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

by Paul Charles

  ‘Absolutely. That’s why we recommended Wilko get outside legal advice in the first place. He was happy enough to be back in the group, earning real money and still having everything paid for by the group. In the end, to make sure it was all above board, Sean even agreed to pay his legal bill,’ Russell told them.

  ‘What? Sean paid Wilko’s solicitor’s bill so that the solicitor could negotiate a contract with Sean?’ Coles enquired.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But isn’t that a conflict of interest?’

  ‘I can assure you it’s both ethical and common practice. It happens all the time in deals with music publishers and record companies. Obviously when they are signing an unknown act, the act isn’t able to afford the legal bills. Equally, if the act doesn’t take legal advice then the contract could be deemed null and void,’ Russell explained.

  ‘Is Sean Green an easy man to deal with?’ Irvine asked, fishing in a different stream.

  ‘I doubt if one could use the word “easy” to describe Sean. However, if you do your job properly, as he pays you to, he’s fine. This firm have represented him for a very long time and I suppose that says something in itself.’

  ‘Did he and Wilko ever have a falling-out or a disagreement?’ Irvine asked.

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

  ‘Is there anyone you know who would have wanted to harm Wilko?’ Irvine asked, a wee bit desperate.

  ‘I’ve racked my brains since it happened, but I can’t for the life of me think of one person. However,’ Russell said, ‘this morning, I received a copy of the record company’s sales figures for the Circles’ catalogue, particularly the greatest hits, and…well, they’ve gone through the roof. I imagine there will be three Circles’ albums in the next week’s Top Twenty and the greatest hits might even make it to Number One. So, I suppose, there is at least one group of people who are benefiting from Wilko’s death,’ Russell revealed.

  ‘Surely Sean Green will reap the same rewards?’ Coles enquired.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Russell conceded. Coles was convinced by his inflection that he was trying to persuade the police that this was the first time such an idea had swum through the troubled waters of this particular solicitor’s mind.

  ‘Can we talk for a bit about this other publishing deal? You know, the one that both James MacDonald and Wilko were up for, and Sean wasn’t?’ Irvine asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why did Sean not want to do the deal? It was a great deal I hear,’ Irvine continued.

  ‘Yes, you are quite correct. It was a sweetheart of a deal. They were offering a staggering three million pounds up front for the entire song catalogue,’ Russell announced.

  That got their attention.

  ‘Holy shit,’ Irvine gasped in open envy. ‘Sean Green turned down three million pounds?’

  ‘Yes, but it was a calculated business decision made in the cold light of day by Sean and, you know, under scrutiny it does bear up. Remember the story about John and Paul being offered Northern Songs for twenty million pounds,’ Russell began. He had the ability to take you off on a tangent but by the way his delivery changed gear, you knew his story was going to be a compelling one. ‘These were songs Lennon and McCartney had written for free, you need to remember. They had formed a company with Dick James, who was, up to that point, famous only for singing and writing the theme song to the TV series Robin Hood. Anyway, even though it was supposedly their own company, they were still only on a fifty-fifty royalty which they continuously asked Dick James to increase. They were the most successful songwriting team in the world and their deal was crap, but would their friend agree to a change. Not on your life.’

  The solicitor paused to ensure his audience was still with him. He needn’t have worried. ‘Not only had they made him rich beyond his wildest dreams, but when he decided he wanted to get out of the business – this would have been in the late sixties – he didn’t even tell them he was selling out. They most definitely would have raised the three million pounds he sold his shares to Lew Grade’s ATV music for, but he didn’t even give them a call to let them know what was happening. That was in 1969. It didn’t end there. That’s the thing about this business, no matter how legal it’s meant to be, artists, on all levels, are always being shafted. Even artists such as the Beatles were not beyond being on the sharp end of the stick. In 1981 ATV decided they were going to sell Northern Songs for the aforementioned twenty million pounds. Lew Grade, having come from the old school, proved to be more honourable and rang Paul McCartney up to offer him first refusal. This time Paul decided he would go for it. At that point, John, sadly, was dead. Paul decided the most honourable thing for him to do would be to ring up Yoko, who controlled John’s estate, with a view to them doing a deal together. Paul reports that Yoko said it was too expensive and she would get her people onto it and secure it for five million quid. Obviously the deal fell through and an Australian bit ATV’s hand off to win the deal. Yoko obviously needed the money for one of her other then current passions; purchasing prize cows. She would have been au fait with the pedigrees, some say. Sadly it doesn’t even end there. In 1985 Wacko Jacko bought Northern Songs for fifty-three million dollars, which then would have been about forty million pounds, in real money. Again McCartney had no knowledge about the deal until after it was done. So, you see, Sean holding out on the deal for his catalogue, proved that he’d learnt something from the Beatles’ misfortune, which really had to be the crime of the millennium.’

  ‘I’d read bits and pieces about it in the papers over the years, but I’d never realised it was as obscene as that. Mind you, I’m not so sure you should be comparing the Circles’ catalogue to the Beatles’ catalogue. If you are, never let Detective Inspector Kennedy hear you say it,’ Irvine offered.

  ‘No, no, I wouldn’t, and he’d be correct. But my point would have to be this. Sean Green is not short of money. If someone is prepared to offer that kind of money then they must reckon it is possible to make a profit on it in the long run. So, from Sean’s point of view, as he doesn’t need the money today, why should he not hold on to his songs and make the original three million, plus a lot more besides? In ten years’ time, God knows what it will be worth,’ Russell said, and then added as an afterthought, ‘particularly considering the sales they’ve enjoyed over the last couple of days.’

  ‘Well,’ announced Irvine rising from his chair, ‘on that very high note, we’ll leave you.’

  Five minutes later, Coles and Irvine were in the car, driving back to the station.

  ‘It would all make a lot more sense if it was Sean Green who’d been murdered. We’d have two great suspects in Wilko Robertson and his publisher. What did Leslie Russell advise us they would have made from the sale?’ Irvine asked.

  ‘One hundred and fifty thousand pounds for Wilko and seventy-five grand for James MacDonald,’ Coles replied, as she negotiated the very heavy traffic at the junction of Chalk Farm Road and Camden High Street. Not a million miles from Dingwalls Dancehall, in fact.

  ‘You see, now that is a lot of money. Some scavengers would murder their mothers for a lot less than that.’

  ‘It’s a lot of money but not as much as three million,’ Coles said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Okay. It’s just a theory, but…’

  ‘I’m listening,’ Irvine said.

  ‘Sean Green gets offered three million pounds for the Circles’ songs. He realises what the potential is. He decides, rather than sell out to another company, he will not only keep the catalogue, but also increase its value.’

  ‘So how was he going to do that?’ Irvine enquired.

  ‘Simple. He brings Wilko back into the group and makes a bit of a fuss about it so that his name, Wilko Robertson, is publicly connected with the group again. He then murders Wilko at a gig, he knows it’s sure to receive a lot of attention, and then he sits back and watches the sales go through the roof. Look at Hendrix, Lennon, The Doors, Otis Redding. Following thei
r deaths their sales increased tenfold and their records just keep selling and selling. I know that Circles are not in the same league, but even a small percentage of what those artists are turning over these days would float a small country or two.’

  ‘I wonder,’ Irvine said as they pulled into the car park at North Bridge House, ‘Interesting theory, float it past DI Kennedy and see what he thinks.’

  I’ll take great pleasure in doing exactly that, Coles thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Detective Inspector Christy Kennedy was tired, hungry and early as he waited for Kevin Paul at the back of Trattoria Lucca. Frank, the owner, showed him to his seat, enthusing over Arsenal’s current form, ‘If we could just keep winning matches the way Manchester United do, we’d win the league again.’

  ‘Footy vibe, man,’ was KP’s greeting, on overhearing the conversation. ‘Give me a Bestie any day of the week. Now he was so good I’d almost forgive him for doing those adverts for Cookstown Sausages.’

  ‘How’s it going?’ Kennedy asked. There was no one else in the rear section of the comfortable restaurant, so they could enjoy total privacy.

  ‘Oh, it’s a stressed vibe, this detective work. I can tell you. I used to think that all you did was a Columbo type vibe. You know, just bumble around, looking cross-eyed in a tatty gabbo and a cool car, finishing every interview with a, “oh, just one final thing”,’ KP answered.

  ‘Aye, that’s an approach, I suppose,’ Kennedy laughed. He felt a tickle in his throat. He swallowed again quickly and it disappeared.

  ‘Now, this is a totally different trip altogether, man. You earn your dosh, I can tell you,’ KP enthused.

  ‘Why, thank you Kevin.’

  Frank returned to take their order. Kennedy had his usual spaghetti with pesto sauce and peas and a cup of tea to wash it down. This drew an upturned nose from KP.

  ‘You are one weird detective, man. Pesto and peas! Ever thought about going on telly and telling all your stories?’

  Frank hovered over his order pad.

  ‘And yourself, sir?’

  ‘Love the polite vibe, man. Ah, I’ll have the potato and leek soup and a fountain salad, whatever that is. I just love the name. Oh, and a glass of your finest white wine, Landlord.’

  Okay, Kevin. First off I need to ask you about this Wilko and Tracey affair,’ Kennedy started, the minute Frank had left. ‘You see, Tracey denies it, Susan said it was impossible and Tracey said you made the claim because you wanted to go to bed with her.’

  ‘And I did go to bed with her and what’s more it was truly wonderful. Then we didn’t any more because she’d found someone else and that someone else was Wilko. She made me promise that I’d never tell that she and Wilko had a scene. I think, as much as anything else, she needed to talk to someone about it. She knew it was wrong but she had fallen for him and he for her, supposedly. Well he would, wouldn’t he? She is a woman. And boy, what a woman,’ KP announced.

  ‘How long did they date?’ Kennedy asked.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t really a “dating” vibe, man, if you know what I mean. It was kinda difficult with the wife in the background and the fact that the wife was also the sister, the same sister who wanted Tracey to move in with her and Wilko. They had, shall we say, a scene for the last eight years or so.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’ Kennedy gasped.

  ‘No, I’m not kidding. And it was an awkward situation for me because I’d have to cover for both of them, a go-between kind of vibe. They’d both confide in me. I know for a fact that they were still at it up to the day he died, literally!’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘She came down to the soundcheck to meet up with him and they went off to the Britannia Hotel for a couple of hours. I know, man, because it was me who picked them up and brought them back to the gig.’

  KP must have spotted some doubt in Kennedy’s eyes.

  ‘I can prove it as well, because I paid their bill on Circles’ AMEX. It’s known in show business terms as a day room, so it’s a legit expense. But besides, I’ve got the itemised bill back at my pad if you want to see it. It details food and drink for two.’

  ‘When you picked them up, how did they seem?’

  ‘Yea, cool vibe, man. They seemed fine to me. We dropped her off at the front and Wilko went on one of his guilt trips with me, “God, I know I should stop but I just can’t keep my hands off her”. I’d always thought it wasn’t his hands he should have been worried about. All he had to do, allegedly, was look at a girl and she’d get pregnant.’

  ‘But he and Susan didn’t have any children,’ Kennedy added, as the food arrived.

  ‘Sadly, Susan couldn’t have kids. I think that was why Wilko went around on his wild-oats vibe. He wanted to prove to everyone that he could cut the mustard. Bit too much of a macho trip for me man, but each to their own. This is delicious soup, man.’

  ‘So, when they came out of the hotel, they didn’t look like they were arguing?’ Kennedy continued.

  ‘No, not really. I mean, I wasn’t really tuned in to them. My mind was more on the gig,’ KP answered. He was about to swallow another spoonful of soup, when something stopped him. ‘There’s one thing though, and it might be nothing.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Kennedy asked.

  ‘Well, I didn’t really think about it as being strange at the time, but when I went back to the Britannia to pick them up they were waiting for me in the lobby. That’s unusual for them, I usually have to pry them out of the room,’ KP recalled.

  ‘You weren’t late or anything?’

  ‘No, as I said, they were usually impossible to get out of the room, so I was always early. If he misses a gig, it’s not his fault; it’s my fault for not getting him there on time. So, I always allow myself an extra twenty minutes or so with Wilko. Sean, now he’s completely the opposite. He’s always on time, or five minutes ahead. He’d be the first on the tour bus and, God bless him, he doesn’t sit there moaning about all the latecomers. And Wilko was always late,’ KP broke into another of his grins.

  ‘Reminds me of when we started. I’d drive everyone and the equipment in a Ford Transit. Which was okay but by the time we did the gig and got back to London – we could rarely afford hotel rooms in those days – it would be the early hours and there’d be a fight as to who’d be dropped off first. Wilko usually shouted the loudest. But the thing about Wilko was he could sleep on a tuppenny stamp. He’d jump in the van when we picked him up, he’d say a quick hello, lean his head against the window and be out like a light. Not wake up until we arrived at the gig. One day, I think we were playing the Boat Club in Nottingham and we’d been driving for hours, Wilko woke up in darkness, jumped up and shouted, “KP don’t forget to drop me off first, man”. “For goodness sake,” I replied, “we haven’t even reached Nottingham yet to play the gig”. He’d just lost all sense of time,’ KP offered by way of explanation.

  ‘So, they were waiting for you in the lounge of the hotel. Can you remember anything about them, anything at all?’

  ‘Like?’ KP asked.

  ‘Were they sitting together on a sofa? Were they standing apart? Any signs of intimacy? Or hostility?’ Kennedy coaxed.

  ‘Well now, let’s think about this for a moment, man. I can see it’s important to you. Yea, okay I remember. When I arrived at the hotel Wilko was sitting by the door in an easy chair. He said that Tracey had just gone to get a newspaper. When I was laying down the plastic with the cashier she came over to me, minus a newspaper. I didn’t think about it at the time, but now I come to think of it, she didn’t have a newspaper. Does that mean anything?’

  ‘How did she seem?’

  ‘She seemed okay to me. I mean they were quiet in the back of the car on the way back to Dingwalls but I just put that down to pre-gig nerves on Wilko’s part and her allowing him his space. He said we should drop Tracey off first, near the front door and, when we did, he laid his guilt trip on me again.’

  KP helped himself to a ge
nerous swig of wine and turned to his fountain salad, so named because its presentation. Three whole carrots standing upright in the middle of the plate, surrounded by an array of yoghurt-coated nuts, lettuce, grapes, bananas, avocado, scallions and miniature boiled potatoes, still in their skins, peppered around the perimeter of the plate.

  ‘Totally wild vibe man,’ KP pronounced with evident joy. ‘A bit more colour in it and it would be truly wonderful. My compliments to the chef, Landlord.’

  ‘So, were you badly cut up over the thing with Tracey?’ Kennedy asked.

  ‘Not really, regretfully. I mean regretfully, because the sex had been truly wonderful. On our first night together I counted at least seven things she did to me which are probably illegal in some countries. But if I was being totally honest, man, there was nothing between us other than the sex.’

  Kennedy considered Tracey McGee. A sex goddess? He didn’t think so. But then, Wilko couldn’t keep his hands off her and, eight years later, KP still recalls her with more than a twinkle in his eye. You simply never know, do you.

  ‘Oh, I get the motive vibe, man,’ KP announced, mouth full of salad. ‘You’re wondering. could I possibly have harboured a grudge against Wilko for the last eight years and topped him to get Tracey back for myself?’

  ‘A possibility, you have to admit,’ Kennedy replied, hoping a smile would dilute the seriousness of the question.

  KP considered this for a time and eventually said, ‘Yes, I’d have to give you that. In a different set of circumstances, it could have been a possibility. I’d have to have been hopelessly in love though, a flaw I do not think I carry in my baggage. I’d have to have been able to bear a grudge for eight years, allowing it to fester and ferment away, all the time growing into a carbuncle vibe. Finally, I would have to have been someone who could take someone else’s life. I’m not religious. Hippie yes, religious no, but I could never end someone’s life. I’d never have the bottle, for one thing.’

  ‘Who do you know who would have the bottle?’ Kennedy continued.