by Paul Charles
‘Yeah, I’d love to have been there for that one. Mind you, knowing my luck, I’d probably have been the poor unfortunate copper who had to tell them to stop making the music,’ Kennedy replied.
‘Well,’ KP began, ‘McCartney had wanted them to do that particular show at the Roundhouse. The original idea was for the Beatles to rehearse an album’s worth of new material and then come here to the Roundhouse and play what would have been their comeback concert. I saw the Doors in here. Jim Morrison, now there was a great performer. I saw The Undertones do one of the all-time great concerts in here. Otis Reading played on the Roundhouse stage as well. Pink Floyd, Hendrix. This is where Circles should have been playing. Much more appropriate than Dingwalls. I mean Dingwalls Dancehall is a nice venue but we should have played here, we were the Camden band. Come on through,’ KP said, as he nodded to the security man on the door.
‘Kevin, my old son, how’s it hanging?’ the uniformed Londoner enquired, in a gruff voice as tough as his face.
‘Still on the left, Smiley, still a left vibe, man,’ KP replied. ‘Mind if we use the wee room for a brew-up?’
‘Please feel free, old chap. There’s no one around for a couple of hours or so.’
‘Great, man. Great vibe. This is a friend of mine, Christy. He’s from the old sod as well. Christy, this is Smiley Bolger. Born and bred in this parish, has worked around Camden Market all his life.’
The detective and the security man smiled at each other and KP led Kennedy through to the cold and darkened venue.
There is something strangely serene about a venue awaiting an audience and performers, Kennedy thought as he pulled his collar up. He felt he was intruding on hallowed ground as they walked through the auditorium. The raked seats and stage had been created and built entirely inside the shell of the one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old building.
The structure was designed and built by Robert Dockray for the London North West Railway Company in 1847 for a few bob over £60,000. The building was constructed to house twenty-four proud engines and their tenders on a thirty-six foot turntable, enclosed inside its 160-foot circular walls. The Roundhouse continued as an engine shed until 1869, when it was leased to W & A Gilbey and Sons as a whiskey store. The Roundhouse closed in 1919 and reopened in 1964 as a concert venue.
KP guided Kennedy through the back exit, and into the cold air outside. It wasn’t much warmer inside. They went down several steps and back into the Roundhouse by a small black door, which KP unlocked using a key of his own. Inside the door KP fiddled around in the dark for a time until he located the ‘house’ torch.
After a few seconds in the dark Kennedy had lost all sense of direction. KP moved this way and that, picking his well-known route through the catacomb. He explained to Kennedy that the space created by the twenty-four bays had been used to store coke for the hungry tenders waiting thirteen feet above. Apparently they were in the building’s undercroft.
Kennedy guessed they must have re-crossed the entire width of the venue. They reached another underground doorway cut through a thick, brick wall. KP unlocked the cast-iron door, solid and secure. Incredibly, this led to another brickwork corridor. Three feet further along there was a similar door, which KP also unlocked. KP flicked a light switch and revealed a small room. All surfaces, floor, walls and ceiling were tiled in matching white tiles.
‘Come in and shut the door, man,’ KP advised his companion. ‘Keep the heat in.’
‘What on earth is this place?’ Kennedy replied, obeying the order.
‘No one really knows. It’s a space that doesn’t exist. It doesn’t show up on any of the plans. No one knows it’s here apart from Smiley, a few mates, and myself. It’s somewhere to escape to, bit of a home away from home.’
The room was furnished with two wine-coloured armchairs, a small coffee table and three beanbags. KP had already turned on the kettle and was washing out a couple of cups in a basin of water in the corner.
‘No sound system?’ Kennedy enquired, surprised.
‘No way, man. We never wanted to risk being found out. We just use it for playing cards, chatting. You know, a speakeasy type of vibe,’ KP answered.
‘Cards, you say?’ Kennedy started. ‘Tell me, did Wilko ever play cards down here?’
‘Yeah, you bet, man. Whenever he wanted to escape the women.’
‘Any women in particular?’
‘Yea, the McSisters. The wife and her sister,’ KP replied.
‘Oh,’ Kennedy said, unable to hide his disappointment.
‘“Oh,” he says,’ KP replied, with a little devilment creeping across his well-lined face.
‘Why?’ asked. ‘What do you know?’
‘Can I tell you something?’ KP began.
‘Of course.’
‘Our friend Wilko was doing the business – you know, the wild thing – with both the sisters of mercy.’
‘What?’
‘Well, actually I’m not sure he was doing it as much with his wife any more but he told me he just couldn’t keep away from Tracey.’
‘I’ll be…this changes everything,’ Kennedy looked at KP. ‘How come you didn’t tell me this before?’
‘The thing was, it kinda seemed disrespectful to the deceased. But Sean and I were talking and we felt you should probably know.’
‘Interesting, very interesting,’ Kennedy said, recalling something that had been said earlier.
‘What?’ KP arched his eyebrows up until they nearly reached the brim of his vibrant blue skullcap.
‘Oh nothing,’ Kennedy replied. ‘Now, where are we with this much talked about brew-up.’
Half an hour later, as they made their way back through the undercroft and up the auditorium, Kennedy considered the atmosphere inside this ageing brick shell. In three hours’ time it would be packed with an audience keen for entertainment and musicians eager to perform. Even in the autumn coldness, the air of anticipation was palpable. For KP it must really have been home away from home, confirmed when KP stopped at the main door and bade his farewell to Kennedy.
‘I think I’ll hang around here for a while, see you later perhaps. God bless you, man. Fare-thee-well.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Kennedy raced back to North Bridge House. Upon entering his office, he went straight to his noticeboard and marked up a few cards that he replaced on the green felt “Guinness Is Good For You” board. His list of suspects now read: Susan Robertson (nee McGee), Tracey McGee, Richie Slattery (Wilko’s lawyer), Simon Peddington (Wilko’s manager), Robert Clarke (Wilko’s replacement in Circles), James MacDonald (Circles’ music publisher). Was wife Susan jealous of her sister? Wilko said he couldn’t keep away from her. What was all that about? As he sat on the edge of his desk Kennedy considered Tracey McGee.
She was plain and seemed to go out of her way to prove the point. Was that all a ruse for her sister? Did her sister know that she was cheating with Wilko? Why could Wilko not keep his hands off Tracey? And why on earth would Tracey cheat on her sister? Boredom? Lust? Adventure? Revenge?
What exactly was the relationship between Tracey and Susan? Could they possibly have conspired to murder Wilko and carried out the deed together. Tracey had volunteered, unasked as Kennedy recalled, that she and Susan had been together on the night Wilko was murdered. What was this thing about Wilko being murdered in a room locked from the inside? What was all that about? Was it part of the plot or was it the entire smokescreen?
Because of the locked door, should the affable Kevin Paul also be on Kennedy’s suspect list? Could KP have done the evil deed, come out of the dressing room, locked the door, smashed it in and then placed the key back on the inside of the door? And if he did do that, then why?
Was there something out there that could connect KP and Wilko? Did KP fancy the sister-in-law? KP seemed like a good person. Can ‘good people’ murder their fellow man? This murder hadn’t been a crime of passion, nor a killing in the heat of the moment. This had been premeditated and
well planned. So, what reasons were there for a decent god-fearing, dope-smoking hippie like KP to kill Wilko Robertson? A person he had known and worked with for a couple of decades? What had changed?
Wilko had rejoined Circles. Could that have anything to do with his death? Could either Richie Slattery, the lawyer, or Simple Simon Peddington, the manager, have a reason to want to get rid of Wilko? And if so, what was it? Could James MacDonald, the music publisher, and Wilko have been cooking up something? Perhaps something to persuade Sean to sign a new lucrative publishing deal; a deal both Wilko and James would benefit from? Had the conspiracy backfired and James needed to get rid of Wilko in order to protect himself and his position in the company?
The Circles songs were certainly proving to be worth a lot of money. Kennedy was finding this to be the case with a considerable number of the sixties and seventies groups selling-on their copyrights for sums in the millions. Could Robert Clarke feel aggrieved enough at losing his position in Circles to Wilko, to make him want to murder Wilko? If so, it had certainly been effective, because Sean was now planning to bring him back into the band again. So that couldn’t be ruled out.
‘What about Sean?’ he found himself saying, aloud.
‘What about Sean?’
Kennedy swung around in his chair to find Superintendent Thomas Castle with his head stuck around the office door, one hand still grasping the door handle the other resting on the doorpost.
‘Oh, sorry, sir. I was miles away,’ Kennedy replied quickly grounding from his astral travels.
‘I’d say so. Is this the pop group mess you are working on? That thing up in Camden Lock?’
‘Yes, in fact it is,’ Kennedy replied quickly.
‘Any progress on it?’
‘A bit, I suppose.’
‘What’s this other thing you’ve got Taylor working on up at St Pancras Hospital?’
Kennedy explained his conversation with Rose Butler. ‘How have you heard about it so quickly?’
‘I’ve had some hospital authorities assuring me this is none of our business and that they’ll be dealing with it as per standard procedure,’ Castle replied.
‘Very interesting, very interesting indeed. And…?’ Kennedy fished.
‘And…’ Castle smiled, ‘I think, if they’re kicking up a stink this early that’s justification enough for us to carry on.’
‘Good. Just out of interest, sir, who was it you spoke to from the hospital authorities?’
‘A Doctor Ranjee Shareef. Yes, as you say, Christy, very interesting. Very interesting. Keep me posted.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘Ah, glad I found you.’
WPC Anne Coles approached Irvine, dressed in civvies. Loose-fitting black slacks, roll-neck white woollen jumper, black wind-breaker jacket and blonde hair tucked up and (sadly) hidden under a black ski-hat.
‘Not quite soon enough’ Irvine muttered, half under his breath.
‘Pardon?’
‘Sorry, nothing. What’s up?’ Irvine replied.
The WPC brought the DS up to date with the recent revelations of the McSisters. Kennedy wanted them visited immediately and interviewed separately.
‘I’m not sure it’s such a good idea,’ Coles began as they walked down Delancey Street.
‘What? What’s not such a good idea?’ Irvine replied. He seemed under-dressed for the weather. Donegal three-piece tweed suit, checked shirt, green tie, brown and white brogues. Although the wind was blowing furiously not one single copper-coloured hair was out of place. Coles considered her colleague as she answered his question.
‘Well,’ Coles began hesitantly, ‘it’s just that Susan Robertson has just learned about the death of her husband. She’s being comforted and supported through these troubled times by her sister Tracey. Now we find out from KP that her husband Wilko was sleeping with Tracey. Surely this is going to completely take the rug from under Susan’s feet. We’re going to take away the only stability she has left.’
‘Yes, I see what’s troubling you. I’m not sure I would worry about it as much as you do though,’ Irvine sympathised.
‘Oh, that’s just…’
‘If you’re about to say, “that’s just because you’re a man” I’ll be very disappointed with you,’ Irvine cut in.
‘No, I was…’ Coles struggled.
‘There, you see? I knew—’
‘No, you didn’t,’ Coles cut in indignantly. ‘You didn’t know what I was about to say. I was about to say, “that’s because you’re not a woman”.’
‘Oh, maybe you were correct, in part. But don’t forget that one of these grieving sisters may have murdered Wilko. We must certainly consider it a possibility.’
‘Well, I must say, that I find it quite hard to believe that anyone would have trouble keeping their hands off Tracey McGee,’ Coles replied. ‘She seemed very plain to me.’
‘Perhaps that’s what she wanted everyone to think. You know, just in case the sister was ever suspicious? There’s also the possibility that it was a package deal, as it were. Wilko had a healthy sexual appetite and, well, you know, the sister helped her out?’
‘Oh, please. That’s disgusting. How can you even think that?’
‘You’re quite an innocent, aren’t you?’ Irvine laughed.
‘I’ve had my moments, I’ll have you know,’ Coles replied mentally kicking herself for responding just a wee bit too quickly. His reply only served to confirm her worst fears.
‘Oh, I’ve never doubted that.’
God, the WPC thought. How had she allowed the conversation to fall to such an unprofessional low? She prided herself on having an asexual relationship with her colleagues in Camden Town CID. But here she was with DS James Irvine, complete with his James Bond accent and thermal underwear, admitting to her that he’d considered her sexually. Oh God, please make the ground swallow me up, she thought. Just then she remembered the best form of defence is attack, so attack she did.
‘I suppose you’ve had your fair share of sisters,’ she grandstanded. What?, she thought the second the words had left her lips. What kind of attack was that? Didn’t she just go and dig herself into an even deeper hole?
‘No, actually I wasn’t speaking from experience,’ Irvine replied. Coles wasn’t sure, but she thought she sensed a wee bit of hurt in his voice. ‘But it’s not unheard of, in the outlying areas of Scotland, for sisters to share a man. Not just in Scotland. It’s not as uncommon a situation as you might think, and I’m talking about long-term relationships.’
‘Incredible!’ Coles said.
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘No, I mean that we are actually considering this,’ Coles said, gaining her confidence again.
‘Well, we’re on an investigation, we have to consider everything, no matter how unpalatable,’ Irvine said. They had arrived at the Robertson house and climbed the four tiled steps. ‘So listen, do you want the wife or the mistress?’
‘Oh, the mistress of course,’ Coles replied, and rang the bell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The police couple introduced themselves to the sisters and Coles advised them that they had returned to ask a few more questions. Irvine suggested that the interviews be conducted separately. Susan seemed the more nervous of being with the police by herself but she wasn’t given the time to worry about it. A few seconds later she and Irvine were seated around the kitchen table and Coles and Tracey were in the sitting room. A brick wall and two closed doors separated the couples. Had a fifth person been eavesdropping on the conversations and been able to decipher the simultaneous parts of the conversations, this is what they would have heard:
Irvine: I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs Robertson, Wilko sure was a fine singer.
Susan: Why thank you. Had you ever seen Circles?
Tracey: Why are you back so soon?
Irvine: Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I saw them perform a sensational concert in the Barrowland, Glasgow. I was there in a professional capaci
ty, but Circles were on stage and I thought they were incredible.
Coles: Well, to be quite honest, Miss McGee, we picked up a new bit of information and we wanted to check it out with each of you.
Tracey: Oh, and what information would that be?
Irvine: As you know, in order to find out what happened to Wilko we need to delve into his past and see who was involved with him.
Susan: Yes?
Coles: Well, it’s come to our attention that Wilko was having an affair.
Irvine: Yes, and there’s no easy way to tell you this, particularly at a time like this, but we think we’ve found out that Wilko was having an affair.
Tracey: He was hardly a saint was our Wilko.
Susan: That will be news to none bar those on the Outer Hebrides.
Coles: I’m surprised you haven’t asked me with whom he was having the affair.
Irvine: Perhaps. But, at the same time, perhaps the name of the person he was having an affair with will be news.
Susan: (Laughing) Only if it were to be with our Tracey.
Tracey: I’d be interested in whom Wilko didn’t hit on, to be honest.
Coles: Well, we’ve heard it was you.
Irvine: Actually, it was your Tracey.
Tracey: (Nonchalantly) Oh, don’t be stupid. Of course I wouldn’t sleep with my sister’s husband. (Then laughing) I know who you heard that from. Kevin Paul, that little hippie shit. He hit on me once and I turned him down and he hasn’t forgiven me since. His ego dreamt this idea that the only way I’d have been able to resist his charms was if I was involved in a ménage à trois with Susan and Wilko.
Susan: No, not… (Then bursts into a fit of uncontrollable sobbing).
Coles: We’ve received our information from more than one source, Ms McGee.
Tracey: You may have received your information from a hundred sources but that doesn’t make it true. Unless someone saw Wilko and I making love, perish the thought, it’s all hearsay. Tell you what, love, you come back to me when you’ve got something more concrete than that little shit’s gossip, gossip which split up the group in the first place.
