Fountain Of Sorrow (The Christy Kennedy Mysteries Book 3)

by Paul Charles

  Irvine added this last bit as way of explanation, since Forysthe had taken the elaborate trouble to explain to him. A little less vividly would have sufficed and perhaps encouraged his teatime appetite. But another memory prompted the next part of his report.

  “She seemed very upset, Bel - Dr Forysthe that is, at the state of the body. I would have thought she’d been used to seeing battered bodies by now. Perhaps it was just the barbaric attack which upset her. He was drunk as well, too drunk to drive,” Irvine added.

  “I don’t think he did drive. No credit card bills for petrol or car kinds of things,” the WPC interrupted.

  “Death would have occurred at midnight-thirty, give or take a few minutes either way. Our Mr Stone was thin, very thin, but he was in the best of health,” Irvine concluded.

  “Did Dr Forysthe have any ideas on the instrument of death?” Kennedy asked. “She reckoned fists and a blunt object like a piece of wood or…” “A cricket bat or a baseball bat?” Kennedy offered. “We talked about that and she said that baseball bats were becomingvery popular instruments of crime. She agreed that a baseball bat could possibly, but not definitely, have been used. However, on the good news front the forensic department were on the phone a few minutes ago claiming the half-eaten apple is a bit of a find. They say they are going to be able to get a perfect mould of a set of molars from it.”

  “Excellent,” Kennedy declared. “But we first need to find a suspect before the apple’s going to be of any use to us. Once we find him we can positively put him at the scene of the crime.”

  “Are we assuming, at this stage, that the murderer is a man?” Coles inquired.

  “Aye. I’d say so,” offered Irvine. “I doubt if a woman would do that much damage to another human. Mentally yes, physically no.”

  Coles mildly raised her perfectly shaped dark eyebrows but kept her own counsel.

  “Well, that seems to be all we have to be going on at the minute,” said Kennedy. “I think it’s about time we moved the inquiry out a bit. What I’d like to do is have some of our people go down to the Spread Eagle and interview the bar staff and some of the regulars and see if we can’t discover the identity of our mystery man. The chap who was talking to Stone at the bar at closing time. Also we need to find out what happened to Stone between 11.00 p.m. and 12.30 a.m. Someone must have seen him. Most of the Parkway businesses are closed by then, but lets do a check and find out who was on the street last evening and what they might have seen. Could you organise that, DS Irvine?”

  Irvine nodded and left to get the team on to it.

  “Now, that leaves you and I to track down and interview the sister and two brothers,” said Kennedy to Coles. “That’s certainly going to be very interesting if we can get them to talk. I’m intrigued by this funeral incident. It’s sure to be thirsty work all this talking, isn’t it? Let’s treat ourselves to a good cup of tea first.” And he rose from his desk and made his way to the kettle, rubbing his hands in glee.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Irvine was pleasantly surprised that his trip to the Spread Eagle bore fruit. Two of the bar staff and three of the regulars all came up with the same name for the mystery man seen talking to John B. Stone the previous evening. The name produced from the lips of the five witnesses? Mr Hugh Anderson.

  DS Irvine was aware (well aware) of Hugh Anderson; he was a regular (criminal) of the parishes of Camden and Islington. In point of fact Irvine was sure that Anderson had been in court no less that three weeks previously on GBH charges. The charges had been dropped. This was not unusual with GBHs; witnesses, on the rare occasion there are any who can still speak, always seemed to suffer from memory deficiency. In view of the recent development, Irvine returned to North Bridge House and put out an all ports bulletin on the same Mr Hugh Anderson.

  In the meantime, WPC Coles traced the address and telephone number of Stone’s younger brother Brian. She rang the house and spoke to Brian’s wife, who informed her that Brian was at work and happily supplied his work telephone number. Mrs Stone also supplied the names and numbers of the rest of the family, namely Stephen, the eldest, and Helen.

  Coles and Kennedy would also (eventually) learn that Helen not only separated the brothers Stephen and John B. age-wise but that she was the main person to pull them apart at the famous wedding incident.

  Kennedy was keen to start interviewing immediately and as Brian was the only one Coles had been able to track down he was automatically at the top of the chat list. This decision had been made all the more easy when Kennedy learned that Brian Stone worked for Camden Town Records who were located, as luck would have it, in the blue-framed, glass-fronted building directly opposite North Bridge House on Regent’s Park Road.

  But it was Kennedy and not the youngest of the Stones who was in for the first shock.

  Brian Stone looked like he was in his late twenties and seemed to be just the type to work for a Camden Town music business. He had the geeky appearance which seemed to have become popular, if not standard, in such places. He had a stud in his nose, another through his lip and yet a third through his eyebrow.

  Kennedy knew that certain companies went to extreme financial inconvenience to advertise substances which, if taken regularly and in vast quantities, would remove pimples, zits, other facial imperfections and (sometimes) even moles from about one’s face. In view of this, Kennedy could not work out why the younger generation covered themselves in metallic zits. Perhaps these pet carbuncles were the equivalent of the “freak flags”, the long hair styles of the sixties. It wasn’t something which really bothered Kennedy: it certainly didn’t give him sleepless nights in the way ann rea was now doing. No, it was just puzzling the way some people apparently went out of their way to ensure they looked less attractive.

  Brian Stone, who turned out to be an assistant in the International Department of Camden Town Records, greeted Kennedy and Coles in the busy reception area. He was wearing dirty (formerly white) pumps, wrinkled tartan trousers (greenish) and an Oasis (very hip and not to mention successful pop band whom many thought were the best to come along in many a year, maybe even since the Beatles, upon whom they seemingly based their entire career - and was there a better band to base your career upon? Kennedy thought not) T-shirt.

  “Can we go somewhere private?” asked Kennedy after the identifications and introductions.

  “Yeah, sure, we can use the tea room, there’s no one in there at present. What’s this all about anyway?” Brian Stone’s reply was a lot more pleasant and well-spoken than his appearance would imply.

  “I’d prefer to wait, if you don’t mind,” said Kennedy as he ran his hand through his hair as a diversion, a stalling tactic or maybe even both.

  They made their way through the buzzing, open-plan office which was packed to bursting. If you could hear your way through the noisy maze of people, there was also music hitting you from three different directions at once. One was a radio, probably even a pirate, Kennedy deduced from the unbearable level of distortion. The second audio attack was from behind them and from behind a closed door, but still so loud Kennedy could not make out what Stone was saying to him as they made their way through the heavily peopled office. Kennedy assumed, from the way Stone’s unkempt and longish ginger hair kept bobbing about, that the information he wished to impart was important.

  The third attack of music, which seemed to be the magnet to which they were being helplessly drawn, he recognised as the Beatles’ “Ticket to Ride”. But the closer they moved towards it, the more he realised that it wasn’t the Beatles” version but a new one by the aforementioned Oasis. This was by no means better than the original classic, but served to show that the performers were a cracking good band.

  They arrived at the tea room and for the first time since their brief chat in reception Kennedy could hear was Stone was saying: “I love that version, far superior to the original if you ask me. Hey, did you see that prat Valentini hijacked GLR yesterday?”

  The tw
o officers nodded to the positive but Kennedy had forgotten all about it.

  “Yeah, anyway he’s created such a demand that all the record stores have now sold out of his music and everyone in town is offering him a record deal. Shit, even the people upstairs are trying to sign him.”

  Kennedy looked around as he closed the glass door to the tea room behind them. He couldn’t for the life of him see any evidence of an upstairs.

  Coles went over to the tape machine, and when she couldn’t work out how to turn it off she simply removed the mains plug. She and Kennedy both breathed a major sigh of relief as the room fell (relatively) quiet.

  “I have to tell you that your brother John was found dead this morning, and - “

  “Greeeaat! Great! Someone gave the… the…” and Brian stared at the WPC before carefully choosing a word, …bastard gave the bastard exactly what he deserved!”

  Kennedy and Coles were, to say the least, somewhat taken aback by this response.

  “Look, I should tell you this now,” said Brian Stone, ““cause you’re going to find it out anyway. Our Steve and Helen and me, we couldn’t stand the… the…” He once again looked at Coles and even then in his deepest anger he still managed to curtail his manners, “…the waster, as far as the three of us were concerned - he just didn’t exist and I’m afraid you won’t find any of us shedding a tear. We just - I mean I certainly do not care. In fact if you want to know the truth I’m just annoyed that I’ll have to spend some of today dealing with this… dealing with him.”

  “Why do you all hate him so much? What on earth did he do to you?” WPC Coles asked automatically.

  “Well…” Again he paused, then said, “listen, you’d better ask Steve about that one. It’s his business and I’m certainly not going to go blurting it out to strangers. And look, if you’ve nothing more to ask me I’d prefer to get back to my work. I’ve got a lot to do today and I’m certainly not going to let my work suffer because of that bastard.”

  “Mmmm.” Kennedy stared suspiciously at Stone, but seeing betraying reaction, said “I suppose we can leave it there, for now, but I may need to talk to you again, so stay available.”

  He watched Stone jump up from his seat and dart for the door. “One final question Mr Stone: what were you doing last evening between the hours of eleven-thirty and one o’clock?” It was a question Kennedy felt compelled to ask in view of the blatant bad blood.

  Stone froze in his tracks, turned nonchalantly and replied, “Well I was out with a few mates. We were in the Dublin Castle till chucking out time. We’d been there to see one of our new bands, a waste of space if you ask me, a girl band whose backing tape kept breaking down, they couldn’t even sing let alone sing in tune, but since the Spice Girls everyone wants a girl group. I tell you, this one couldn’t even pass an audition for Stars in Their Eyes, but as I say the people upstairs wanted a girl group. They probably signed them before they’d even heard them sing a note. Now the rest of us have to do the work on them.”

  “And after chucking out time?” Coles asked, interrupting the lecture on corporate record company procedure.

  “I, ah, I went and got a takeaway down on the High Street and walked home.” “At what time did you arrive home?” “This last question of yours, Detective Inspector,” Stone smiled anatural smile at Kennedy, “has as many parts as an A-level exam question.”

  “At what time did you return home, sir?” Kennedy repeated firmly.

  “Ah, about twelve o’clock, I think, not much later. I’m afraid I really must go now,” the man pleaded.

  Kennedy nodded consent. He closed the door after Stone and said to Coles, “Do you still have his home telephone number?” He could smell her perfume as he did so.

  Coles checked her notes and confirmed that she had.“Good, I’ll delay him and you ring his wife immediately and check with her what time he really got home.” Kennedy had opened the door before he finished the request and called loudly after Stone, “Sir! Excuse me, sir!” But Stone ignored him. Kennedy called again this time at the top of his voice, “Brian Stone! A word please!”

  This time one of Stone’s colleagues caught his attention and pointed in the direction of Kennedy. Stone walked back towards them with all the pretense of a football player sent off for a bad foul but still protesting his innocence. WPC Coles meanwhile went back over the road to North Bridge House to make use of Sgt Flynn’s desk telephone.

  “Yes? What is it now?” Stone barked at Kennedy.

  “Sorry, it was just out of interest, really. I was wondering what happened to that chap, you know Pauley Valentini and GLR?”

  “Really? I would have thought if anyone had the inside track on that it would have been the police,” Stone replied in apparent disbelief.

  “I’m afraid I’ve been busy on this inquiry all day and haven’t had a chance to check with the officers working on the case.”

  “He’s still there,” said Stone, “He’s still on air. Johnny Bell has taken a few hours of snooze but Pauley is still up and going strong.”

  “How’s he managing that?” Kennedy said, pushing his luck as far as he possibly might.

  Brain Stone merely looked at Kennedy, smiled a smile of ‘silly Question’ and attempted to turn away from Kennedy, who persisted with “So do you think you’ll be successful in signing him to Camden Town Records?”

  Brian Stone sighed, stretching the first word of his reply to what seemed like an eternity, “We-ell, I know they want to. They’ve been faxing him at GLR. Apparently they want to record a few voice and guitar versions of some of his new songs with Johnny Bell producing. They’ve even offered Johnny a great deal to help put it all together. They want him to get it over to us this afternoon so that we can get a CD out before all this fuss dies down.

  Kennedy grasped at another straw. “What’s the quickest you could get it in the shops by?”

  “Ah I suppose if we pulled out all the stops we could have it out in twenty-one days. Well, at least a limited supply of it by that time. He’s not Lady Di after all. That would have us taking everything down to the wire, but if this is going to be a nine-day wonder then I suppose we’re going to have to be…” Stone paused for a few seconds and Kennedy could see from the smile creeping across his mouth that another joke was due, “…twelve days too late.”

  Kennedy laughed, and Stone went on, “Personally I feel we’d be twenty days too late. This guy Valentini used to be a tour de force, but now he’s forced to tour. He’s had his crack at it, you know. The majority of acts, they get one stab at it, one big album, one big single and that’s it and They’ve got to make sure they maximise their profile during the period of their success to ensure them a career. There’s only a handful of artists, people like the Beatles, Dylan, Jackson Browne, Van Morrison, Ray Davies and possibly Paul Simon, who consistently write great songs.”

  Kennedy was happy that he’d pressed the right button and Stone was off on automatic, he smiled to himself, thinking that he would have added Jackson Browne to the list and maybe a few others, but he decided to hold his own council and let Stone continue, “But apart from that it’s one big hit, and why on earth would they expect any more? So now Valentini is pissed off that Radio Wonderful won’t play him. Hey, join the queue mate. Besides, have you heard his recent stuff? I mean please, what’s that all about? Come on Pauley, I think you need to get out of the house a bit more. Before this hijack he was someone with only one career move left: to die.”

  Kennedy felt compelled to cut in at this point, “A little harsh perhaps?”

  “Perhaps, but only a little. Anyway with all the European and American interest we’d maybe even have to add a week to that twenty-one days. Now, if you have no more real questions I should be getting back to my work.”

  “No, no more,” Kennedy replied, with a “for now” under his breath as he slowly left the building whistling the Beatles” “Hello Goodbye”, which the Fabs recorded late October 1967, completed mixing on the 15th of No
vember, had it in the shops on the 24th November, and had a number one single in Britain and around Europe by the 29th November. It stayed in the top 30 for the following three months. The Beatle fan detective wondered what the record company executives upstairs would do with such a group today.

  Chapter Sixteen

  By the time Kennedy had reached the final bars of “Hello Goodbye” he was entering North Bridge House to find WPC Coles catching many the eye as she passed the time waiting for his arrival chatting with Sgt Flynn.

  She hurried across the well-worn wooden floor to meet him. “Guess what, sir?”

  “Well, I’d say judging by the lightness of your step that either Tim Flynn here has at last got some new jokes, or Mrs Brian Stone didn’t exactly collaborate Mr Brian Stone’s alibi.”

  “Correct on both accounts, sir. His wife told me that Stone returned home about ten past one. She says the reason she’s so sure of it is because, to quote her, “He’d had a skinfull”, and apparently made a bit of a fuss getting into bed, so much so that he woke her up, she checked the clock and it was one-ten. So there.”

  “Aha, interesting. All our suspects seem to be falling into our lap in a heartbeat. The Dublin Castle is just across the road from the Spread Eagle; the brothers Stone would have been leaving their respective drinking houses around the same time; maybe they even met at the top of Parkway. You know, both a bit the worse for wear on drink. They spotted each other, the old family feud sprung up again, they had a go at each other and John B. came off the worse. Possibly, but I don’t remember seeing any marks about the hands or face of Brian, so either it was a one way scrap or…”

  “Or,” Coles took up the theme, “or Brian spied his brother coming out of the Spread Eagle, followed him and got a bit of wood or a baseball bat and whacked him a few times?”

  “Two problems with your theory. One, neither of their journeys would have taken them up and over Gloucester Gate Bridge. Two, he couldn’t have very easily strolled into a shop at that time of the night and ordered a baseball bat, could he?” Kennedy surmised as he led the WPC through the pass door to the inner office and up to his own on the first floor. As the pair of them made their way in silence up the stairway they met DS Irvine coming down.