Cherringham--Killer Track

by Matthew Costello

  “No,” said Ryan, glancing at the mangled frame. “Why? Is it important?”

  Jack was thinking fast, figuring things out, adding clues together. Could the candle have something to do with the cutting of the pipe?

  But he didn’t want to reveal any suspicions just yet — way too early for that. He shrugged and smiled.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  He popped the tea light holder into his jacket pocket, then took out his notebook, wiped his pen clean.

  “Talk me through what happened last night, would you?”

  He listened as Ryan told him how he’d wanted to hit the sack early, how — strangely — the battery for the truck interior was dead, so he decided to drive to the power hook-up, give it a charge.

  For Jack, every little detail was falling neatly into place, piece by piece, shaping the theory he was beginning to form. How things really happened last night.

  But before Ryan could finish — Jack heard a voice behind him.

  “Ryan, mate — you okay? Need some help?”

  Jack turned to see a guy approaching fast from the direction of the Lizard truck: tall, wiry, in the usual T-shirt and jeans.

  “Jamie, hey! No, it’s all under control,” said Ryan. “But thanks.”

  “You sure?” said the man protectively, stopping just a yard away — and Jack saw him giving him the once-over. The guy’s accent … not local. In Jack’s ear, a bit of a bite to it — maybe someplace up north?

  “Oh, this is Jack,” said Ryan. “He’s helping figure out what the hell happened last night.”

  “Ah, right, okay,” said Jamie and he nodded with a smile to Jack. “First big festival you play, something like this happens, man — need all the help you can get,” he said.

  “Jamie’s one of the Lizard guitar techs,” said Ryan.

  Jack smiled back at Jamie. “Way I heard it, these guys aren’t so popular with Lizard.”

  “Ha, you could say that,” said Jamie. “But it’ll blow over. Just Nick being Nick!”

  “You think so?” said Jack.

  “See, this is their homecoming gig,” said Jamie. “So, sure, they’re upset about being bounced, but hey, it’s no big deal. Two years I’ve been on the road with them. Few beers and a couple of smokes — they get over stuff.”

  “I hope so,” said Ryan. “Appreciate your help anyway.”

  “Any time,” said Jamie, turning to go. “Oh, by the way, gonna try and catch your ‘secret’ set tonight. I’m a big fan.”

  “Hey thanks,” said Ryan. “We’re on late, Orchard Stage.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Jack watched him go.

  “Jamie’s cool,” said Ryan. “Some of the other Lizard crew — not so much.”

  “You think any of them could do something like this?” said Jack, gesturing to the blackened grass.

  “I dunno,” said Ryan, frowning. “I mean, since we got here, sure, they’ve made life tough backstage, mucking around with our gear and stuff. But this?”

  Jack could see that maybe Ryan wasn’t totally convinced by what he was saying. He checked his watch.

  “Hey, Ryan. Time we were meeting the others.”

  Ryan nodded, and followed Jack out of the area, leaving the scene of what Jack now felt was clearly a crime.

  And that crime?

  Attempted murder.

  *

  Sarah put down her notebook. Once the conversation had moved on from her relationship with Ryan, Jess had been happy for Sarah to make notes.

  Now she had pages of background — but absolutely nothing at all that pointed to who might have made the threats.

  She had a bunch of user names on the various social media sites to check — but she knew those accounts would probably have already been deleted, with no trace.

  She saw Jess look around, the tea tent filling up. Outside, a band was launching into a full-on anthem on one of the stages.

  “What time is it? Ryan and Alfie — they should be here.”

  Sarah checked her watch. Four o’clock.

  As if on cue, she saw Jack appear at the tent entrance — and just behind him the young guy she knew from all the photos to be Ryan Crocker.

  Ryan joined Jess on the sofa, giving her a quick hug, while Sarah went to Jack, leading him to the queue for teas.

  A few minutes of catch-up.

  “You find anything?” said Sarah, her voice low.

  “It was deliberate all right,” said Jack.

  “Wow. You sure?”

  “Oh yes. Clever too. Whoever did it — they drained the battery. Totally dead, probably knowing Ryan — or Jess — would drive to a hook-up. So, they cut the gas feed, then put a tea light in a little container somewhere under the hood. You’d never see it. Minute Ryan turned the engine over, the gas spewed out and bang.”

  “Then whoever did this knew what they were doing?”

  “Oh yes. Turned that Winnebago into a bomb.”

  “And if Jess hadn’t decided to stay behind in the bar — she could have been killed too?”

  “Definitely.”

  “How’d they get into the artists’ area?”

  “Well, either they have an official pass or they forged one. Security a bit of a sham, far as I can see.”

  “What about CCTV?” said Sarah.

  “Right. We can check it out, but I don’t hold out much hope. Pretty dark, and they didn’t exactly blanket the area with cameras.”

  Sarah ordered teas.

  “How about you?” said Jack.

  Sarah told him about her difficult conversation with Jess.

  “Seems Ryan was a troubled kid. Tough upbringing — music was the way out.”

  “Often the way,” said Jack. “Let me guess — booze and drugs?”

  “For a while, big time.”

  “You think anything that bears on this?”

  “Nothing obvious. Sounds like Jess has kept him on the straight and narrow, the last year or two.”

  “And what about her? Anything?”

  Sarah told him about the guy with the tattoos and how Jess seemed to be holding back.

  “Well, that’s interesting. Get a good look at the guy? Think you can track him down?”

  “With those tattoos? Shouldn’t be difficult,” said Sarah. “Apart from that, not much else.”

  “Me too. Agree with you about Ryan. Edgy, but doesn’t seem to be holding anything back. What about the guitarist — Alfie?”

  “He texted Jess. Says he had a late night, slept in.”

  “That right? We should definitely check his movements last night.”

  “Agree — we can catch him at the sound check tonight.”

  She saw Jack take that in. She looked across the tea tent at Ryan and Jess, huddled together talking.

  “Jack, maybe we should bring in the police? Not an accident, looking like attempted murder.”

  “I thought about that. Yes, we could. But they might take some convincing. And that takes time.”

  Sarah looked at Jack, the implication clear. “You think the band are still in immediate danger?”

  “Last night didn’t work. You go that far, what are you going to do?”

  “Try again?”

  “Right. And look, I don’t think we’re going to get much more here. Let’s have our tea, quick cosy chat — then split? I want to talk to Lizard.”

  “Okay,” said Sarah. “I’ll go check the CCTV, get online see if I can trace any of those threats. Don’t hold out much hope though.”

  “When shall we hook up?”

  “The guys are playing at eleven — so they’ll be meeting up around ten for a sound check. Why don’t we search out Alfie just before?”

  “Sounds good,” said Jack and he paid for the trays of tea, the cashier smiling at Jack’s accent.

  Together they turned and headed towards the sofa where Sarah could see Ryan and Jess sitting close, engrossed in their phones.

  “One more thing. Not to scare you. Bu
t I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” said Jack under his breath as they approached the sofas.

  “Go on.”

  “Another attempt to be made? Well, I don’t think we’re going to know more until that next attack occurs.”

  “And you think that will be soon?

  “Just a feeling. The truck — was it just a warning? Or merely the first attempt?”

  In the warmth of the summer afternoon, and the sweet scent of Mother O’Riley’s Tea Room, Sarah felt a chill go through her.

  Jess, Ryan and Alfie — all so young.

  Who could want to harm them? And why?

  7. In Search of a Clue

  Jack made his way to the massive Dreamliner where he hoped to find Nick Taylor, and maybe a few more of the Lizards.

  As he approached, he saw Jamie, the affable Lizard guitar tech, talking to some counterparts, off to the side. Jamie spotted him. Jack, with a bit of a wave, signalled: could you come over?

  With a nod, Jamie left the other crew and strolled over to Jack.

  “Hey Jack. Anything up?”

  Jack pointed in the direction of the Dreamliner, its wide silver metal staircase leading to an ample door.

  “Hoping to get a word with some of the band. Few questions. Anybody home?”

  Jamie’s eyes went wide, understanding the purpose of the drop in. “Oh, sure. Er, well, Nick’s in there, Will Dumford too.” Jamie looked around. “But I think it might be a bit smoky for you.”

  Jack grinned. “Not surprised at that. I’ll hold my breath.”

  “Right,” Jamie said. “Anything else you need, Jack, you know, I’m around.”

  Jack smiled and saw Jamie head off — not back to the techs and whatever conversation he left, but out to the entrance gate leading to the festival grounds.

  Then Jack turned, walked up the metal stairs and knocked on the Dreamliner door.

  To hear nothing in response.

  He knocked harder, as loud as he could make the metal door sound when repeatedly pounded by his fist.

  After a few moments — the door popped open, and Jack saw Nick Taylor standing there, as if holding onto the now-open door for support. Smoke billowing out in great clouds.

  “Well, if it isn’t the great American detective, Jack bloody Brennan. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Though Taylor had had nothing to do with Alex King’s murder all those years ago, Jack suddenly remembered that — when working on that case — he hadn’t liked the rock star.

  Didn’t like his music.

  Didn’t like the man.

  And with that greeting, it was easy to see that nothing had changed.

  “Like to ask you some questions. Maybe Will Dumford as well. About when Ryan Crocker–”

  Jack noticed that the guitarist had the remnants of a joint in his hand. No sleek vaping of THC for him. Old-school all the way.

  Nick finished Jack’s sentence: “When Crocker almost got cooked?”

  Taylor started laughing, then hacking, at what his smoke-infused haze probably seemed to him to be witty word play.

  Jack kept a smile in place. If he was going to get any answers, he’d have to ride this situation as is, stoned loopiness and all.

  “Yeah, you got it. So, okay if I come in? Shouldn’t take long.”

  Taylor did a stumbly step backwards.

  “Mi casa es su … sure, come on in, detective. We old timers in here have nothing to hide. Except for a few ounces of nature’s finest.”

  And as Nick backed away, Jack took the steps up, right into a close-up glimpse of what the lifestyle of rock legends on the road really looked like.

  *

  Mac Collins, the Cherringfest Head of Security, sat behind Sarah at a table with — unfortunately — only one monitor.

  Not the sleek multi-screen arrangement Sarah was used to in her own office.

  But she guessed this setup — out in the fields of Repton Manor — required corners to be cut.

  “So, what you have there on the screen are the CCTV feeds from all six of the cameras in the artists’ area.”

  She turned to him. “Only six?”

  “Yeah, well that’s how much was in the budget. And it seemed to give pretty good coverage of the area.”

  Sarah nodded, wondering … would pretty good be good enough?

  Mac pointed to a strip of controls at the bottom of the screen. “You can use the slider, right here, to get the exact point you want to start watching. Moves all the cameras’ video to the same time.”

  Sarah nodded again and looked at the six screen images. Most of them dark, shadowy. Not even close to high-definition. But she was able to see one which she thought showed the Unlost’s Winnebago.

  “Kinda dark. What about lights?”

  Mac looked away at that question as if embarrassed at the answer to come.

  “Well, I get what you’re asking. Why no motion sensitive high-intensity lights, going on with movement and all that?”

  Sarah thought, Precisely.

  “Yeah, well, see the artists, they don’t like all those lights going on and off. So now, all we got—” Mac tapped the screen with its cluster of dark, frozen images “—is what you see.”

  Sarah nodded. If she’d have to make do with this, then that’s what she’d do.

  Mac seemed eager to look for an opportunity to back away. “Now, anything else you need, just gimme a shout. I’ll be at my desk, right over there.”

  Sarah smiled. Nice man. But head of security?

  Oh well.

  She smiled back at him and turned to the screen.

  *

  Once inside the Dreamliner, Jack saw that this area — set up like a living room — looked like something from the movies.

  A quartet of bucket seats flanked by a long white leather couch. Giant bar area in the back, amber and clear bottles glistening with bright light shooting up from under the glass top. Martini and highball glasses at the ready.

  Though — with all the smoke billowing around in here — doubt anyone needs the addition of any fortifying libations, Jack thought.

  “Go on, Jack, pop a squat. Fire away, as they say in the movies. Oh — where are my manners? You want a hit before you begin?”

  Nick looked at Dumford who didn’t seem to be taking this in with as giddy a mood as the guitarist.

  “A little toke before we begin?”

  Nick extended what was left of the roach to Jack, whose hand went up.

  “Thanks, but no thanks. Always like to keep my head clear when investigating an attempted murder.”

  Jack saw his last words — not chosen idly — hit their mark, as Nick, hand still extended with the smouldering roach, let his face fall.

  “You do know who to ruin a good time, man.”

  And, at that, Nick sat back on the couch and crossed his legs, the black leather pants fitting tight but — with that craggy face of lines and ancient crevasses — looking a little absurd.

  “So, let’s start with the big one,” said Jack. “Right. Nick, Will, where were you the hour before Ryan Crocker went to his Winnebago and nearly burned to death?”

  *

  Sarah leaned forward. She had started to play with the various picture controls for the CCTV software, adjusting contrast, brightness, but to little avail.

  But she did see that one of the cameras had, in the right-hand corner of the footage, caught the Unlost Winnebago, sitting slightly off to itself.

  That’s good, Sarah thought. Someone comes, they’ll stick out.

  She looked at the other five video streams. No question, there were big holes in the coverage area, places where no camera would catch you at all.

  Jack had told her Nick Taylor had a big Dreamliner. No sign of that in any of the camera feeds.

  Was that to respect their privacy? A request from the big star to keep the bloody cameras off?

  In which case, should any one of them be involved in tampering with the Unlost van … how convenient was that?


  Then with the murky images looking about as good as she could get them, she hit “play”.

  *

  “See, Jack, that’s what I like about you — meaning you Americans. Cut right to the chase, don’t you?”

  Nick fired another look at Will who was clearly — as the old song went — one toke over the line.

  Any answers from the drummer — least for the next few minutes or so — would probably be useless.

  “But, you see, and it can be verified, mate. Positively verified. I was with my fellow Lizards in the beer tent. Then, before we turned in, we took a tour of that damn Valley Stage. Chatted to the other guys, other band members, all that time. Probably could get a half dozen people to bloody verify that.”

  Jack nodded at that.

  Big claim — and loose enough that any one of the band could probably have slipped away for ten minutes unseen.

  And ten minutes was all the potential killer would have needed.

  Jack had to hazard the same question with the man slumped next to Nick.

  “And you Will? What about you?”

  The question seemed to stir Will a bit. More like the dormouse in Wonderland, Jack thought.

  His daughter’s favourite film so many years go.

  “Um, what … what about me?”

  That made Nick start laughing and cackling again.

  So far, this “interrogation” was feeling more like a comedy routine than a serious attempt at getting answers.

  But at least Will’s eyes were open, looking at Jack. Hopefully paying attention now.

  “Where were you the hour or so before Ryan Crocker went to his Winnebago?”

  “He was bloody well with me, Jack,” said Nick. “The man was checking his kit all set on the risers, backstage. A real perfectionist.”

  Jack nodded, but let his smile slip away.

  “I was asking Will. If you don’t mind.”

  Nick’s hands shot up in a mock pose of, “oh so sorry!”

  Will nodded. “I was, um, right, I was—”

  This was tough. Lucky they don’t perform till Sunday, Jack thought.

  “Yeah, on the stage, with Nick, and Karl. Just, like, hanging out, talking.”

  Jack nodded. Both of them were backing each other up.

  And maybe, he thought, actually telling the truth.