So far, no sign of Declan Welch again in the crowd. And the young Lizard roadie, Jamie, had said he’d also keep watch from the side of the stage for anyone who didn’t have the right pass.
The number ended, the music fading into the moonlit night. Dreamlike. The packed audience hollered their support, arms aloft, cheering and shouting.
Jack had to smile: this mix of teens, twenty-somethings, older people even, all getting on with each other, all wrapped up in the music.
Then, on stage, he saw Ryan step forward, wiping sweat from his brow, thanking everyone. The words were hardly decipherable — but Jack heard the name of the next song up.
The word “Phoenix”.
“Phoenix”, thought Jack. The big new single everyone’s talking about.
The effect was immediate.
A massive cry went up from the crowd, whooping and cheering — then the lights dropped low, and for a few seconds — as a guitar began to softly play — the whole place was in near-darkness and silence.
Then a single spot came on — fixing Ryan, pinning him against the smoky, steamy shadows. Hunched over a mike on a stand — that mike gripped so tight, both hands wrapped around it like he was praying.
As the first haunting words filled the space, Jack realised he wasn’t breathing — the powerful music had already seized him. The melody, the minor key, Jess’s harmonies now drifting into place, underscoring the sadness, all working to take Jack’s feelings far away from here while his body stayed in the moment.
He couldn’t catch all the words, but he heard enough to know that whatever had inspired this song — he guessed — surely had to be true.
It was an elegy to an old friend — maybe a childhood friend? — who’d been on the same rough journey years ago, but never made it.
Then the repeated words: I never looked back, no help to give, my life to live.
The phoenix must be the voice of the singer or whoever wrote the song, Jack guessed — that person rising from the ashes of those terrifying childhood memories, reborn in a way that the friend, trapped in that fire, could never be.
As the song shifted into a chorus, the lights now rising on Alfie and Jess, Jack could see tears rolling down Ryan Crocker’s face — and in the growing light that bathed the faces of the crowd, he saw that many of them were crying too.
The song drove on, tempo increasing, rhythm crisp, a full synthesised orchestra now sweeping it forward. The drum machine thudding, keyboards, bass pounding, guitar chords crashing; the haunting sense of loss; of grief now replaced, it seemed to Jack, by anger. Ryan raised his arms to the heavens and sang nobody’s fault, no one to blame.
The words seeming more like a question.
And then, with a burst of strobe light, a massive pulse of white, the song ended, the words “crash and burn” echoing on repeat, and the whole stage was plunged into darkness.
That question … never answered in the song.
For a few seconds there was only a stunned silence — a moment known to Jack from nights at the Met, a powerful aria leaving the audience frozen — before the tremendous applause.
And then the whole crowd erupted again into cheers and the full stagelights came back.
Jack rubbed his face with his hand.
He couldn’t remember any rock performance ever having such a powerful, visceral effect upon him.
He saw Sarah in the crowd turn slowly to him and just mouth “wow”.
He nodded.
Wow, indeed.
*
Sarah didn’t think she’d ever seen Jack drinking a martini after midnight. But somehow here — on a battered leather sofa outside the artists’ hospitality tent, the moon above, the crowds drifting slowly away now — he made it seem the most natural thing in the world.
“Verdict?” she said, as he took his first sip.
“Well, considering they somehow threw this together in a field, it’s a pretty damn fine gin martini.”
Sarah laughed, took a mouthful of her own gin and tonic.
“And what about tonight’s show?” she said.
“Oh that? Gotta say, that was something special. And the song, ‘Phoenix’? I can see why there’s such a buzz. So raw and beautiful. You know what it’s about?”
“Ah that? From the press materials, bit of a mystery,” said Sarah. “Like a lot of song writers, they don’t talk about it. Don’t seem to want to.”
“Well, whatever. It’s powerful.”
“So — all those amazing bands you must have seen in New York … You think these guys have got it?”
“Unlost? Not hype, that’s for sure. They’ll go places.”
“If they stick together.”
“Yes. And if they don’t get in harm’s way,” said Jack, leaning forward, now serious. “Show me those messages again.”
Sarah took her phone from the table, scrolled through to a screen, showed it to Jack.
“Here’s the first one,” she said. “‘Your turn to burn’. Hit all their social media accounts just before the set.”
“Before the cable fire?” said Jack.
Sarah nodded. “So no way can it just be a troll posting after the fact. This was real. Whoever did it, timing the post.”
“And the second one?”
“Came before they even finished the set,” said Sarah, scrolling down and handing Jack her phone.
“Second time lucky again,” he read. “Next time won’t be.”
“You thinking something more will happen right here — at the festival?”
“I’d put money on it,” said Jack. “Fact, I’d go further — I think it could well happen in their big show tomorrow night.”
“God.”
“I know.”
“Jack,” said Sarah, leaning forward, “don’t you think it’s time we got help?”
“Right. The police, you mean?”
“We’re not getting anywhere. Or at least — not fast enough.”
She watched him take another sip of martini.
“Well, like I said, think you and me, we’re here, on the ground. Based on my experience, we got as much chance as the police — if they even take it seriously — of finding who’s responsible before a third attempt.”
“You believe that?”
He smiled at that. “I always believe what I say. Don’t you?” he said.
A small grin from Sarah, despite what they were talking about.
She had indeed grown to trust Jack — completely.
Then Sarah saw him look across to where Ryan, Alfie and Jess had just appeared, standing in a small group at the bar. “But — tell you what — let’s ask the band what they think about that? Their call?
“Okay,” said Sarah, standing up, glad that she had raised the issue.
And together they joined Unlost at the bar.
*
Jack bought a round of drinks for the band and Sarah — and a single malt for himself.
Sarah said that Daniel was working late and would drive them both home, so they didn’t need to worry about drinking.
And Chloe had texted to say she’d already taken the two dogs on the biggest walk ever, and they were both fast asleep together in Digby’s dog bed.
At first, Jack stood to one side, just watching the band enjoying being the centre of attention. A late-night, end-of-the-day crowd around them, sharing the moment, jostling close, the mood high.
Other musicians, tech guys, crew, stage management.
He spotted the Lizard guitar tech, Jamie, talking to some roadies, and moved casually alongside.
“Hey, Jack,” said Jamie, and the other guys turned back to the bar, leaving them alone.
“Jamie,” said Jack. “Get you a drink?”
“Oh, I’m good, thanks. Quite a night, huh?”
“You mean the Unlost set?”
“Only thing anyone’s talking about,” said Jamie. “And not just the music.”
Jack glanced around, checking nobody was listening to the conver
sation.
“So, tell me. I mean, you know how stuff works up there on stage. What do you think happened, with that bad cable?”
“Beats me. Guess … some kind of short?”
“And have you seen that kind of thing before?”
A quick nod.
“Oh, sure. Pubs, school bands maybe — no safety checks, gear treated badly. But at this level? Professional tech crew? No.”
“So you’re saying — that was not an accident?”
“Whoa, hang on. I’m not saying that,” said Jamie, and Jack guessed maybe he didn’t want to get involved as some kind of expert witness.
“It’s okay, Jamie, I’m not looking to blame anyone. Just getting opinions, you know?”
“Okay, gotcha,” said Jamie. “Just, well, if I was part of their crew, I’d want to double check absolutely everything before tomorrow’s show.”
“Good idea. And thanks,” said Jack. “Appreciate that.”
“Jack — you really starting to think this is all some kind of sabotage?”
“It’s what we call in the cop business, a ‘theory’.”
Jamie took a small step closer, voice low.
“You got a suspect?”
Jack shrugged. “I wish. Though, in confidence, we got one line — maybe you can help with.”
“Me? Sure. Do my best.”
“There’s a guy, local guy, we got some information he’s been kinda stalking Jess? Has a bit of rough reputation. Name of Declan Welch. Mean anything to you?”
“Declan? That fella with the tats?”
Jack nodded. Would be interesting to hear what Jamie was about to say, having been seen by Sarah talking to Welch.
“Wow,” said Jamie, and Jack could see his wheels turning as he looked away, nodding. “Right, okay. Sure, yeah, that name does mean something.”
“Go on.”
“So, last night, I was in one of the bars, right? He came up to me, kinda out of nowhere, bought me a beer, got talking.”
“And something didn’t feel right?” said Jack.
“At the time I didn’t think anything of it. People buy people beers all the time, especially at things like this. Had my Lizard shirt on, badge as well. But later, as we talked, got a vibe — you know how you do?”
“Uh-huh. I do. You remember why? Think back. Was it something particular he said?”
“Yeah. See, he was interested in my job, what I do, you know? Guitar tech. Ton of questions. How I got into it, how long I’d been with Lizard. All run of the mill. But then — this I found a little odd — he got onto Unlost. Asking about their gear, how they set up, what did I know about them.”
Jamie looked away as if he was afraid someone might be nearby and hear.
“Even — yeah, this was the really weird thing — was there any way he could get up close to watch them, get backstage.”
“And that rang alarm bells?”
“Well, I’d had a few beers by then, Jack, so to be honest it didn’t. Fans are fans, you know? Though I batted most of the questions away, like you do, in this game. So, I didn’t give anything away that I shouldn’t have. But later, it still struck me — kinda weird, no?”
Jack looked across at Sarah who was chatting to Ryan and Jess. He saw Daniel appear at the edge of the crowd, jacket over his shoulder, car keys in hand.
He checked his watch, surprised to see it was nearly two in the morning.
He turned back to Jamie.
“This — just between us? Okay? But I really appreciate you telling me. Thanks.”
“Any time,” said Jamie, and Jack saw him look over at the band. “They’re good kids. So talented — they deserve to go all the way.”
Jack patted him on the shoulder, then joined Sarah and Daniel.
*
“Appreciate the lift home, Daniel,” Jack said, as they walked across the empty field towards the parking lot.
“No problem, Jack,” said Daniel. “I like driving Mum’s car at night anyway.”
Jack smiled, remembering his own first days’ driving. That amazing sense of freedom.
“Didn’t realise it had gotten so late,” he said.
“You’ve moved onto festival time, Jack,” said Sarah, smiling. “It’s like some kind of time warp.”
“Feels like it,” he said. “You happy dropping me at the Goose, then I’ll shoot over in the morning, pick up Riley?”
“Sure,” said Sarah. “We can catch up properly then.”
“Meantime — I’m guessing the band doesn’t want the police involved?”
“Totally,” said Sarah. “They made that very clear.”
“Wrong kind of publicity, I guess?”
Sarah nodded. “You get anything from Jamie?”
“Maybe. Certainly enough to tell me we need talk to Declan Welch tomorrow.”
“Gloves off, hmm?”
“Definitely,” said Jack.
They reached Sarah’s car, and Daniel drove them back to Cherringham, Jack running through the song “Phoenix” in his head, the lyrics going round and round.
With the Goose a few minutes away, bed, sleep, the night finally about to end, he had a thought.
There’s something about this case that we’re getting all wrong.
12. Saturday
Sarah sat next to her daughter Chloe in the little office overlooking the Market Square, scrolling through stills from Friday’s performances and picking out the best ones for the Cherringfest site.
In the corner, she saw Riley and Digby snoozing together, Riley, this last day or two, seeming totally happy with the change of scenery.
Since when did these two become my office dogs? she thought.
She heard familiar footsteps on the stairs — Jack.
“Morning all,” he said, pushing open the door as both dogs skittered across the floor to greet him. “Whoa, steady boys!”
Sarah turned to see him balancing a little tray of Huffington coffees as both dogs jumped up.
“Hey Jack!” said Chloe, then she called the dogs to order. “Digby! Riley!”
“Flat white for you, Chloe, that right?” said Jack, walking over and handing out the coffees. “Sarah, got you a double shot. Guessing you probably feel a lot like I do this morning.”
“Too right,” said Sarah. “Running on four hours’ sleep, I think.”
“Adrenaline will keep you going. You ready to roll?”
“Sure, let me grab my laptop,” said Sarah, as Jack perched on the desk by Chloe.
“How you enjoying your first English music festival?” said Chloe.
“Where do I sign for next year?” said Jack.
“Ha! I’ll make sure you get an early-bird ticket,” said Chloe. “We can all go together — no way am I missing another year.”
“Your mom tells me you’ve been doing an amazing job holding the fort?”
“Think it helps I know most of the bands.”
“Ah, so all that info on the festival website, you pull that together?”
“Sure. A lot of it,” said Chloe.
“Why you asking, Jack?” said Sarah, joining them, and sensing Jack’s question wasn’t just casual interest.
“Oh, nothing really. Was just thinking we could do with some more history on our Unlost guys. Who they are, where they come from? Background. Always good to have, you know?”
“No worries! I can do that this morning,” said Chloe, “once I get these pictures edited and up live on the site. That okay, Mum?”
“It’s a good idea, mail it over,” said Sarah, then she turned back to Jack. “Okay. Time to wake up Declan Welch?”
“Wake up? You think?”
“I checked — his shift doesn’t start until three. Right now — eight a.m. — I would guarantee he will be fast asleep.”
“Perfect,” said Jack, as they both headed for the door.
*
“Should be one of these places,” said Sarah, as they drove slowly down one of the little residential streets tucked aw
ay at the back of Cherringham.
Jack peered through the side window of the car, checking house numbers. The buildings here weren’t chocolate-box Cotswolds, but sternly functional seventies, with small slab paths and faded grass set back from the road.
Not the prettiest of streets.
“There we are,” said Jack, spotting the number 25 scrawled on a gate that hung loose on one hinge.
Sarah parked, and they got out. The day warming but also — Jack saw — unlike yesterday, a few clouds looming in the west.
“Any thoughts how we play this?” said Jack. “You being the local, and all?”
“I think ‘by ear’ is how we’ll do it? Let’s face it — we don’t have any real evidence.”
“True,” said Jack, laughing. “But, look at it this way, we do have the element of surprise.”
“Not sure Welch looks like someone who enjoys surprises!” Sarah said as they walked up to the door.
*
When Declan, after many loud knocks, finally opened the door, it was clear to Jack that Sarah had guessed right: the guy had been fast asleep. Probably hungover as well.
Out for the count, maybe a better description, thought Jack, looking at Welch’s torn T-shirt and baggy jogging pants, grey pallor and red-eyed stare.
“Yeah? Whadya want?”
“Er, sorry to bother you, Mr Welch,” said Sarah, so politely, “we’re just taking witness statements, won’t need more than ten minutes, may we come in?”
“What? Witness? Who?” The man’s bleary eyes went wide at those words.
Maybe not the first time he had heard them.
“Right. I’m sure you don’t want to do this here on the doorstep, Mr Welch, neighbours and all that?” said Jack, and he saw Declan squint and peer round to see who might be observing.
“Witness? You’re not the bloody police.”
“Festival security,” said Jack, flashing an old photo ID. “Sadly, no statement from you and I’m afraid it might be, dunno … no return to work, no payday, no nothing.”
“That can’t be right. You can’t do that, there wasn’t nothing in the contract about—”
“Small print, Mr Welch, always read the small print,” said Jack. “Now, let’s see — you’re due in today at … three o’clock, I believe? That right?”
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