Cherringham--Killer Track

by Matthew Costello

  “And you didn’t leave the stage. I mean, not even for a bit?”

  “Leave the stage?” said Will, blinking. “I dunno. Did we, Nick?”

  Another laugh from Nick. “Man has to take a whizz, now and then, eh, Jack? Doesn’t he? But—”

  And now Nick leaned forward, suddenly a notch or two more serious.

  “Minutes, though. Not enough time to do bloody anything.”

  Jack guessed that Nick thought that this final statement would end the chat.

  But as Jack knew, that wasn’t to be. In fact, to some extent, he was only getting started.

  *

  Sarah was only inches from the screen — a good enough monitor, but the quality of the CCTV video left her struggling. And for this first view, she kept her eye on one feed labelled “Camera 3”.

  Like watching paint dry. The dark Winnebago: just half an hour before it went up in flames — and so far — nobody near it. Might as well have been a still life rather than a video.

  But then.

  Somebody appeared on the far side of the van.

  Sarah hit pause.

  She tried to resolve and sharpen the image, but it was all dark and shadows, the Winnebago just out of the nearest pool of light. She played with the contrast and shading, but the face of the person on the screen stubbornly remained a greyish oval.

  So frustrating, she thought. But now let’s see what this guy does.

  She let the video play and the figure — much as she expected — disappeared, ducking down and out of sight.

  The minutes ticked by, and all she saw was the Winnebago. But all that time she knew, underneath it, the figure was sawing through the fuel pipe.

  Then lighting the tea light candle, in its little wind-proof box, barely thirty minutes before Ryan Crocker would walk over to the truck and start the engine.

  Hit the gas. Shoot that petrol out above the burning candle, ready to turn the battered van into a blackened hulk.

  Finally, she saw the person pop up, turn and dart away towards the top of the screen, and finally vanish.

  Sarah sat back. Not a clue as to who it might be.

  Her phone vibrated. A text. From her son Daniel.

  Mum! On a big break. Anything I can do to help you and Jack?

  She thought for a second and realised: Why, yes there is …

  *

  A brief pause in the smoking, but the stale, cloying smell hung in the air.

  Be nice to crack a window, Jack thought.

  With the passing minutes, Will and Nick seemed to be growing more aware that Jack’s questions, and indeed their answers, were meant to be taken seriously.

  “So, you were on the stage when Ryan left for the van. What about Karl? Your crew?”

  Will shot a look at Nick as if stumped by the question.

  “We’re not their bloody babysitters,” Nick said. “As to Karl, as soon as he’s off duty, mate, his time’s his own. Guess you’ll have to ask him. Though it’s beyond me why.”

  Jack nodded. “Right. You see I keep coming back to the fact that you accosted Ryan earlier. You were angry.”

  Jack shot a look at Will, who probably was wishing he had hurried back to his wife and the safety of home rather than being cornered here with the angry guitarist.

  “Accosted? That what you call, it, detective?” Nick raised a finger, pointed it at Jack. “Tell you what I would have liked to do. Kick his smarmy arse—”

  Nick caught himself, as if realising that this small explosion did his case no good.

  But Jack sat back — and had quite the opposite thought.

  If Nick had something to do with the van catching fire, then he would have been oh-so-careful to watch his words and actions. No talk of kicking anyone’s arse.

  Maybe, for now, I’m done here, Jack thought.

  He stood up.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to the rest of your crew.”

  Nick dug out a normal cigarette, lit it, and, with an elaborate wave, said, “Speak to whoever you like.”

  Jack turned to the metal door out and opened it — the rush of cool night air feeling and smelling good. But there was something else he had to say.

  He turned back.

  “A thought … the Alex King murder? All those years ago? I gotta say. You Lizards—” Jack was enjoying the words even before he said them “—you certainly live up to the name.”

  Nick looked confused.

  “You know? Always kinda … slimy.”

  Jack stepped out into the night, feeling none the wiser. And that feeling, if he was right, that there might be second attack on the band? That was not okay — not okay at all.

  8. Moonrise and Motives

  Sarah held the phone up close, checking that she wasn’t in earshot of any of the people in the security trailer.

  “Yeah, Daniel. Okay, I do have something. There’s a guy somewhere at the festival. I want you to see if you can spot him. That’s all.”

  “Lot of guys here, Mum!”

  “Wearing a T-shirt, but has full-on tattoos on each arm. One tattoo looks, kind of like a devil or a demon. The other is—”

  “An angel? With white wings?”

  And that gave Sarah a chill.

  “Daniel, how did you know?”

  “Mum, I know that guy. Has a bit of a reputation in town. Named Declan Welch. Gets into fights at the drop of a hat. Loads of run-ins with the police. Bad news. He’s even been barred from the Ploughman’s for dealing.”

  The fact that Daniel knew of this man who had been talking so angrily to Jess — that he was possibly violent — scared her.

  “Daniel, on second thoughts, you helping—”

  “No, Mum, it’s okay. I’ll just walk the whole place. If I spot him, I’ll tell you where.”

  “You won’t say anything to him or—”

  Daniel laughed at that.

  “I’m not that crazy. Those arms of his? Big as Jack’s baseball bat!”

  Then, as if sensing she wanted complete reassurance: “I’ll be careful. No need to worry, Mum.”

  With a deep breath, Sarah said, “Okay.”

  And with a quick “bye”, Daniel was gone, the phone dead.

  Sarah turned to the screen again, ready for another viewing of the van being tampered with.

  She started the tape running, leaning close again.

  But this time, when the figure appeared, ready to vanish under the van, she realised something …

  Something important.

  *

  Jack was about to head back to the stage. There were people to be spoken with: Alfie, the Unlost guitarist; and maybe the PR flack Zak Petersen. That guy probably sees a lot going on backstage, he thought.

  But first he wanted to check in with Sarah, see what she had dug up on the CCTV — if anything.

  He left the artists’ area and stood for a moment on the edge of the crowded festival site, taking in the atmosphere.

  The place was buzzing. On the big stage, some kind of funk band was playing, lots of backing singers, brass section, bass pumping. A massive crowd well into the music, hands waving, swaying, singing along, dancing.

  Every stall he could see was packed — and there were long queues at all the food wagons.

  The combined noise from every side: loud!

  He checked his watch — still a few hours until the Unlost secret set.

  The noise and the energy here made it hard to think. Suddenly he felt he needed some space, some quiet.

  He slid out his phone.

  Pressed the contact info for Sarah.

  She picked up with the first ring.

  “Sarah, had an idea.”

  “Right, me too, Jack. I got something to talk about.”

  “Good — not sure I do. But how about: clear the air, clear our heads … a break from the grounds? I’ll head back to The Grey Goose, grab a bite to eat and get Riley — he needs a walk, for sure. You grab Digby. Then we meet up at your place, a little s
troll to see where we are, away from the circus?”

  “Brilliant. Catch you later.”

  Then Jack looked east. The moon had just popped up in the clear blue evening sky.

  Going to be a gorgeous night over the grounds, he thought.

  The question is: will it be a safe one?

  He headed out to the parking area.

  *

  Sarah walked next to Jack on the small trail that started just a hundred yards from her house, and cut through some gentle hills, past stands of trees in the hedgerows like sentinels.

  The setting sun gave everything a rosy glow.

  “I can still hear it,” Sarah said. “The music. The sound really carries on an evening like this.”

  “Yeah. Good to be away, even if we do have to go back. So, you were saying–”

  “Right. I watched the video feed from the camera that sort of caught the Unlost van. Saw someone go to the van, obviously bend down—”

  “Where the person would cut through the pipe?”

  “And probably place the tea light, all set to make a nasty fire.”

  “And?”

  “Unfortunately, there was no way I could make out who the person was. Not exactly a state-of-the-art system.”

  “That’s a big shame. If we saw that person … case closed.”

  “Right. But on my second viewing, I noticed something, Maybe small. Maybe not important.”

  “At this stage, everything and anything is important.”

  Sarah saw Riley and Digby up ahead, wandering side by side, sniffing at the edges of the small trail, like two pals out for an evening’s fun.

  “That person? He came from the top edge of the screen. And when he dashed away, he ran back in the same direction.”

  “Not sure I follow.”

  “Okay, as I said, it’s not much. But the entrance gate is in the opposite direction. Where the guy went back to is where the artists’ vans and trucks are parked.”

  “So — whoever did it must have been with one of the groups?”

  “Yup. With an access-all-areas pass. His own — unless stolen.”

  “Sure it was a guy?”

  “Didn’t see enough to determine that. Anyway, this ‘person X’ looks to be with one of those performers.”

  “Or someone who had business with them. What about the Lizard Dreamliner?”

  “Yup. Right direction.”

  At that, Jack stopped, and turned to Sarah. “You know, would be nice to just have this walk. Enjoy the evening.”

  “Be perfect, wouldn’t it? Then maybe take a bottle of chilled Pouilly down to the river, watch the sunset.”

  “There you go. I do like the way you think.”

  Sarah saw that Riley and Digby had stopped and were looking back — perhaps wondering, in that way dogs seem to do, is the walk over?

  Then, as if she simply had to break that fragile moment of quiet, she said: “Jack, what do we have for a motive? Anything?”

  “You tell me?” said Jack, shaking his head. “One pissed-off Nick Taylor? And that guy with the tats who had a run-in with Jess? That’s about it. I’d say, not much more than a big fat zero.”

  Sarah could see that Jack was more than frustrated they had gotten nowhere.

  “So, what do you think? Head back to the festival?”

  “Yep, much as that riverside bottle of chilled white wine is so tempting — think we’re running out of time. And options.”

  And now Sarah turned, leading the way back to her house, the two dogs racing by her, picking up on the cue that it was time to head home.

  “One more thing,” Sarah said. “We haven’t talked to Alfie Parker yet.”

  “Right. The guitarist. He should be easy to track down. Need to find out where he disappeared to on his late night.”

  “And maybe have a—”

  But before she could finish, her phone gave out a crystalline “ping”.

  “Hang on,” she said, as she dug it out and read a message. “It’s Daniel. Found our tattooed man. By the beer tent. Sending a pic and—”

  For a moment all Sarah could do was look at the pic, Declan with a tall cup of beer, talking to someone.

  “Here he is.” She handed the phone to Jack.

  To which he responded. “So that’s Declan Welch. Nice tats. Wait … something very interesting about this picture.”

  He looked up at Sarah, her house now yards away.

  “I know the guy he’s talking to.”

  *

  Jack held the phone for a minute.

  “Now, I’m not sure of the connection, maybe none, but that guy with Declan is one of Lizard’s crew. Nice fellow. Named Jamie.”

  “Really? That’s quite a coincidence.”

  Jack kept looking at the pic; just two guys sharing a beer, talking. Maybe just small talk.

  But one thing he knew, In this kind of nasty business there are rarely mere coincidences.

  “We need to talk to him,” Sarah said.

  Jack handed her phone back. “Yeah. Definitely. But finding him in that crowd tonight? Not easy. Let’s carry on with our plan. Together, tackle Alfie — and stay close to the band, I guess.”

  “Might also be worth catching the PR guy, Zak Petersen?”

  “My new best friend,” said Jack, and Sarah laughed.

  “Fellow like that hears a lot of things, darting from one band to the other.”

  “Rather you than me.”

  Then he gave a whistle. “How about I leave Riley here?”

  “A doggie sleepover?”

  “Yeah. While their owners head out for a night on the town. You know, if nothing else we’ll maybe hear some good music.”

  “Maybe. Chloe’s green with envy we’re watching Unlost doing their secret set. Says it’s wasted on us oldies.”

  “Shame you couldn’t get her a ticket,” said Jack.

  “Oh, at this point they’re gold dust. And anyway, I need her in the office this weekend, updating the festival stuff.”

  “And — who knows — being on standby for us if we need anything,” said Jack. “Okay, we’re back on the clock. Shall I drive, the MG? Great evening for the top down.”

  “I wish. But let’s take mine — we can give Daniel a lift home later.”

  *

  Back at the festival, Jack saw that with the coming of night — and maybe that big bright moon — things had changed.

  On the main stage, one of the big acts was playing, a rapper that Jack recognised, the bass almost making the ground shake. The crowd — immense, packed tight, moving as one.

  Beyond, on the second stage, another band was playing — somehow the music from each stage staying separate.

  Outside the drinks tents, people had formed small groups to dance to whatever band was nearest. A giant puppet head of a grinning tiger — operated by three people hidden inside — strolled around as if just another guest, opening and shutting its tiger mouth with rows of papier-mâché teeth.

  The crowd everywhere was denser. Though this wasn’t the big Saturday night of the festival, still he and Sarah had to navigate gingerly through the crowd.

  People looked — for whatever the reason — a little looser. The evening was less about kids and play spaces, arts and crafts, and more about serious partying and enjoying the libations — and whatever else was available.

  “Well, kind of a different vibe?”

  “Night has fallen,” said Sarah. “Things are maybe juiced up a bit more? Fun though?”

  Jack had to turn sideways to move through one group who carried on laughing and dancing even as he navigated his big frame between them.

  “In New York … we know crowds. Still, for me now, living here … it’s been a while.”

  He saw Sarah now scanning the three stages, from the big Valley Stage to the two smaller satellite stages.

  “Which stage they playing?” said Jack.

  “Orchard. Smallest one, right over there — see it?”

  Jack l
ooked through the crowds to where Sarah was pointing.

  The third stage, partly surrounded by a marquee, looked intimate, more like a club than a festival tent.

  He could see the space in front of the stage was empty compared to the other stages.

  “Got it,” he said, then he checked his watch. “Still an hour before they’re on.”

  “Wait. Think I see Alfie Parker, back of the stage. No Jess or Ryan though.”

  “Guess they’re setting up for the sound check.”

  Sarah turned to him. “Let’s grab him while he’s alone.”

  And with a nod, Jack followed Sarah.

  9. Moonlight Chats

  Sarah flashed her pass to a burly guy guarding the side of the Orchard Stage. She hurried up to Alfie who was smoking a roll-up while still noodling around on his unplugged guitar.

  She looked back to see that Jack was still behind her, glad they would be doing this together. She knew from experience that together they’d often pick up things that on their own they might easily miss.

  “Alfie, think we could have a quick word?”

  The guitarist looked up.

  “Oh, must be ‘detective time’. About who wants Unlost to die?”

  He grinned at that.

  While Sarah thought … he almost lost his bandmate and he thinks it’s funny?

  Jack took a step forward and she saw he was doing what he could to dispel any levity about this.

  “Yeah. See, Alfie, we’re just trying to find out — who would want to hurt the band?”

  “‘Dog eat dog’, maybe? Dunno.”

  “Another band?” Jack said.

  “Who knows? You see, it’s not really about peace and love, is it? More about who gets the gigs and the deals. Oh, and the money.”

  “So,” Sarah said, “you’re not worried? I mean about your safety. Ryan and Jess?”

  At that, Alfie took a long slow drag of his cigarette. “Guess my feeling is everyone needs to watch out for themselves, know what I mean?”

  She saw Jack give her a look. So far, this conversation? Not going the way she thought it would.

  Jack tried again.

  “And you, personally, don’t know anyone who has it in for the band?”