The band stood still, grinning at each other, happy with their performance.
The sound of screams, whistles, and applause echoed from the closed streets of Cherringham below.
And when those sounds died down, more whistles started in.
But with a different message now.
As voices — in the upstairs room and downstairs and outside — started chanting …
Sarinda.
Sarin …da!
The rhythmic chant now accompanied by claps and feet stamping.
Until it was a roar.
Then, and only then, did a small door at the back of the room open.
And dressed in skin-tight black leather pants, and sleeveless black blouse that seemed to be missing a button or two …
Out walked the star.
Slowly, looking at the band members, then the crowd …
Taking her time to walk to the centre microphone.
Until she slowly reached out, wrapped two hands around it, leaned close.
With just the quickest of looks to Nick.
Jack doubted anyone was thinking of Alex right now.
This was all about the young rock star.
All about Sarinda.
About to perform her global hit.
The music — now familiar to Jack — began, the tempo slow, sleepy … but it wouldn’t stay that way long.
Jack looked at Carlton at the mixing board. His face picking up the board’s glow of the lights, red, blue, yellow.
The agent looked up and gave Jack the quickest glance. A breath. A nod.
He was ready.
18. A Killer Duet
Sarah took a step to the side, closer to the wall where Lauren stood.
If the woman got cold feet, if she couldn’t do what she said she would do … this would all go wrong.
Standing there, close by, Sarah might be able to give her some reassurance.
As she moved closer, Sarinda was about to reach the achingly beautiful chorus of the song, the first time the title is sung.
Sarah listened as Sarinda sang.
“And we know … we know … we know …”
The last words piercing.
No doubt. She has a voice, Sarah thought.
“The music will end, yes, the music will always end … but—”
Sarah had gotten close, now only feet away from Lauren.
“But the—”
And the monitor showing the band suddenly flickered and changed.
Suddenly, it was New York, decades ago.
And with a precision that seemed near miraculous, Carlton had cued the grainy footage of the Chelsea Hotel, the wobbly camera, Alex sitting on his bed, cigarette smoke hovering over him …
Cued — perfectly synced — with Sarinda, while Alex King sang …
“The Song Never Dies.”
The band froze as if someone had pulled a plug, leaving Sarinda stranded on the last high note that she shared with a decades old Alex …
Who continued, singing his masterpiece of a song, rough, his voice scratchy from the smoke, the booze …
But, in some ways, even more beautiful than the anthem that Sarinda had turned it into.
The proof there on the screen for all to see, hear.
Alex King wrote the song.
Sarah took a breath.
What would happen next — despite how she and Jack had carefully planned things — would be anyone’s guess.
*
Sarinda spun around, looking first at the band members.
“Bloody hell. What is that old bastid doing on the screen?”
Her beautiful singing voice now replaced with a shriek that was frightening.
She stormed over to Carlton.
“You! You slimy pig, you set this up? You trying to embarrass me, humiliate me …?”
The voice now a full-throated scream … broadcast to all her fans outside.
“…Destroy me?”
Carlton flinched from the assault.
But he let Alex’s gentle singing go on.
Sarah turned to the other side of the room, and saw Gail King, crying.
Her dead husband, so young.
And there — the proof he always claimed to have.
Sarinda was still in the agent’s face.
“It won’t work! You hear me? Tell ’im, Nick! Tell ’im it won’t bloody matter, It’s our song, no matter how old this stupid tape is.”
From the sick look on Nick’s face, Sarah guessed that Nick now knew that wasn’t at all true.
Not now.
The video changed everything.
Sarinda stormed back to her mic.
“Okay come on. Shut that thing off! Let’s play the damn song!”
But the band remained frozen.
Sarah looked at Lauren. It would be so hard for her to do this.
But the woman took a step towards the band, to the side microphone near Nick, who backed away, sensing that something was up, even if he didn’t have a clue what.
As she passed, Sarah patted her shoulder.
Until Lauren was eyeball to eyeball with Sarinda, close to the mic; her words said so quietly would still be heard.
Those words amplified.
For all to hear …
“I saw you, Sarinda. That night. Going to the pool. After Alex.”
*
Sarah stood there, like everyone else, all eyes riveted on the two women.
The band had stopped, turned into mannequins, watching the scene take place — as was everyone in and near The Ploughman’s.
Then, Sarinda took a sharp step forward as if she would punch Lauren.
“You don’t know nothing. You didn’t see nothing. Liar!”
Sarah saw Lauren turn from Sarinda to Will and then to Chris Wickes.
“I went outside. To speak to … to be with Chris. I was there. You went in. Just before Alex drowned.”
Sarinda spun on the teetering heels of her black leather boots to look at Nick.
“Can you please get this bloody woman to shut the hell–”
But Nick’s face showed that he was immobilised as everyone else.
An ugly truth slowly becoming clear to him.
Then, as if thinking he hadn’t heard her, Sarinda screamed: “Nick!”
Which was when Sarah walked next to Lauren and with Sarinda’s back to her, tapped the singer’s shoulder …
As she dug a plastic bag out of her pocket.
*
And when Sarinda turned around, Sarah said, with as much steadiness and quiet as she could manage:
“We found this in the pool house, Sarinda.”
She held up the bag with the marijuana cigarette, lipstick stained on one end.
“Your joint, I’m sure tests will prove. Your lipstick.”
Sarinda made a quick lunge to grab it from Sarah’s hands, but Sarah moved fast, yanking it away.
And when Sarinda recovered, she could look up and see Jack standing next to Sarah and now, having come up from the crowded streets below, Alan Rivers.
“I must ask you to come along with me, miss. To the station.”
Sarinda’s head pivoted left, right, all around, the claustrophobic room only making this seem all the more like a trap.
Sarinda finally turned one more time to Nick who with a head shake, turned away.
Scratch one protégé, Sarah thought.
And then she saw Alan lock a hand on Sarinda’s left arm.
“We’ll go through the back,” the police officer said. “The car is there.”
Good thing, Sarah thought. No telling how the disappointed crowd might react to their fallen star.
Their killer star.
Alan guided the girl steadily towards the back stairwell.
Until the room was quiet.
Everyone standing around, as if not knowing what to do.
Sarah looked at Jack.
Who gave her a nod — signalling he had an idea.
*
She watched Jack walk closer to the band.
Will had moved from his drum set to join his wife. Then — in a moment Sarah didn’t expect at all — Will took her hand.
Yes, Sarah thought, forgiveness is an amazing thing.
It was Nick who asked the question.
“What are we going to bloody well do now?”
The bass player looked from Wickes, to Will.
But it was Jack who answered.
“Supposed to be an Alex King memorial, hmm?”
The band members nodded.
“What would Alex want you to do?”
And — first on Nick, but then the others — smiles bloomed, heads nodded.
“Right,” Nick said. “Too right! Play our hearts out for the guy.”
With a last squeeze of his wife’s hand, Will — who Sarah had to think was quite the man — went back to his drum set.
A quick kick of the snare, a thump of the bass drum.
Looks all around.
Sarinda or no Sarinda, they were ready.
And when the music began again, full throttle, Sarah leaned into Jack.
“You certainly know how to stage things, Mr. Brennan …”
Jack just nodded, grinning as the ear-piercing music, this salute to the dead bandleader, made all talk impossible.
And Sarah thought … there’ll be time for talk later.
END
Next episode
When talented young artist Josh Andrews goes missing after a stag night prank at Cherringham Golf Club, the bride in desperation asks Jack and Sarah to find him. It seems he’s gotten cold feet, with the wedding just days away.
But Josh is not all he appears to be … And soon suspicion falls on the Golf Club itself. Can Josh be found before he takes justice into his own hands?
A Bad Lie
Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series
by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards
Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series
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The Song Never Dies Page 10
