The Ballad Of Sean And Wilko (The Christy Kennedy Mysteries Book 4)

by Paul Charles

  ‘No, not exactly. You told me you met him at The Engineer and he gave you a lift back to Dingwalls.’

  ‘And that’s also correct. I was at the soundcheck. I walked to The Engineer and he gave me a lift back to the venue,’ Tracey stated. If Kennedy’s questions were getting to her she certainly was making a good job of hiding it.

  ‘Okay, good. I’m with you now. So, tell me, what time did Circles go on stage?’

  ‘Nine p.m. Sean’s a stickler for time-keeping and when the schedule says “on stage: nine p.m.” that’s when he wants the band on stage. None of this rubbish about building up tension in the audience by keeping them waiting.’

  ‘So when would you have left The Engineer to get back to Dingwalls?’

  ‘Eight thirty sharp. Wilko had to change and he didn’t want Sean on his case. He was nervous enough about it being a London show.’

  ‘That would mean you spent about two and one half hours together?’

  Kennedy made his point, which was noted by Susan as well. A Susan refusing to make eye contact with her sister.

  ‘Yes, in fact it would,’ Tracey confirmed innocently.

  ‘And you spent all that time at The Engineer?’

  ‘Well, where else would we have spent it?’

  ‘No, it’s just that I was wondering, you know, with what you were saying and all that, with The Engineer being so close to Dingwalls, well, surely there must have been some fans in The Engineer and wouldn’t they have been bugging Wilko?’

  ‘No. As I said, it is close to the gig but it’s the other side of the tracks, just far enough away. That crowd would have been drinking at The Dublin Castle or The Fusilier and Firkin, or even Dingwalls itself.’

  ‘That means you sat drinking and talking in The Engineer for two and a half hours?’ Kennedy smiled.

  The McSisters’ reaction to each other was something to consider. Even if Tracey had managed to persuade her sister that there was nothing to Irvine and Coles’ allegations, Kennedy was sure she would have some explaining to do the second he left. He also imagined that if KP’s report, that Wilko could not keep his hands off Tracey, was accurate then they wouldn’t have sat for two and a half hours in the pub having a cosy little chat. Kennedy needed more information from KP before he pressed that line of questioning any further.

  He was sure he sensed a major sigh of relief from the McSisters when he announced, ‘Well, that’s all for now. I may need to see you later today, though.’

  ‘Oh, you know where we are. You’ll be most welcome,’ Susan replied warmly, and added. ‘Anytime!’

  ‘Thanks for your hospitality,’ Kennedy said, equally warmly, as he left the McSisters to their own little discussion. Oh, how he’d have loved to be a fly on the wall during that chat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  While Kennedy had been pursuing his own line of questioning, other members of Camden Town CID were also gathering information on the death of Wilko Robertson. Detective Sergeant James Irvine and Constable Allaway were sitting down to talk with Richie Slattery, former legal advisor and representative for the same Wilko Robertson.

  Richie Slattery sat in his plush set of offices in Delancey Street, quite close to the Edinboro Castle pub. He was frightfully English in a Noel Coward way, but without the camp. In fact, Irvine noted, if he’d managed the trademark gap between the top two teeth he could have passed for Terry Thomas. He was wearing a dark blue two-piece suit, pink shirt, ice blue tie, black loafer shoes and pink socks to match his shirt. His naturally wavy hair was held in place with what looked like gallons of Brylcreem, which continuously reflected the ceiling strip lighting into Irvine’s eyes.

  His walls were bare and a little faded, save for a framed diploma of some sort above the mantelpiece. The office consisted of a partner’s desk and a large swivel chair at either side. Irvine sat in one chair, Slattery in the other. Allaway shared a sofa with several piles of files, all tied up neatly with red ribbons. Most of the royal blue carpet was hidden under similar piles.

  Slattery had a file on the desk in front of him. He untied the ribbon and opened it. He was ready to address the officers, but made no offer of refreshment to them. A half-remaining cup of tea or coffee may encourage the police to linger on a while longer than was necessary.

  ‘We’re trying to gather as much information as possible on one of your former clients, Mr Wilko Robertson,’ Irvine began.

  ‘Yes?’

  Irvine suspected that the solicitor was not going to offer up any information without prompting.

  ‘Right,’ Irvine began, ‘did Wilko have any financial problems that you were aware of?’

  ‘It was all a bit of a mess, actually. There was money all over the place. What Simon Peddington and myself tried to do was simplify his affairs, put everything all under the one roof as it were. When he left Circles, money was coming in from everywhere and it was hard to keep tabs on everything.’

  ‘Did you ever carry out an audit?’ Irvine asked.

  The solicitor spent a few seconds checking through his file before answering.

  ‘Yes, as it happens. We audited them on three separate occasions.’

  ‘Find any discrepancies?’

  Again Slattery checked his file.

  ‘Actually, no. The audits didn’t turn up anything substantial.’

  ‘When you say they didn’t turn up anything substantial, do you mean that the audits turned up insubstantial amounts?’ Irvine enquired.

  The file was checked once more. Irvine knew that Slattery had the answers to these questions, so why did he persist on checking the file?

  ‘No. No discrepancies were found.’

  Irvine decided it was time to move on.

  ‘In the time you were his representative did Wilko have any problems with drugs?’

  ‘None that I was ever called upon to help him with.’

  ‘Are you saying that there were or there weren’t any?’ Irvine asked.

  ‘I’m saying that there might have been but because I was never called upon to represent him at those times, I have no first-hand knowledge. I can neither confirm nor deny,’ Slattery clarified.

  ‘What about Sean and Wilko? What were they like together?’

  ‘I never worked with both of them. I’ve never actually met Sean. All my dealing on Wilko’s behalf has been with Sean’s representative, Mr Leslie Russell.’

  ‘Did Wilko like Sean?’ Irvine asked.

  ‘Frankly, I’m not sure there was any love lost between them. However, I’ve never heard Wilko speak badly of Sean. They’d been in the group for a long time, been in each other’s pockets for years. To be quite honest, they were probably quite relieved to be apart, when the split eventually came,’ Slattery answered.

  ‘Why, then, did Wilko rejoin the band?’

  ‘His own career was a disaster. Simon couldn’t get anything going for him and, really, it was the only place left for him to go.’

  ‘Why do you think Sean had Wilko back in the band?’

  ‘An altogether more difficult question. I could never work that one out myself.’

  ‘Financially speaking, did Wilko need to rejoin the band?’ Irvine asked.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Slattery replied quickly and then, after a moment of thought, ‘he had the lifestyle of a pop star but not the income. Money flowed through his hands like sand. He’d never listen to Simon, his accountant, or myself. He was convinced there would always be another cheque, simply because there always had been before. But at the time we stopped working together, which would have been just before he rejoined the band, he wasn’t exactly flush.’

  ‘Why did you stop representing him?’ Irvine asked.

  ‘Very simply, he stopped paying my bills.’ Slattery smiled.

  ‘We heard he was annoyed that you and Simon bought back his solo album from his record company yourselves?’ Irvine stated, repeating some of the gossip they’d picked up.

  ‘Yes, I heard that little tale as well,’ Slattery repli
ed. ‘Basically, I negotiated with the record company for them to return the masters to Wilko. Wilko, Simon and I discussed the deal in great depth in this office. When push came to shove, Wilko wouldn’t come up with the money. He said they were his songs and they should be given back to him free. When that didn’t fly, he wanted Simon to buy them back for him. Simon, quite simply, said that he wouldn’t buy them back for Wilko. The only way he could justify such expense would be to buy them back himself, as an investment, and pay Wilko a percentage from any sale of the masters. Wilko was desperate and he agreed, in a huff. I finalised the deal. I was not party to the deal and Simon Peddington paid me for my time.’

  ‘Are there any pending lawsuits out against Wilko?’

  ‘Actually, I can only speak for when I finished working with him. There was always a list of paternity suits, but I think that’s common with a lot of pop stars, and he rarely was taken to court, mainly because the other side’s brief would find out there was no gold at the end of that particular rainbow.’

  ‘If he was that tight for money, how did he manage to get by?’ the DS asked.

  ‘You tell me. It’s a phenomenon known only in the entertainment business. I see television stars, movie stars and pop stars, none of whom have worked for years and yet they still have this lifestyle that doesn’t seem to change. I could never work it out. Wilko did occasionally receive funds from Sean Green, but not enough to keep him in the manner to which he’d become accustomed.’

  ‘Does that mean he’d lots of creditors?’

  ‘Some, I suppose, but none who ever wanted to do anything legal about it, or I would have been involved.’ Slattery smiled. ‘Simon would probably be a better man to answer that question.’

  ‘Was Wilko easy to deal with?’ Irvine asked what he hoped would be his final question.

  ‘Oh, he was okay. He’d get frustrated sometimes when things weren’t going his way. He didn’t pay enough attention to the contracts – he’d sign anything. That was dangerous for me, it leaves me open to a charge of malpractice at a later date. But, you know, he was a pop star, you can’t expect too much.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. That’s all for now, sir. Thanks for your time,’ Irvine replied, looking at the very thin file Richard Slattery was closing.

  Meanwhile, Simon Peddington and Coles were discussing the pros and cons of the music business and puzzling over Wilko’s inability to crack the charts.

  ‘You see, the main difference,’ Simon Peddington began, ‘between the artist and their public, is that the audience will always listen to the song, but the artist will listen to the recording.’

  ‘Are they not both the same thing?’ Coles enquired. They were sitting in Peddington’s dark, comfortable offices on Regent’s Park Road, the end near the Chalk Farm Bridge, in the company of PC Tony West.

  ‘Ah, they’re most definitely not. They are entirely different,’ Peddington replied. ‘The song is pure. It’ll either connect with the listener, or not. The artists will listen to the recording and hear only the shortcomings. The voice is too quiet, or too loud, the drums are too noisy, they can’t hear the choir, the keyboards are drowning out the harmony vocals and on and on and on. That was the problem with Wilko’s songs. They just weren’t great and he wasted loads of money trying to make them something they could never be. He was trying to make hits and they never came.’

  ‘There aren’t people who help the artists with this?’

  ‘Yes, we can give our opinions, but in the end it’s down to the artist. And it’s tough for them, because everyone in the business is a critic. Managers, record company twits, publishers, girlfriends, roadies, radio producers and our good friends in the press.’

  Simon Peddington looked like he ought to have known what he was talking about. One wall of his entire office was given up to stacks and stacks of records. About a third were singles, the balance were standard, original vinyl records. Not a CD in sight.

  ‘So, could you not have found Wilko some good songs elsewhere which might have become hits?’ PC West asked. ‘Lots of people seem to have hits with covers these days.’

  ‘Good point, and in fact one of Circles’ biggest hits was their cover of “Together Again”, a Buddy Holly song. But they’d already had several hits of their own. Wilko wanted to go out on a solo career with his own songs. He felt he’d a lot to prove! Maybe he had. Circles were a very successful group, he had a lot to live up to,’ Simon replied.

  ‘But didn’t the fact that he was the lead singer of a very successful group count in his favour?’ West again.

  ‘Formerly a successful group. Don’t forget, when Wilko left Circles they were washed-up,’ Simon reminded West.

  ‘How was Wilko off for money?’ Coles asked.

  ‘Houdini wasn’t half the magician our Wilko was. Personally, I don’t know how he got by on his income. I knew what was coming in and believe me it was a whole lot less than what was going out.’

  ‘So, where was the difference coming from?’

  ‘Search me.’

  ‘You’ve no idea?’

  ‘Well in the beginning, his accounts were such a mess that no one noticed the deficit. But then, when a few of my invoices were ignored, I chased down the accountant and we started to put some kind of order to it.’

  ‘There were large debts out there?’ West asked.

  ‘Well, there should have been. But no, he was always able to make ends meet.’

  Coles thought for a moment. She just about managed to make her own finances work. Police pay was not great, by any means, and after mortgage payments, buying clothes, food and the few bits and pieces which made one’s life easier, she nearly zeroed herself out each month. How did Wilko manage it?

  ‘Is there any chance he could have had another source of income, interest from some inheritance or something?’ she asked.

  ‘I doubt it. The reality was, he had trouble keeping money. He thought it was for spending and positively loved to spend it.’

  ‘Why did Wilko rejoin Circles?’ West asked.

  ‘See all of the above.’ Again a simple reply from the manager.

  ‘Why did Sean want him back in the group?’

  ‘Now, I couldn’t work that one out at all. Either Sean Green is a very generous and forgiving guy or…’

  ‘Or?’ Coles coaxed.

  ‘Well, I suppose there would be a certain logic to Wilko rejoining the group if he, you know, had something on Sean and, well…’

  ‘Wilko might have been blackmailing Sean Green?’ West asked incredulously.

  ‘Maybe not as strong as blackmail. But you have to admit, it has a certain logic about it.’

  ‘Okay,’ Coles said, enthusiastically, ‘what could Wilko have been blackmailing Sean about?’

  ‘Now there is a question,’ Peddington replied.

  ‘What were you doing, sir, on Thursday evening last?’

  ‘On Thursday evening last I was having dinner with a client of mine. A singer-songwriter from Dublin, who was in town for a couple of days. I hung out with him all Thursday from about seven o’clock until way after midnight. He’s a great artist, a cross between Van Morrison and Ronan Keating. He’s called G.B. Shaw.’

  West felt compelled to ask the inevitable question.

  ‘What, as in George Bernard?’

  ‘Sadly, no. Gary Brian. We’re hoping for a big success though.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  WPC Coles and DS Irvine were about to commence an interview with a solicitor, Irvine’s second lawyer of the day, Mr Leslie Russell.

  ‘Now then,’ Russell began, after shaking hands warmly and enquiring about Kennedy’s well-being, ‘what can I do for you two on this cold and frosty day?’

  ‘We’re just doing some follow-up work on Wilko Robertson,’ Irvine offered, trying to find comfort in his modern chair. ‘And we’ve a few follow-ups questions for you.’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Well,’ Coles began, ‘from what we can gather, Wilko was living
well beyond his means. There was more going out than coming in. But he was still keeping his head above water. Is there any chance Sean Green was helping him out?’

  ‘I suppose it’s possible, but I rather doubt it. Sean would be charging it against some account, so I’m sure it would have crossed my desk at some time.’

  ‘Did Sean ever discuss bringing Wilko back into the group?’ Coles asked.

  ‘Yes, he felt that the band would have a better chance in the States with the original line-up. There seemed to be a certain logic in that.’

  ‘We believe you and Sean were still negotiating the deal with Wilko?’ Irvine asked.

  ‘Yes. With Wilko and his new solicitor, Richard Slattery.’

  ‘And had you hit any snags?’ Again Coles.

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Then why was it taking so long?’ Coles persisted.

  ‘As a matter of act, in terms of legal negotiations it wasn’t, but there was a bit of posturing going on, on their side. We insisted that Wilko had independent legal representation, and his solicitor, Slattery, was trying to prove that he was worth his fee.’

  ‘And I bet he had the meter running all the time,’ Irvine chipped in.

  ‘I’m afraid it would be unprofessional of me to comment on that,’ Russell said, smiling.

  ‘What sort of things were you discussing?’ Coles enquired.

  ‘Mostly merchandising issues,’ Russell replied.

  ‘The swag, you mean?’ Irvine laughed.

  ‘Precisely,’ Russell continued. ‘We’re talking serious money. At a place like Wembley for instance which holds eleven thousand people, each spends up to sixteen pounds on merchandise for something like Cliff, or down to a minimum of say, one pound and fifty pence per head for an artist with a less-committed audience.’

  ‘Where would Circles fit into the scale of things?’ Coles enquired.

  ‘Oh at their peak I’d say we were grossing about four pounds and sixty pence a head.’

  ‘So, Richard Slattery is right to drag his heels over crossing the T’s and dotting the I’s?’