"Fraud. It's the easiest thing in the world to steal the identities of four people who died in 1977. There's your explanation why their results are so healthy. They're twentysomethings who take care of themselves. Come on, Mike, you've seen them. We all agreed this has to be a hoax. It hasn't played out yet."
Mike Tindall lowered his voice. "Todd, to pull off the conspiracy you're suggesting, they would have to fake and manipulate a lot of things. The bands history, press reports, their own physiology, other people's witness accounts. How many people are involved? Why hasn't one of them let slip what's going on?"
"And the alternative, Mike? Vampires? Which implausible scenario do you think I'm going with?"
Tindall had to agree. No matter how difficult it was to comprehend the scale of the hoax, the alternative explanation didn't begin to stand up to scrutiny.
"My biggest concern, Mike, and I've spoken to Bill about this. I just hope they're not opening us up to legal proceedings somewhere down the line. There's a whole nation of litigious nuts waiting with a writ for us to fall on our faces. People have been sued for miming, what are people going to do if they find out the whole band is a fake? Maybe Tom can speak to Rob and get some clues on how they're managing to pull this off. I don't mind concocting some kind of confidentiality agreement with them if, and only if, what they're doing is legal."
"Okay. Fine. I understand that. One other thing. Do you know your ears are identical to how they were when you were a kid?"
"Thanks for that, Mike."
"Your ears never change shape as you grow older. I just thought you might like to know, next time you meet the band."
"There isn't going to be a next time," said Moonaj finishing his beer.
"Photographs of the band taken in 1976, off an original album sleeve, Dead Hearts Live. They have the same ears."
"Plastic surgery, Mike," Moonaj was exhausted. "Glue on fakes, I don't know. Were Mr Spock's ears real? Let me spell it out for you. The only thing unnatural about Toten Herzen is that they still have their own livers. Now I'm going home to laugh at another episode of True Blood."
"And there's the teeth."
"Email the report to me, Mike." Moonaj's patience ran dry. He picked up the bill and left Tindall to think about teeth by himself. On the way home he heard his phone ring and go to voicemail. It was Mike Tindall, determined to ruin what was left of Moonaj's Tuesday.
"Hi Todd, it's Mike. I just thought you really should know the dental report was interesting. The fangs, you know their sharpened canines. According to the dental reports the enamel is real, that is they're not veneers or crowns, and the teeth are not dentures, all roots and nerves are still intact. And of course they show no signs of the enamel being shaped or filed. In other words they're pretty damn real. Who would have thought? Have a nice evening, Todd. Oh, and the clinic's x-ray machine is bust. Expect a bill for that."
Moonaj pulled the car over and paused a moment. He pinched the skin between his eyes wishing the voicemail message would suck itself back into the ether unheard. What was he to do? He tried to think of other hoaxes, real or otherwise and how much trouble they had caused their authors. Was Elvis dead? Was Kennedy killed by a stranger on the grassy knoll? When Neil Armstrong landed on the moon was he serenaded by starmen or NASA engineers? Maybe, just maybe, this was a cleverer band than he was giving them credit for. Maybe, just maybe, their deception was something he should go along with after all and milk it, or rather squeeze every last drop of blood out of it. Tuesday was done. Bring on Wednesday. Wednesday's are supposed to be quiet.
24 (June)
To: RobWallet
From: admin.LeeHoWang
Subject: Toten Herzen; monetizing the brand - draft summary ref255622/13
Hi Rob
Please find below a summary of the meeting to discuss the first ideas for monetizing potential of Toten Hezen. These are possible outcomes. If you have any questons do not hesitate to contact Tom.
Bex
Attendees:
Bill Brandt - Legal Director
Mike Tindall - Chief Financial Director
Linda Macvie - Marketing Strategist
Tom Scavinio - Band Management
Archie Ragg - Creative Director
Outcomes:
BB - Gene Simmons was doing this when TH were still only biting toffee apples at the fair.
AR - Tie in with Huawei over two years. Apple considered the arrangement too dark for its 2013 aspirational message, although the product range white colour scheme suited the complexions of the band
$14.5 million
AMD happy for a tie in with its quad-core rhinestone chip for portable devices
$1.2 million
Microsoft will use Susan Bekker as the face of its Windows Phone 8 campaign on condition she smiles more, albeit with closed lips
$750 000
Wal-Mart thinks the TH Express ready meal endorsement has possibilities. Initial strap line centres around 'big enough to feed the hungriest rock gods'
$174 000
Cartier impressed with Rene V's mysterious pallor for its nightlight watch face
$320 000
Levis promise to make Dee Vincent look two feet taller in its brick washed jeans
$240 000
Live Nation teaming up with Dr Pepper not ideal, but could put $1 million more on the table, so we'll take the money
$2.4 million
MT doesn't envy LM's job making that one plausible
AR - Goldman Sachs need more time to consider sponsorship; concerned about the 'irony' of the relationship
$ ?
Donna Karan happy to continue with a 'black' range for the fall 2013
$80 000
Victoria's Secret want to be the closest thing to a vampire's skin
$70 000
'If anyone can shoot a vampire Canon can'
$630 000
Anything omitted?
TS - the music?
AR - Ibanez refuse to share a stage with Gibson. Bring up the subject of sustainable timber imports and ethical forestry, then light a fire. Accidents happen
Surprised Seat want in. (Even got me baffled)
$265 000
Toys R Us taking a big risk pushing an exclusive dark Bratz range, but it's their funeral if it all goes tits up
$312 000
Total income over two years$20. 869 million
TH income at 2.9% $605 201
TS given the task of presenting all this to TH
-
Rob Wallet gave the email a moment's thought then decided to follow the footer's request to consider the environment and not print it out. The only reason he could think of for doing that would be to rip it up. But he had a good idea that once the band saw it, they'd be amused at the scramble to associate with them, startled at the amounts being put on the table and enraged at the cut they'd receive. He wondered how all this fitted into the Plan.
25 (June)
A shaky hand held video on Youtube told the story. Police were waiting at Dulles Airport for a small private jet to coast to a halt. Once stationary the plane was bathed in spotlights like a superstar before a cautious SWAT team surrounded it, themselves watched by the world's media and hundreds of airport passengers and staff. The time was a few minutes after eleven pm. The plane stood in its circle of adoration, but the star of tonight's performance was still inside waiting for a grand entrance not of her making. Nervous fingers covered triggers, sharp eyes bulged from under the rim of kevlar helmets, scopes were trained on the door of the jet as it clicked and folded open. The steps unfurled and a woman collapsed in a heap in the open door. The SWAT team moved in: two officers up the steps, dragging the woman by the arms back to ground level - losing a shoe in the process - then pinned face down as they handcuffed her.
The video was copied and duplicated, uploaded again and again until the combined viewing figures were over two and a half million. In New York, Todd Moonaj was keeping himself informed and swallowing tablets
like he hadn't been fed in a week. Linda Macvie, Toten Herzen's Marketing Strategist, was the latest victim of the curse.
-
The whole episode was on Youtube before Linda Macvie could be escorted to a high security immigration facility within the airport where she was given a vile cup of coffee and one chance to phone her lawyer. By the time the lawyer arrived, Macvie's name was headline news and on the way to becoming a household name.
"The flight was fifteen minutes out of La Guardia. A routine business flight to Washington for a meeting about a forthcoming tour and sponsorship deal for a major artist. The details were still embargoed; the only clues being she was nearly as old as Toten Herzen, but not nearly as much trouble.
"I must have fallen asleep, although I don't remember falling asleep. I wasn't tired. The day had been relatively quiet up to then. I sat back on the plane, made a few calls after we had taken off then started to read a book. First book I've read in months. Patricia Cornwell's Bone Bed. Police procedural. I should have known better. The blurb says it's about an enemy that's impossible to defeat!
"Then out of nowhere . . . she just appeared. Just standing there watching me. I don't know how long she'd been there, but I felt her presence before I saw her. As I was reading a voice inside me kept saying Susan Bekker wants to talk to you. And I looked up and there she was.
"I screamed out, it was a jolt. You don't expect to just see someone appear like that. I didn't know what she was doing on the flight. I asked her are you all here and she said no. Then Dee Vincent walked by, or appeared, just appeared out of nothing. They didn't say anything, they just stood there watching me, staring at me. I can't believe this, but I said to them have you read Patricia Cornwell? I didn't know what the hell to say. What do you say when that happens to you?
"Then Dee Vincent started saying something about replacing her in the band, about a tv show in which we'd find a new vocalist and dump her. I didn't know what she meant at first, then I remembered a conversation at an introductory meeting with the band and I was talking to the writing team . . . but we were at the other end of the room. I started to wonder if the room was bugged, if the plane was bugged, my flat, my office, was it Todd, the band, who was bugging me, why? It was all standard procedures. I told her I didn't know what she meant, but she called me a liar.
"Then Susan Bekker asked if I could fly a plane and I said I could, but not one like this. I'd had flying lessons. She knew the pilot had taught me, she knew everything about the pilot and me: we'd had sex in the past, my husband didn't know, Leo, the pilot, his wife didn't know. I thought they were going to blackmail me or something. I waited for what they wanted, but they stayed still. They never spoke. I was freaking out, asking them what did they want, how did they get aboard, why didn't they say they were coming on the flight with me. Even though they had no reason to be on the flight, this wasn't business about them.
"Dee Vincent went up to the cockpit and went inside. Susan said Dee wasn't pleased and was very unpleasant when she was in the wrong mood. I asked her what were they doing and she didn't answer. I asked her how she had got aboard without me seeing her and she said they did a lot of things that no one ever sees. She said it was funny how so much was said about them, but no one ever sees what goes on.
"Then the door to the cockpit opened and Dee Vincent came out, and she was covered in blood; licking her mouth, licking the blood away from her mouth. Susan Bekker licked some of it away too. She was breathing heavily . . . her eyes were bulging out of her head. Susan Bekker asked her if she was satisfied and she just nodded. She couldn't speak, she just nodded.
"Susan Bekker said to me you need to land this plane on your own now. I went up to the cockpit . . . I didn't really want to look inside. I sort of knew what to expect after everything that had happened to Torque Rez and Mike Flambor. And, Christ. . . . The blood, all you could see was the blood. And Leo, sitting there, his throat or his neck, it was hard to tell. She had cut his throat."
-
Linda Macvie had said all she could say and bent forward resting her head on the table. Her lawyer left the room to talk to a waiting FBI officer called Berry.
"What's she saying in there?" asked Agent Berry.
"She's saying a lot, but it's like she's high on something. It's just a babble. She's talking about someone called Susan Bekker and Dee Vincent." They both knew the names.
"She must be representing them up in New York. There's been some activity up there past week or so. Three dead, two of them were colleagues of hers. Is she implicating Bekker and Vincent in the killing?"
"She's saying one of them cut the pilot's throat."
"Right. Amazing."
"Amazing?"
Agent Berry spoke quietly. "Linda Macvie was the only person on the plane when it landed, other than the pilot. There was no one else aboard that flight."
"She did say she was having an affair with the pilot," said Macvie's lawyer. She wondered if the two police officers standing guard outside the interview room could hear this so nudged Agent Berry away from them. "He gave her flying lessons, they had sex, she didn't say how long this had been going on, but it seems far fetched to think that might be a reason for doing this. I don't know, it's too early to tell."
"Okay," said Agent Berry thinking out loud. "Two colleagues in New York, now her pilot. She says two people mysteriously turn up mid flight and then disappear." He raised his eyebrows for a response. The lawyer had to agree with his unspoken conclusion.
"I think she needs to undergo a psychiatric assessment before you go any further with this."
"Oh I will," said Agent Berry. "We might be some way off a motive yet, but our killer is inside that interview room. I'll speak to you again. Thanks for coming down at short notice."
Before they separated Macvie's lawyer hesitantly turned back. "Is it worth maybe finding out where the two band members were tonight?"
Agent Berry was astonished. "You're kidding aren't you? Was she that convincing?"
"No, no. Sorry, stupid question. I try not to get emotionally involved, but to see a train wreck like that. Four deaths. What has to happen to someone to cause that?"
"Four deaths?" Agent Berry wasn't going that far. "Let's keep it simple. Keep it to one."
"You have someone for the other murders?"
"Did I say that?" He spoke closely to her, making doubly sure no one in the world heard him. "Boy in Boston was beheaded. The other two were turned inside out. Go figure." Agent Berry walked away without offering any further clues or explanation, but his mind seemed to be made up; Linda Macvie was not a serial killer.
PART 3: THE FALL
26 (June)
The excesses of the trip to New York were over. The band were back in Europe and taking time out at a rented house in Yvoire, overlooking Lake Geneva. Rob Wallet suggested the band lie low for a while and adjust, take stock, reflect on the process. He thought he'd done all right delivering Moencker (in a roundabout way), who had himself delivered Sony (in a less than satisfactory way), who had in their own peculiar and excessive way, delivered a plan. Not The Plan, mind, the mysterious secret arrangement that Almer should have explained, but never did thanks to an impromptu performance that put his bar on the map for a whole seventy two hours. No, a plan, which may have some influence on The Plan. But anyway, Wallet wasn't sure about either and so spent his time gazing like a piece of classical sculpture across the sunless waters of Lake Geneva. Besides, the public needed time to replenish its capacity to be shocked. There are only so many songwriters who can be devoured before people switch off and start talking about bread and cheese again.
For Elaine, adjusting and taking stock were bywords for boredom and spent her time surfing channels on French television and the internet. One evening, having come down from the mountains to the south of the village, she found Wallet with his feet up, monopolising the television and watching some catch up rubbish: a subtitled interview with an Englishman calling himself Terence Pearl.
&nb
sp; "He says we're gods," Wallet said as Elaine wandered in to the lounge.
"Goddesses, surely," she said dropping onto the settee next to him. Wallet could smell the forest on her clothes; the aroma of bark and berries made more pungent and sweet by the moistening of light rain that had been falling all day.
On screen, in a shiny transparent television studio a smartly dressed, slightly balding man was explaining why Toten Herzen were a suicide cult. "That's Susan's favourite word at the moment," Elaine said.
"He's mad as a meringue," said Wallet. "He talks like a Victorian. All thee and thy and thouest. Ex-grammar school teacher, I reckon."
"Sounds local too. That's a Suffolk accent."
Wallet listened more closely as the interview cut to a film of Terence Pearl walking down the quiet high street of a small English town. He jauntily passed the wool shop and a store selling preserves and home made jams, resisting the urge to doff his hat at the local maiden aunts inside, before springing into a bookshop. In the mullioned bay window was a small stack of books: Pearl's books. 'In League with Nosferatu: The Record Industry's Secret Vampire Conspiracy.'
-
Pearl
"There's no shame in admitting that it's difficult trying to find a publisher who is prepared to take my work seriously. These are challenging times for the publishing world. If I wanted to sell my book in an ironic jokey way like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, no problem. But In League with Nosferatu isn't that type of book, I fear."
We Are Toten Herzen (TotenUniverse Book 1) Page 16