.”
“Can you tell me? What do you mean? What’s going on, Leah?”
“I can’t tell you. Not now.”
“Is it the band?”
She laughed.
“The band? I haven’t even thought about the band. That’s completely fucked.”
“So, what then?”
There was silence on the phone. I thought she’d gon
e.
“Leah?”
“Yeah?” She was still there.
“Tell me.”
“I’ll meet you. Tonight.”
“Tell me where.”
“The studio. Seven. Anna, it’s all just worse than you could ever imagine. I’ll talk to you then. I’ll tell you. Can’t now. Got to be careful. Got to go.”
“Leah?”
But the phone was dead. I tried calling back but it just rang and rang. At least she’d arranged to meet me, if she remembered. She sounded all over the place. I thought there was a very slim chance she’d actually turn up, but it was the best I had. I called Danny’s number but there was no answer there either. I left a message with the Echo switchboard for him to call me, urgently, as soon as he was free.
14
DANNY left his editor’s office, having brought him up to date on the latest developments. He’d asked for a deadline extension, but it was a triumph of hope over experience and it hadn’t been granted. He returned to his office and started compiling his notes so far, bringing together everything he’d found out about March since the initial suspension, information he’d gathered on people trafficking from his fact-finding trip to Germany, questions about the homeless shelter, and observations about his apparent contacts. He started to draw a flow chart of connections, but still not much of it made sense. It seemed like he was getting somewhere and nowhere, simultaneously.
He opened the CompuServe account on his notebook computer and dialled a connection. No new messages. He clicked the icon to create one and typed Clare’s address.
Subject: Easter Bunny
Clare,
I’ve tried not to contact you but here I am. I hope all is well. Things are getting serious with the EB and I wonder if I can pick your brains a bit. Are you around? Can we speak? He’s turning up in all sorts of new places and I would appreciate your input in putting the links in place. I’d prefer not to discuss it via email if there’s an alternative.
Despite everything it was great to see you. You’re looking well. There again, you always did look amazing. I think I can say that now.
Out Of The Red Page 8