by Mark Timlin
With the death of Valin, Pandora’s Box more or less fell apart. Box, Shorty Long, Scratch and Shapiro with their respective spouses and hangers-on, and Valin’s girlfriend caught the Saturday noon plane for Los Angeles. Valin’s body was going to be shipped out after the post-mortem. Nobody seemed keen to stay with it. Pandora made arrangements for his mother to be flown to America for medical treatment within the next few days. His teeny-boppers and their mother were due to accompany him, Ninotchka, Pascall plus wife, and Lomax on the evening plane. The Wembley dates and the rest of the tour were cancelled, and the lawyers, accountants and crew splintered to their many and various destinations.
On that morning I met Lomax in the deserted bar around eleven-thirty. It had the air of a seaside town on the day after the season finished.
I got a beer from the bar and joined him in the same booth I’d met him in days earlier. It really did seem more like months, or even years. He turned up the light as I slid into the seat. ‘So that’s all she wrote,’ he said by way of a greeting.
‘Looks like it.’
‘Well, this isn’t exactly how I envisaged it ending. But thanks anyway, Nick, for all you’ve done.’
‘All I did was get a couple of people killed who shouldn’t have been.’
‘It wasn’t your fault. What do the police say?’
‘They’re saying nothing to me at the moment. Carpenter is “considering further action”, as he puts it.’
‘What do you think?’ he asked.
‘Shit, I don’t know. Don’t care much.’
‘What are you going to do now?’
‘Shit, I don’t know. Don’t care much,’ I said again.
‘Well, as far as we’re concerned, you did the best you could under the circumstances. And we’d like you to accept this.’ He took a cheque from his jacket pocket.
‘I don’t want it,’ I said.
‘You don’t know how much it’s for.’
‘And I don’t want to. Keep it. Send it to Boyle’s father.’
‘He’ll get plenty. All Bobby’s royalties revert to him now.’ He pushed the cheque across the table.
I picked it up and without looking at the face of it, tore it into four pieces, screwed them into a ball and dropped them into the ashtray. ‘No thanks, Roger. It wouldn’t feel right,’ I said.
‘Please yourself.’
‘From now on that’s exactly what I intend to do. What about you?’
‘I’m off home tonight to see the woman I told you about. If she’s still there. Eventually the band will get together again. There’s an album to finish, remember?’
‘Money to be made,’ I said.
‘That’s right. Not everyone has your contempt for the stuff.’
‘I heard that the band were broke.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘An informed source.’
Lomax pulled a face. ‘Not really. We’ll survive.’
‘Even Valin’s death, and the tour being cancelled, and the album being delayed?’
‘Sure.’
‘I believe there were some big insurance policies on him?’
‘I’m impressed. You have been doing your homework. There’s big insurance policies on each of them.’
‘How much?’
‘Sterling, two million – two million five. Depending on the exchange rates.’
‘And every other member of the band cops that much?’
‘Correct,’ he said.
‘So nobody hurts too much. Except him, of course.’
I saw Lomax shrug. He lit a cigarette.
‘So how come he was alone, Roger?’
‘What?’
‘Valin. How come he was alone last night? Where were all the ever-present security men?’
‘Haven’t the police told you?’
‘I told you already, they’re not talking to me at all.’
‘He sent them downstairs to wait for him. He was off to a club with his girlfriend.’
‘And where was she?’
‘He sent her with them.’
‘And they all went?’
‘Obviously.’
‘Strange.’
‘Not really. He’s one of the stars of the show. He pays their wages. One word from him and they’re back on welfare. Look at Ninotchka the other night. She left Don behind and went out with you. You can’t protect people who refuse to be protected.’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘You’re right. Whatever. It doesn’t matter now anyway.’ I paused. ‘What time’s your plane tonight?’
‘Seven. Oh, by the way, you can stay here as long as you like. The place is paid for, for weeks. All you have to do is pay your own bar tab.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘but I don’t think so. This place has no pleasant memories for me. I’ll go back home, I think. I used to have a cat. Some people down the street are looking after him for me. I’ll bet he doesn’t even recognise me. So listen, Rog, if I don’t see you again, good luck. Say hello to McBain if you bump into him in Los Angeles. It was nice meeting you. Really.’
‘Same here, Nick. If you’re ever on the coast…’
‘I’ll look you up.’
‘Do that.’
‘Goodbye then,’ I said. We both stood up and shook hands, and I left the remains of my beer and went back up to my suite to pack.
32
As I finished folding my last clean shirt the telephone rang. I tried to ignore it, but its insistent tone got on my nerves. It just wouldn’t stop. Eventually I picked it up. ‘What?’ I said.
‘Nick, it’s Ninotchka.’
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘How are you doing?’
‘How do you think? Listen, I’ve got something you should hear.’
‘More rock and roll?’
‘No.’
‘What then?’
‘I don’t know really, it’s strange.’
‘How strange?’
‘Come up and hear it for yourself.’
‘OK,’ I said, and hung up.
I put my cases by the door and walked upstairs to Ninotchka’s suite. She was alone when she opened the door.
‘So what’s up?’ I asked.
‘You tell me.’
She went to the stereo and pushed the play button. I heard the fade to Zip Gun Boogie, and then a voice I recognised as Louis Pascall’s. ‘… So when do I get it, Keith?’ the voice said.
‘I told you, it’s sorted,’ said Pandora’s voice in reply.
‘What the hell is this?’ I said.
‘Just listen and you’ll find out.’
‘I’m not sure I like the way you operate.’ Pascall again.
‘You never complained before.’
‘I know. But this is starting to get way out of hand.’
‘No, man. No, it isn’t.’
‘I’m not so sure. Roger’s brought in this guy Sharman.’
‘The guy’s a bum,’ said Pandora. ‘A broken-down PI from the boonies, for Chrissake. Forget him. He’s a fucking joke.’
‘He did OK when he worked for McBain.’
‘Dumb luck. I said, forget him.’
‘OK. But I don’t like it.’
‘You don’t like anything. Except money. The next time I’ll do what needs doing. Then the insurance is mine, then it’s yours, and I’m in the clear.’
‘You know what they say, Keith. Once is cool, twice is queer. If the cops come in and start digging, you’re up shit creek.’
‘Don’t you believe it. I’ve got the perfect fall guy.’
‘Who? Turdo?’
‘That jerk! It’s the last time I trust him with anything. Getting cheap shit. No wonder it didn’t do the job. And now the stupid bastard’s guessed. No, I’ve got someone else in mind.’
‘Who?’
‘Never mind, you’ll find out.’
‘You’ll screw up the band and the tour.’
‘Fuck the tour! We’re insured for that too. And I’m the fucking band, don’t ever forget that. I’ve rebuilt it before and I’ll rebuild it again.’
‘I don’t know, Keith.’
‘Trust me…’ said Pandora, and the tape ended with a click.
I looked at Ninotchka. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘It was the one we picked up last week. Remember? I just got round to playing it.’
‘But how did that get on the tape?’
She shrugged. ‘How the hell do I know? Check with Tony at the studio.’
‘It’s Saturday, Ninotchka.’
‘So what? The studio’s open. Try it. Otherwise I’ve got his home number.’
‘I will,’ I said, and pulled over the phone, got an outside line and dialled the number from Ninotchka’s book which was next to it. The phone was answered on the third ring. I asked the switchboard if Tony Tune was in. The operator answered in the affirmative. I told her who I was and got put straight through.
‘Tony Tune,’ said a male voice
‘Tony, it’s Nick. Nick Sharman. I came in with Ninotchka to pick up a tape, remember? And I met you again at the reception for The Miracle.’
‘Sure I remember. How could I forget? Hi, Nick, what can I do for you? I thought I’d heard the last of The Box for a bit.’ He paused for a beat. ‘Oops, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Listen, Tony, the tape we collected. When did you do it?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘When did you make the copy?’
‘Let me see,’ he said. ‘The band came in Monday. That was the night that Trash got sick. Hell of a thing, wasn’t it? I knew Bobby Boyle, you know.’
It was hard to be polite. ‘Yeah,’ I said.
‘And you collected the tape when?’
‘Wednesday afternoon.’
‘Oh, sure. Tuesday night late, then. After everyone else had gone.’
‘Like who?’
‘Keith and that lawyer guy.’
‘Pascall?’
‘That’s the fella. They came in to listen to some overdubs. I left them to it, and went for a drink. Fucking lawyers! What do they know?’
‘You’d be amazed,’ I said.
‘These days nothing surprises me.’
‘Join the club. So it was definitely Tuesday night?’
‘Yessir. Well, the early hours of Wednesday, you know.’
‘I do,’ I said. ‘What kind of tape did you use?’
There was a pause. ‘Did it fuck up? I didn’t have any fresh tapes. That bloody tape-op of mine forgot to order any. Can you believe that? And everything else was locked up. So I used the first one I could lay my hands on. No good, huh?’
‘On the contrary. It’s perfect. Thanks, Tony. I’ll see you later.’
‘Look forward to it.’ And we both hung up.
I looked at Ninotchka. ‘Thank God for incompetent tape-ops,’ I said.
‘So I was right all along,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t Bobby, was it?’
‘Doesn’t look like it.’
‘Poor Bobby. My God, that bastard Keith! He killed all those people, just for the insurance money.’
I said nothing.
‘Are you going to call the police?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ve been wanting a piece of Pandora since we met. Let’s go play him some pretty music. I’ll give him broken-down PI from the boonies, the son of a bitch!’
33
Ninotchka knocked on the door of Pandora’s suite at precisely one o’clock. Not quite high noon, but close enough.
Louis Pascall answered. He ignored me and said: ‘Ninotchka?’
Someone mumbled something inside, and Pascall said, ‘Keith says not now.’
‘Now,’ I said, and straight-armed the door. I caught him off balance, and the door burst open, and I pushed Ninotchka inside. Pandora was the only other person there. ‘Just the people we want to see,’ I said.
Pandora wore tight jeans and cowboy boots with a western shirt. Pascall was wearing a blue button-down shirt that stretched tightly over his belly, and suit trousers. His jacket was draped over the back of the sofa. There were suitcases lined up neatly on the carpet. Through one of the open bedroom doors I saw two more cases on the bed. On the dining table was a leather Gladstone bag. Open.
‘I said, not now,’ said Pandora. ‘Are you deaf?’
‘That’s not very hospitable,’ I said. ‘Especially to a lady.’
‘Sorry, Nin,’ said Pandora. ‘It’s been a tough week.’
‘Sure, Keith,’ Ninotchka replied dryly. ‘I understand.’
‘I’ll see you on the plane later,’ he went on. ‘We’ll talk up a storm then.’
‘Let’s talk up a storm now,’ I said.
‘For Christ’s sake!’ exploded Pandora to Pascall. ‘Do I have to take this shit?’
‘Why not see what they want?’ said Pascall. ‘Then they’ll go, I’m sure.’
‘Now that’s how I always thought you rock and roll people would be,’ I said. ‘Nice and friendly, and lots of fun.’ I pushed past Pascall and went straight over to the bar. ‘Drink, Ninotchka?’
‘Sure. Vodka over.’
I made her a drink and one for myself. The same. The two men stood looking at us.
‘Well, now you’ve got a drink, maybe you’ll explain exactly what it is you want?’ said Pandora, getting on his high horse again.
‘We’ve got something for you to listen to,’ I said.
‘Like what?’
‘Side two of your new album. Tony Tune recorded it for Ninotchka.’
Pandora looked bored. ‘I’ve heard it before.’
‘Are you sure?’ I asked.
‘Sure I’m sure. Listen, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’ve heard the album many times and I don’t particularly want to hear it again. I’m getting packed if you hadn’t noticed. We’ve got a plane to catch.’
‘Your flight’s not until seven,’ I said. ‘You’ve got plenty of time. Besides, you’re a VIP, Keith. You don’t have to queue up with the riff-raff, do you? Anyway, I doubt if you’ll be catching it. I hope you’re insured for a no-show. I’m sure you are. You’re very big on insurance, I hear.’
I could tell he was getting annoyed. He wasn’t used to not getting his own way.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Then listen to this.’ I took the cassette out of my pocket and held it up for them to see.
‘I told you, I’ve heard it.’
‘But this has got a bonus track. Only available on this particular tape. The twelve-inch mix. Yeah, isn’t that what you call it?’
‘Play it,’ said Pascall. It was almost like he knew what was on it. Or at least knew that there was something on it that concerned him. Pandora sighed but didn’t say anything. I went over to Keith’s stereo. It was real fancy. More lights than Regent Street at Christmas time. But I figured it out. I put the tape into the machine and ran it back and found the end of the last track.
‘So?’ said Pandora, as the recording reached the fade out. ‘That’s the end of it.’
‘One second,’ I said.
The song finished, and the short conversation began. When the tape deck clicked off Pascall looked well sick.
Pandora carried it off better. ‘So?’ he said.
‘I would have thought it was obvious. You’re discussing an attempted murder there. And a murder that was yet to happen.’
‘Bullshit!’
‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’
‘I would,’ he said.
‘You’re betting a lot of
prison time, Keith, and old Louis there doesn’t look any too happy. A couple of hours in an interview room with a hairy-arsed London copper should get him singing better than you can.’
Pandora looked at Pascall. I think he got the picture.
‘Own up,’ I said. ‘You were clever, but you messed up.’
‘No,’ said Pandora.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You got away with it before, didn’t you?’
Both Pascall and Ninotchka looked at me. Pandora didn’t.
‘You killed your bass player in Colorado and stuck his head under a truck. Was he the first?’
‘Jackie?’ said Ninotchka.
‘That’s right,’ I said.
‘Give me a break,’ said Pandora. ‘You’re talking nonsense.’
‘Am I?’
‘I’d like to see you try and prove it. That was years ago.’
‘I don’t have to prove it. We have the tape.’
‘Tapes can be faked,’ said Pandora.
‘No,’ said Ninotchka. ‘The tape wasn’t faked, and you know that. Don’t you, Keith?’
By this time Pascall was looking like a heart attack waiting to happen. His face was grey, and bubbles of greasy sweat had broken out on his forehead. ‘Christ, Keith, I knew this would happen.’
‘Shut up, you fucker!’ snarled Pandora. ‘They can’t prove zip.’
‘But they can stop us leaving. If the police start more questions, I don’t think I can handle it.’
‘You prick,’ said Pandora, and reached his hand into the Gladstone bag and pulled out a nickel-plated Colt Diamondback revolver with a short barrel and ventilated rib.
‘Put that away,’ I said. ‘Someone’s liable to get hurt.’
He stuck it in my direction. ‘You,’ he said, ‘don’t move.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I said back.
‘Are you armed?’
‘No.’
‘You should have been. That was a mistake.’
‘Not half as big a mistake as you’re making,’ I replied. But it was. A lot bigger.
‘Search him,’ said Pandora to Pascall. He moved towards me. For one moment I thought he was going to step into Pandora’s line of fire, and give me a chance.
