by Val McDermid
Ignoring the invasion of the weather, Jett said, 'Moira and I went down to the studio to see Micky about a couple of tracks we weren't happy with. He wanted to do some fancy stuff with drum machines and stuff, but we weren't thrilled with the idea. So we discussed it, and then I went up to have dinner with Tamar.'
'Did you and Moira come back upstairs together.'
Jett thought for a moment. 'No,' he eventually said. 'She was still there when I left, but she was upstairs a few minutes later, because I saw her going towards the front door as I came through from the kitchen. I thought she was going off to meet Maggie.'
'So you knew Maggie was staying in the village?' I asked, with a vague gesture in the general direction of the pub.
'Sure I knew,' he replied in surprise. 'Moira didn't broadcast it, but she had to tell me. I'd have been worried, you see, if I'd been looking for her and I hadn't been able to find her. I told her to bring Maggie up to the house to stay, but she wasn't having any of that. Said she didn't see why Maggie should have to put up with the shit she was getting from all sides.'
'OK, so after Moira left, what then?'
'We ate our steaks, and watched Regarding Henry on the video. Tamar went off to have a bath just before ten, and I came up here to make a couple of phone calls. There were a couple of session musicians I wanted for next week, and I needed to check they were available. Usually, Micky does that, but he's got such strong ideas about this album that I didn't trust him not to come back to me pretending they couldn't make the sessions. After that, I went along to Tamar's room and we went to bed together.' His voice dropped and he came to a halt.
'What exactly is the score between you and Tamar?' I prompted.
'That's a question I don't have the answer to. I'm fond of her, but sometimes she drives me crazy. She's so materialistic, so empty compared to Moira. I keep thinking I'll end it, then we go to bed together one last time and I remember all the good times and I can't let go. Maybe if Moira and me had been able to get it together in bed again, I'd have been able to free myself.'
You mean Tamar's a great lay, and you won't say goodbye till something better comes along, I thought cynically. 'I see,' was all I said. 'So where did you go after you left Tamar's room?'
'I went back to my room and had a shower. Then I went down to the rehearsal room. That must have been some time between half-eleven and midnight. Moira and I had planned to do a couple of hours' work on a couple of new songs, but we weren't meeting till half-past one.'
I said nothing for a moment, concentrating on the road junction ahead. The traffic comes down that main A56 like it was a German autobahn and speed limits hadn't been invented. I spotted a gap in the cars and went for it. Thank God for the Nova's acceleration. It took Jett by surprise, I noticed. He was thrust back into his tight-fitting sports seat with a look of serious discomfort on his face.
'Isn't that a bit late to start work?' I asked.
Jett relaxed as my speed levelled out and the G-forces disappeared. His smile this time seemed genuine, though I couldn't see into his eyes. I adjusted the rear-view mirror slightly so I could see his face. 'We always did our best work in the early hours,' he told me. 'Sometimes we'd still be tossing lyrics and tunes around at dawn. In the early days, we used to drive off to a greasy spoon around five in the morning and have bacon butties and tea "to celebrate our new songs.'
'So why did you go off to the rehearsal room so much earlier than you'd arranged?'
'I'd had a tune going round my head for a couple of hours, and I wanted to fiddle around with it a bit before Moira arrived. So I'd have something new to show to her, I guess. I tinkered with it for a while, then I decided to fix myself a sandwich, so I went off to the kitchen. That must have been just before one, because the news came on the radio while I was eating.' His speech had become noticeably more jerky as he got closer to the discovery of the body, his shoulders tense and hunched.
I slowed for the roundabout but still managed to hit the motorway slip road at fifty-five. This time, Jett made it to the grab handle in plenty of time.
'Did you see anyone at all?'
'No. But then I probably wouldn't have noticed anyone unless they'd actually spoken to me. My head was full of music, I wasn't paying attention much to anything else. I don't know how to explain it to someone who's not a musician. I don't even remember what was on the radio. They could've announced World War Three and I wouldn't have taken it in.'
Which explained Gloria's behaviour. Great. I had a client in the right place at almost the right time. I had a witness who wasn't admitting it yet, but who could put him there. And it was my lies to the police which had given him his non-existent alibi. Never mind Inspector Jackson, Bill was going to love this.
'Did you go straight from the kitchen to the rehearsal room, then?'
Jett bowed his head in assent. 'That's when I found her. I was only a room away, and I didn't hear a damn thing.'
'Because the rehearsal room's so well soundproofed?'
'That's right. That's why the police had to believe you and me when we said we didn't hear a thing.'
There was no point in questioning him about what he'd seen in the room. I'd seen it too and it hadn't told me anything except that Moira was battered to death with a tenor sax. Besides, he seemed to be retreating inside himself, and I figured I'd have to move the conversation into different channels if I wasn't to lose him altogether. 'Who do you think it was, Jett?'
“I can't believe any of us did it,' he said in a tone that lacked conviction. 'Shit, we're always rowing in this business. Nobody ever got killed before.'
'She'd been arguing with Kevin, hadn't she? Do you know what that was all about?'
'She thought he was ripping her off over her royalties. But that was only a little bit of it. She made me stand up to him to get the deal she wanted - you know, a profit percentage on the album, an increased royalty rate, and now she was pushing for a production credit too. She kept telling me I wasn't getting my share either, that Kevin was taking too much of a rake-off. And she kept going on about how I was being ripped off on the merchandising. She said there were loads of illicit copies of the tour merchandise all over the place, and Kevin should be doing something to put a stop to it, and why wasn't he.'
My ears pricked up. Moira knew about the schneids? I was so busy with my own thoughts I almost missed Jett's next comment.
'She was even hinting we should get shot of Kevin and manage ourselves. She said it wouldn't take her long to get the job sussed, then we could ditch him. I didn't want to, but she made me promise that if she got evidence that he was ripping me off, I'd go along with her.'
I took a deep breath. Could anyone be as naive as Jett appeared to be? Here he was, handing me the strongest of motives on a plate, and he didn't even seem to notice.
'Did you know someone kept dropping heroin on Moira?' I asked. The motorway petered out into dual carriageway. I barely noticed, only my automatic-pilot reflexes making me slow to within ten miles an hour of the speed limit.
His face jerked up and his lips seemed to curl inwards in a snarl. 'What the hell do you mean?' he demanded.
'Someone had been leaving fixes and syringes in her room, according to Maggie. And Gloria said she'd noticed some of her disposable syringes had gone missing.'
'Jesus Christ!' he exploded. 'What kind of bastard would do that? Why the hell didn't Gloria tell me?'
'I suppose because she thought it was Moira who was stealing them, and it was her own business.'
'The stupid cow!' he howled, smashing his fist into the dashboard. 'It's her fault Moira's dead. The silly bitch!'
I took a deep breath, then said, 'I'm not convinced the two things are related. I've got an idea who was behind the heroin, and I don't think it was the murderer. It's a very different thing from being the passive supplier of the means of death and actually killing someone with your own hands.'
'So who was giving her heroin?'
“I don't have any proof y
et. And I'm not making wild accusations without proof.'
'You got to tell me. I'm hiring you. You got to tell me, Kate.' There was a note of desperation in his voice. Too late I realised he was desperate for a scapegoat, desperate to wreak his personal vengeance on Moira's killer. I'd have to learn to tread a lot more carefully with Jett than I had so far.
'When I find out for sure, you'll be the first to know,' I promised him. We were on the fringes of Moss-side, only a few minutes away from Moira's mother's house. I'd decided to leave for now any questions about other people's motives. The last thing I wanted right now was to put any ideas into Jett's head and have him flying off at half-cock. 'Can you give me some directions?'
In a dull monotone, he told me Ms Pollock's address and how to get there. I pulled up in front of a council maisonette. It was less than fifteen years old, but already the cement facings were streaked and crumbling. These buildings would be pulled down before we citizens of Manchester had even finished paying for them.
'Like I said, Jett, I've got a few leads I want to pursue.' I leaned across him and opened the passenger door. 'When you get back to Colcutt, make some music,' I advised him. 'Try not to brood on what you've lost. Concentrate on the positive things she brought you.' If someone had said that to me, I'd probably have hit them. But it seemed to appeal to Jett's New Age philosophy.
'You're right,' he sighed, his shoulders drooping. He left the car and bent down to give me a little wave as he closed the door. He didn't slam it either, not like most people do. I watched him till the door opened and a skinny woman let him in. Then I got into gear and headed for friendly territory.
I hadn't been lying to Jett when I'd told him I had leads to pursue. Maybe I'd exaggerated their quantity and quality, but that was my business. Paki Paulie was high on my agenda, but there was no point in even thinking about that till later on.
There was a fax waiting for me from Josh, my financial broker friend. I'd rung him that morning to ask for a fully detailed breakdown of Moira's financial history, in the vague hope that there might be something of interest there. But right now, I was more concerned with the little matter Jett had just raised. I needed the answers to some questions. And I knew just where to go for them.
25
The smell of sweat was the first thing that hit me as I walked into the club. Not stale sweat, but the honest smell of hard-working bodies. Various voices greeted me as I walked over to the ringside where two teenage girls were engaged in kicking shit out of each other in as technically perfect a way as possible. For once, I hadn't come to fight myself, though just watching made my body yearn for release.
The man I'd come to see was standing in a line-backer's crouch, his face distorted by yells of encouragement. 'Go for it, Christine,' he was screaming. And we think we've come a long way from the primeval ooze, I thought, as I tapped my friend Dennis the burglar on the shoulder. He whipped round and I took a nervous step backwards.
When he saw me, he straightened up and grinned. 'Hiya, Kate. Just give me a minute. Our Christine'll be through to the semifinals in a couple of minutes.' Then he spun back to face the ring and resumed his passionate cheerleading. Nothing comes before Dennis's family.
The bell sounded for the end of the round, and after a moment's conferring with the judges, the referee held Christine's gloved hand up in victory. Let's face it, with Dennis's reputation, there wasn't a judge in the place who wouldn't have given any benefit of the doubt to Christine. Not that she ever needed that, I had to admit.
Christine emerged from the ring to a bear hug from her father. Even her body protector wasn't enough to stop her wincing at the force of his embrace. She gave me a wry grin and said, 'I'll soon be good enough to lick you, Kate.'
'On that showing, you could do it now,' I told her. I wasn't joking either. I turned to Dennis. 'She's really got it.'
'You're not wrong. She could go all the way, that kid. She's well sound. Now, what can I do for you, Kate?'
'I need your brains and your body, Dennis.'
He faked a wicked leer. 'I always said you'd never be able to resist my animal magnetism. Did you finally ditch the wimp, then?'
I didn't take offence. He affectionately calls Richard 'the wimp' to his face. Richard returns the compliment by calling Dennis Neanderthal Man, and Dennis pretends not to understand what it means. They're all big kids, men. And just like kids, they're ruled by their appetites. Like Jett with Tamar.
'Sorry to disappoint you, Dennis, but it's just your muscle I'm after.'
He pretended to be devastated by the news, clapping his hand to his forehead and saying, 'How can I face tomorrow, Kate?' Then he became serious. 'Is this going to take a while?'
'Couple of hours at the most.'
'Let me take Christine home, and I'll meet you in half an hour at your place. OK?'
Dennis was true to his word. Exactly half an hour later, my doorbell rang. I had the kettle boiled in readiness. He likes to stay in shape, does Dennis. He seldom drinks alcohol, never touches drugs, and runs six miles every morning, rain or shine. His only vice, apart from burglary and GBH, is cigarettes. I greeted him with a cup of sweet milky coffee, placed an ashtray by his feet and settled down with my vodka and grapefruit.
'Schneids,' I announced.
'I told you all I could about the Smarts,' he said, wagging a finger at me. He was right. He'd given me a head start in my inquiries. He's a great source, is Dennis, as long as the people I'm after have no connection to his friends or family. Well, those of his extended family that he's on speaking terms with at any given time. And sometimes, he spontaneously brings me little gems if he owes someone a bad turn. His moral code is stricter than that of a Jesuit priest, and not a lot easier to figure out.
'It's not the Smarts I'm interested in right now, I don't think. It's a guy in Bradford called Fat Freddy. Mean anything to you?'
Dennis frowned. 'I think I've heard the name, but I can't put a face to it. He's not connected locally.'
'He's in the schneid merchandising area - t-shirts, pirate cassettes. Anyway, there's a tie-in to another case I'm working. What I'm trying to get at is why someone who's legitimately involved in the merchandising business would have anything to do with a schneid merchant.'
Dennis lit a cigarette and flicked a trace of ash off his shell suit bottoms. 'S'easy, Kate. Say I'm licensed to produce the straight gear for a top band like Dead Babies, and I'm a bit bent myself. I find out who's doing the schneids and I offer them a deal. I won't shop them if they cut me in on their scam. I mean, a couple of years ago, shopping someone was no big deal. They just got raided and their gear confiscated. But now they've changed the law, you can go down for these trademark jobs. So it's a real threat. Also, if I was double bent, I'd offer my schneid merchant advance copies of the designs I was going to put out next, so he'd have a head start against the competition.' He sat back and blew smoke rings, well pleased with himself. It made a lot of sense.
'I like it. Thanks, Dennis. That was the brain bit. Now the muscle bit. You know a dealer called Paki Paulie?'
Dennis scowled. He hates dealers more than he hates bent coppers. I think it's something to do with having two young kids. He once broke the legs of a pusher who was hanging round the local school gates, after the local police had failed to arrest the guy. There were a dozen mums who saw Dennis go berserk with a baseball bat, but not one of them ID'd Dennis when the cops arrived. They're used to rough justice round there. 'Yeah,' he growled. 'I know that scumbag.'
'I need to know if he sold any heroin to one of the people involved in this case I'm on. I've got a funny feeling he's not going to roll over for me. That's why I need a bit of muscle. You game?'
'When do we start?' Dennis asked. He drained his coffee mug and leaned forward expectantly.
We found Paki Paulie an hour later in a seedy bar in Cheetham Hill. The front bar looked like any other run down pub, its clientele mainly middle-aged, poor and defeated. But the back bar was like walking into a
nother world. In the dim light, a handful of guys in expensive suits held court at the tables lining the walls, accompanied by their muscle. Scruffy kids meandered in and out, pausing by one table or another for muttered conversation. Sometimes cash was passed over fairly discreetly in exchange for dope. More often, the dealer got up and accompanied his punter out of the bar's back door into the car park.
On my own, I'd have been scared I'd be taken for a cop. But with Dennis by my side, there was no danger of that. He nodded towards one of the corner tables while we waited for our drinks.
'That him?' I asked, trying to keep my glance casual. Dennis nodded.
Paki Paulie wore a shimmering silver grey double-breasted suit over an open-necked cobalt blue shirt. The clothes were obviously expensive but he looked cheap as a bag of sherbet lemons. He was leaning back in his chair, gazing at a point on the ceiling as if his only worry in the world was what to drink next. Next to him, a hard-looking white youth stared gloomily into an almost-empty pint pot.
