by Paul Charles
‘Yes, it seems hard to do that doesn’t it. I mean, Wilko tried didn’t he?’
‘Crap songs. Wilko had crap songs. And I can tell you, you’re never going to get anywhere in this business with crap songs. And the place that you can get to with crap songs, and the record company hype which invariably goes with that particular station, is not somewhere you would want to go to,’ Clarke lectured, waving the index finger of his right hand from side to side.
‘Have you worked out why Sean brought Wilko back into the group?’ Irvine asked, pushing his luck one more time.
‘A momentary lapse in sanity,’ Clarke replied and then erupted in one of his girlish squeals again. ‘No, sorry, just kidding. No, really. I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve been discussing this very subject a lot with Pauline but neither of us can come up with a solid reason for it. Although, as I have said, Sean is a great planner, and somewhere in there he would have had something clever worked out.’
‘Were you at the show on Thursday?’ Allaway asked.
‘Oh, clever. Lordy, lordy, very clever,’ Clarke smiled back immediately, bouncing on his bed as if threatening to embark on the first flight of mankind. ‘That’s a very subtle way of asking me if I have an alibi for the night of the murder.
‘No, okay. Maybe I was crediting you with too…anyway. No, Lordy, no. I couldn’t have abided it. I’m sure it would have been very high on the butt-clenching scale of embarrassments. A bunch of us got together at Anita and Pauline’s for a kind of broken Circles party. I got absolutely hammered and spent the night over there and positively have the crow’s feet to prove it.’
‘Have you heard from Sean Green since that night?’ Irvine continued.
‘Well actually, I know it was very forward of me but, as I said, I did like Sean, so I rang him up the following day to say how sorry I was,’ Clarke offered his shortest reply of the session.
‘How did he seem?’ the DS asked.
‘Weird. I mean, he told me all about how Wilko had been found stabbed in the dressing room with the door locked from the inside. I said it sounded frightfully Agatha Christie and do you know what he said?’ Clarke again offered a short one.
‘Go on?’ Irvine took the bait. ‘Tell us?’
‘He said, “Oh well, when they come to make the movie, you can play the part of Wilko”. Now is that macabre or what? Apart from that he seemed okay. I thought that perhaps he might still be in shock, so I gave my condolences; I mean I know Sean was close to Wilko’s family. I don’t really know the wives or anything.’
‘Had you ever met him? Met Wilko?’ Irvine asked.
‘I had actually, about three times. Once backstage at a Circles gig in the early days. I was a fan and wanted to get to meet them. The second time was when I was in the group and KP introduced me to him, now there’s a sweet guy. Don’t get me wrong, not my type. I mean more sweet in as much as he was a hippie, a true hippie.’
Clarke paused appearing to be choosing his words carefully before continuing. Irvine guessed it was another tangent and so cut him off at the pass with, ‘And the third time?’
The singer appeared uncertain, like someone who’d been woken suddenly from a light sleep.
‘Sorry? The third time? The third time was when I was round at Leslie Russell’s office picking up my final cheque and sorting out my National Insurance and all that stuff. As I was leaving the office, Wilko and his solicitor were entering. He was very gracious. He didn’t need to be. I told him there was no ill feeling and wished him all the best. He asked what I was going to do and when I told him he said the best bit of advice he could give me was to make sure I worked with the right people. We shook hands and parted on a very warm basis. I was quite happy at that you know. I can’t abide all these ugly scenes and people throwing shapes, and that’s just the road crews,’ again Clarke paused to shriek at his own joke, testing the springs of his mattress a bit more. When he saw the two members of Camden Town CID were not joining in his party he continued.
‘But they’ve all been really nice to me since I left. Sean told me I could ring him up anytime if I needed any info or help. Now I know a lot of people in this business say that, and then when you ring up they won’t take your calls but, God bless him, Sean has always taken my calls and he’s steered me on the right path a couple of times, even got me downtime at a studio he uses, so I could do my demos. Oh yes, that reminds me, I did promise you I’d play you a couple of tracks,’ Clarke concluded as he launched himself off the bed and ran across the room to his music system to press the play button, before either policeman could offer a word in protest.
Obviously a well-rehearsed routine, Irvine thought, allowing his cynical side to show through.
Ten minutes and three songs later he felt bad for having had such thoughts. The tape was brilliant; even PC Allaway was nodding approval. Irvine thought that the songs were just so good that most people with an ear for music would like them. He was also convinced that this man, this unassuming camp man, was going to be a success. Yes, Irvine thought, the songs were confessional in the way the early Elton John songs were but they also seemed to have so much heart and soul. On top of which the songs still managed to have an instant appeal and had hooks the likes of which Celine Dion would die for.
Irvine nervously congratulated Robert Clarke on his songs. The DS felt somewhat inadequate in communicating to the singer just how good he felt the songs were.
‘If they move people, that’s all I ask for,’ Clarke replied humbly. ‘Lordy, of course I’d like you to buy them as well, that’s if they ever get released on a CD.’
Irvine would have bet money that they would be. However, he also knew that Sean Green was about to invite Clarke to rejoin Circles. It was Irvine’s opinion that if he accepted the invitation, Robert Clarke would be making the biggest mistake of his life.
CHAPTER THIRTY
‘Kennedy here.’
‘Hi, KP here.’
‘Hello how’s—’
‘Listen man, no time for niceties. I think I’ve cracked this. I can’t really talk at the minute but can we meet later, say eleven, in the Golden Grill?’ KP asked.
‘Sure, what have you got?’
‘I think I’ve solved your case. Not very pleasant though. I’m just playing this blu— Look, sorry, man. Gotta go, see you at eleven,’ KP concluded the conversation in nearly a whisper and hung up the phone.
Kennedy assumed it was because someone had come into the room, wherever that was.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Kennedy rang the doorbell of the Green residence and was greeted by the lady of the house herself. She apologised to Kennedy for her husband’s absence, he’d been called out on urgent business and she didn’t know where he was.
‘Actually, I also wanted a chat with yourself,’ he announced, hands deep in pockets and collar pulled up against the cold.
‘Goodness me!’ she exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron before offering one to the detective inspector. She used her handshake to pull him into the house, ‘In that case you’d better come in. Do you mind if we go downstairs to the kitchen, it’s just I’m in the middle of baking…’
‘No, no that would be perfect,’ Kennedy replied. He would much prefer to talk to her in the casualness of her kitchen than the formality of Sean’s study, one flight above. About halfway down the hallway, the smell of baking pastry hit Kennedy’s nostrils. Kennedy continued down the hallway closer and closer to the smell and, with his sweet tooth, closer and closer to danger.
‘Would you like a cup of tea or something?’ Colette offered Kennedy, as she turned the radio down to a barely audible level.
Is the Pope a Catholic? Kennedy thought as he said, ‘That would be nice.’
‘Do you mind if I get you to make it yourself? I’m at a crucial stage in this and I don’t want it to be a disaster. Of course, if you need my undivided attention, I could scrap the lot and start again once you’ve gone,’ Colette volunteered. Her accent was Scotti
sh, but softened by many years away from the motherland.
‘Heavens no,’ Kennedy immediately replied, ‘just point me in the right direction and I’ll happily make my own. Would you like one too?’
‘A self-sufficient man. Great. And there’s me thinking that you were totally extinct,’ Colette replied.
‘Ah, no. One of the joys of bachelorhood,’ he replied.
‘And a bachelor as well. A bachelor who can look after himself. God, leave your name on the noticeboard over there. Some, if not all, of my girlfriends will be forming a queue outside your door.’
Kennedy smiled but said nothing.
‘The tea’s in the cupboard directly above your head, behind you. The milk is in the fridge. The cups and saucers are in the cupboard, to the right of the fridge. The spoons are in the drawer to the left of the sink. The plug is in the wall by the cooker, the water is in the tap over the sink…’
‘Truce, truce. Please,’ Kennedy laughingly pleaded.
‘Okay, and just to show my truce is not offered with a forked tongue, I’ll even supply you with a couple of my speciality cheesecakes. But you mustn’t tell Sean. I’ll have to steal them from his stash and they’re his favourites. Promise?’
‘Promise.’
So, while Colette Green went about her baking business, Kennedy prepared the tea.
The space was about ten foot by ten foot and, although it wasn’t really properly separated from the rest of the basement, it was a sort of fort, or refuge, with counters forming a square against the far wall from the stairwell. In pride of place, against the wall, was an old cream Aga. The counters were used for preparation and serving purposes, broken only by an entrance and a double sink unit. The cupboard doors and tops were all made of old teak wood and the overall effect, probably very expensive to recreate, was of a rustic farmhouse kitchen.
When Kennedy had completed his bit, he sat on one of the three high stools guarding the counter. Kennedy watched as she unconsciously coaxed the dough into submission with her bare hands. She then thinned it out with a rolling pin. Next she placed it over a large flat-rimmed soup dish, trimmed the pastry up to the edge and put in a generous helping of peeled apples.
‘Sean likes his home-cooked food. He’s got a bit of a sweet tooth but he likes to know what he’s eating. I’m not complaining, though. I love baking. It’s very therapeutic.’
Colette then covered the contents of the dish with another layer of pastry, which again she trimmed to the edge. She matted it into the lower pastry along the flat rim using a fork, poked a few holes into the top of the pastry with the same fork and then took it proudly to her oven. She slid the dish into the oven and removed another before shutting the door again. She had done her long hair up into some kind of crazy bun, more for cooking than style.
‘For a man with a sweet tooth, Sean doesn’t appear to put on a lot of weight,’ Kennedy said.
‘I know, unforgivable isn’t it?’
‘Has he always been so slight?’
‘For as long as I’ve known him. My son, William, can even pick him up. Sean gets very embarrassed and doesn’t allow it any more, but it was very funny.’
‘I suppose Sean’s hair makes him appear bigger than he is?’
‘Yep, but can I get him to change it? I keep reminding him of his age but all he says is that it is part of his image now and he has to keep it. I tried to get him to at least get rid of the ‘tache, but no way. Ah well, as my father used to say, a leopard never changes his spots. You said you wanted to speak to me.’
Colette left him to serve the tea and moved towards another cupboard to take out a Tupperware container from which she removed four cheesecakes.
‘Excuse the fingers.’
‘Thank you,’ Kennedy replied, taking one of the cakes. ‘I’m trying to find out more about Wilko.’
‘Yes?’
‘It seems he was a bit of a character.’
‘Aye he was that. A bit of a character,’ Colette laughed. ‘But he was more as well. A lot of people only got to see the rock and roll side of him. But he was a very sensitive man as well. Very warm, very giving. Maybe he was too giving. When he had some money the spongers would be around him like bears at the honey pot. He’d always buy the round, the dinner, the tickets or whatever. He was generous to a fault. That’s why I left him,’ Colette dropped a bombshell.
‘Sorry?’ Kennedy said. ‘You left him? I mean, you were together?’
‘Well, yes,’ she said, offering him a generous smile as she brushed a few crumbs from the side of her mouth, ‘before you can leave someone, you first have to have been with them.’
‘But, I thought…’ Kennedy said. He didn’t really know what he thought.
‘Oh, I thought you might have found out by now. Yes, Wilkenson and I were together. William is his son. Tressa is Sean’s daughter. That’s how I met Sean – through Wilko. He was a good man, inspector. Now he’s dead I feel kind of numb. I’ve not been able to discuss it with anyone; no one wants to talk about it. Sean’s being very clinical about it all. I’m trying to work out should I be grieving or celebrating.’
‘God, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, I’m very sorry,’ Kennedy said, not really knowing where to put himself.
‘And here I am talking to the police about it. Doesn’t that show you the state of the world we live in? The father of my first child is dead, murdered, and the only person I can talk to about it is a policeman.’ Colette hesitated, she looked like she was considering saying what was on her mind. ‘You look like you care. Listen, inspector, I’ll tell whoever you want, the peelers are good for the community.’
‘How did you meet?’ Kennedy asked.
‘We met in Scotland, in Glasgow, in the Barrowland Ballroom. It was a Circles gig, probably twenty years ago now. They were brilliant; the audience were as noisy as the band, singing along to all the hits. It was a wonderful night. I was out with a few girlfriends and we were in such high spirits that we decided to go on to a hotel we knew which had a late bar; we wanted a few more drinks and a bit more fun. And guess who was in the bar, buying the rounds? Wilkenson Robertson. He made a beeline for one of my mates, Neen, a stunner. But she didn’t want to know.’
Kennedy noticed that Colette had finished her tea, well before him, so he poured her another cup as she continued.
‘I wasn’t even his second choice. Mave was next. Problem number two for Wilko, she’d a steady boyfriend to whom she was engaged. Then it was my turn. Well, I can tell you, I was quite drunk and I let him have it right between those bushy Rob Roy eyebrows. Egged on by my drunken girlfriends, I told him, he had a cheek. I told him we weren’t his groupies and that he’d made a huge mistake, I told him to wise up and to get a proper job. I told him to get some manners. I tore him to pieces and then, when the others weren’t watching, I gave him my telephone number.’
Another pause and another smile from Colette.
‘He rang me up the next day,’ she continued. ‘Invited me out for tea that afternoon and you know what? Sober, he was a perfect gentleman. He told me I’d been completely correct to give him a hard time the night before, that a lot of the things I’d said were absolutely true. He told me that my friends and I had disproved the rock and roll theory that one out of every two women will bonk a pop star. I took a playful swing at him, which connected and knocked him off his chair. He always said that was the punch that knocked some sense into him and made him fall in love with me. I went to the gig that night again, they were doing four nights at the Barrowland. It was the first time he’d done a concert without a drink in years. We met up afterwards and we started dating. I made him do it the old-fashioned way. Took it really slow with him. He’d been used to girls throwing themselves at him, so I thought I’d make him work at it. It was great for ages. We moved in together, but then he went back to his old ways. I had heard my father give the same excuses to my mother.’
Kennedy looked at her closely. He wasn’t sure if she was close to tears or not bu
t she looked quite sad. He decided to keep quiet – the only noise in the kitchen was the clock on the wall ticking away the time.
‘I gave him every chance possible, inspector. I really wanted it to work. There was a decent man there, for all his faults. A working-class lad who’d struck gold and didn’t know how to cope with it. The problem was, he just couldn’t use the word “no” when it came to women. And on the road there are lots of women who want the buzz of sharing some time with a celebrity. They’d waltz around town the next morning feeling ten-foot-tall because they’d spent the night with someone who’d been on Top of the Pops, while everyone would be calling them slags behind their back. It didn’t mean anything to Wilko, he claimed. He claimed he loved only me and the others didn’t count. But I wasn’t going to end up another casualty, just like my mum. I warned him three times. When he cheated on me the fourth time, with Susan in fact, I left him. Went back to Scotland. He followed me up and proposed to me. It was all very painful and a very sad time for me. Part of me wanted to marry him more than anything else in the world but deep down I knew if I did, my life would turn out to be a series of miseries and tears. So I turned him away. It took all the resolve that I had, but I managed to do it.’
‘How did you and Sean… How did you meet up?’ Kennedy asked quietly.
‘Well, obviously through Wilko. Sean was always a real gentleman with me. We’d always got on well at the concerts and events and he’d always spend time with me. Not hitting on me or anything like that, just chatting. We had great chats.’ Colette allowed herself a smile, thinking back to better days.
‘When Wilko and I split up, Sean rang me up to say how sorry he was that it hadn’t worked out and how much he hoped we’d continue to be friends. That’s what I liked about him. He was solid. After I’d seen what an absolute shit my dad was to my mum, followed by Wilko and all his promises, what I wanted most in the world was a dependable guy. I wanted a lot more than just a good time in bed,’ Colette said, without the slightest hint of embarrassment.
