I didn’t want to go back to the office, so I sat in the cafe I’d met Lorraine Harrison in previously. I’d barely touched my coffee when Marcus Whittle called. Major had listened to reason and returned to Hull on the day’s first train from London. It was something. He wanted to talk to me. Immediately. I was just as keen to talk to him. I walked through the city centre, towards his office. The receptionist sent me straight up to his suite. I walked in, no knocking.
Whittle looked up. ‘Thanks for coming so promptly’ he said. He indicated I should sit down.
I ignored him. The conference desk was covered in newspapers. They were still poring over the details. Major looked up. Winked. ‘Alright, PI? Solved the case yet?’
‘I’m not in the mood’ I said. ‘Where have you been?’
He sat back in his chair. ‘Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?’
‘I’ve had DI Robinson on my case, wanting to speak to you.’
Whittle stepped in, defused the situation. ‘Let’s not worry about him just yet’ he said. ‘We’re here to talk about the progress being made.’ He glanced at Major. The message was clear. He was saving me the bother of telling Major to watch his mouth.
‘Fucking hate this city’ Major said, throwing the newspapers to one side. ‘It’s no wonder anyone with any talent leaves. Shithole of a place.’
I turned to Whittle and raised my eyebrows.
Whittle ignored me and got proceedings underway. ‘If we’re quite ready, gentlemen. Obviously we need to keep things moving in the right direction’ he said. He turned to me. ‘What about Steve Priestley? What does he have to say for himself?’
‘I need to speak to him’ I said. I saw Major shaking his head. ‘Problem?’ I said to him.
‘Fuck’s sake, PI. Are you just pissing my money up the wall, or what?’
Whittle told him to be quiet. ‘Shall we start again and assume we’re all acting in good faith?’
Major eventually nodded. I followed suit.
‘Priestley’s next on my list’ I said. ‘I spoke to Lorraine Harrison earlier this morning and she said she had no idea he was carrying a torch for her. I get the impression people think of him as being either a bit weird or a bit intense.’
‘I never really liked him’ said Major. ‘New Holland was never about Priestley. It was me and Greg who got things moving because he never had the same vision as us. He couldn’t see the band’s potential like we could. It was like it was something for him to do before he got himself a proper job. Became a fucking accountant or something. I never got that kind of attitude. He never seemed to want to enjoy the ride. He was always a bit weird like that.’
‘He held the band together when Greg lost it’ I said.
Major shook his head. ‘Not really. He wrote some songs, but it didn’t mean it was his band. The gigs were always about Greg’s songs. Nothing really changed.’
‘Priestley’s wife said the reunion was a chance for him to get the credit he deserved for his songs.’
‘It was going to be Greg’s songs.’ Major laughed. ‘What else? Priestley wasn’t willing to accept the fact people weren’t going to pay to listen to the later stuff. It’s obvious, isn’t it? They want to hear the good stuff, the hits. Greg’s songs.’
He was right, but I could see how the situation might escalate in the rehearsal room. Neither Tasker nor Priestley would want to back down.
‘I think we need to pin Priestley down on his alibi’ Whittle said.
‘He’s already said he doesn’t have one.’
‘All the more reason, then.’
I held my hands up. ‘I’ll try again.’
‘What about me telling you I thought Greg was involved in something?’ Major said. ‘Have you sorted that?’
I told them about Trevor Bilton and his connection to Siobhan. ‘I might know more on that later’ I said.
‘Fuck’s sake, in your own time. What about Lorraine Harrison? Her husband didn’t like Greg very much. I’d be looking at him, too, if I were you, PI.’
‘How did you know about her and Greg?’ I asked him.
‘They go way back. It wasn’t a huge surprise to me that they’d got back together. It’s not a big deal.’
‘That wasn’t what you said before. You said you didn’t know what they were up to.’
‘I didn’t want to tell you.’ He shrugged. ‘It was Greg’s private life.’
The man was incapable of telling the truth. ‘What about Siobhan?’ I asked.
‘It’s not my place to judge.’
‘She’d followed him up to Hull.’
‘In exchange for her own boutique. She didn’t do bad out of Greg.’
I turned the conversation back to Lorraine Harrison. ‘Did you know Jason Harrison’s got a conviction for assault?’
Whittle nodded. ‘There you go.’
‘He’s on my list of people to talk to.’
‘Good’ Major said. ‘He was probably jealous of what Greg had achieved. He’s ordinary, got nothing going for him. I’m not surprised their marriage is dead.’
‘It’s not dead’ I said.
Whittle stepped back in. ‘Kane’s right. Priestley’s got every reason to resent Greg. Plenty to be getting your teeth into, Joe.’ His mobile rang. He said he had to take the call. He stood up and left the room.
Major waited for him to leave. Leaned forward. ‘Just the two of us, then.’ He stared at me before smiling. ‘Cards on the table time, PI. Do you reckon I killed Greg?’ Do you reckon I ran away because I was scared? Go on, tell me what you think.’
The time away from Hull hadn’t dulled his arrogance. I pointed at him. ‘I’m going to find out who killed Greg and I don’t care if you’re paying me’ I said. ‘I’ll play the cards I’m dealt. If they lead to you, they lead to you.’
Major shook his head, like he was pained by what I was saying. ‘I thought we’d been through all of this and got it straight. I didn’t kill Greg.’ He spoke slowly. ‘It doesn’t make any sense, does it? I was going to use this to relaunch his career, make us both some money. I needed him alive.’
‘Where have you been?’
‘I told you. I had to go back to London for some meetings.’
‘Just after Greg was found?’
Major leaned back in his chair and smiled at me, like I was simple. ‘That’s exactly right, PI.’
It took me a moment to realise what he was saying. I was appalled. ‘You set some deals up on the back of his death?’
Major shrugged. ‘The band’s never been hotter. There’s a lot to sort out. The label wants something in the shops as soon as possible.’
‘You heartless bastard.’
‘I’m not going to apologise to you. I’m looking out for the family’s long-term interests. There was nothing I could do here. I was in the way. I like to delegate, leave things to the professionals.’ He laughed. ‘Or at least the so-called professionals.’
I ignored the jibe. ‘What did you tell the police?’
‘I gave them a statement through my legal team.’
The big question. ‘Where were you the night Greg was killed?’
Major sat back upright. ‘I’m getting fucking bored of this chat, now. I was in the hotel, in my room, working. Satisfied?’
‘Did anyone see you? Receptionist, room service?’
‘No.’
We sat in silence for a moment, listening to Whittle on the telephone in the other room. Major spoke. ‘Why don’t you believe me, PI?’
‘I’m following the leads.’
‘Maybe you’re following your dick?’
‘Say that again?’
‘Still fucking Julia, are you?’
I leaned forward. ‘Mind your own business.’
Major sneered at me. ‘Don’t be so touchy. I’m only asking. I like to know to what my people are up to.’
I looked away. Controlled my temper. ‘Robinson tried to warn me off’ I said. ‘He told me I shouldn’t be working for you. He said I was getting involved in something way over my head, that I should back off. What did he mean?’
Major shrugged. ‘He’s not going to like you trampling all over his territory, is he? You should know that. You’re still here, aren’t you?’
His was right, but his attitude was infuriating. ‘Doesn’t explain why he took the time out to speak to me.’ I pressed on. ‘I’m being followed.’
‘Who by?’
‘I wouldn’t be mentioning it if I knew.’
Major laughed. ‘Don’t be so paranoid, PI. We’re in Hull. Who the fuck would be following you here?’
‘That’s what I want to know.’
Major shook his head and turned away. He’d had enough of our talk. ‘I’ve really got no idea’ he finally said.
I needed to calm down and talk to someone else after leaving Major’s office. I didn’t want to stand still. I drove out to Priestley’s farm. His wife told me he was in his recording studio. She pointed me towards a barn at the end of their yard. I walked across and let myself in. Priestley sat in front of his mixing desk, strumming an acoustic guitar. I coughed to get his attention.
He spun around and nodded to me. ‘I can’t say this is a surprise.’ He put the guitar down. ‘I’ve just finished some recording with my brother, Richard. He’s a got a band together.’ He smiled. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.’
I found a chair and sat down. ‘I’ve been hearing some unpleasant things about you.’
‘Is that right?’
‘It is.’
‘Shall I say it? You want to know if I killed Greg?’ He paused. ‘Do you really think I could do such a thing?’
I didn’t answer straightaway. Probably because I didn’t know. ‘When we spoke at Paull, you told me you had nothing to hide, so let’s say I’m open-minded.’
He picked up his bottle of water. ‘You’re taking a chance coming here, aren’t you?’
‘I’ll take my chances.’
‘The searchers will be out if you don’t report back within the hour?’
‘Something like that.’
He nodded. ‘What have you heard, then?’
‘I’ve heard you weren’t very popular within the band.’
Priestley shrugged. ‘I told you we’d had a falling out. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t the first time it’d happened over the years.’
‘Even though you’d have been playing his songs on the reunion tour?’
Priestley took another mouthful of water. ‘Nothing like that had been decided.’
‘I’m sorry to be brutal, but it would have been Greg’s songs.’
‘There would have been a balance.’
I tried another tack. ‘Major wasn’t very complimentary about the way you took over the band when Greg lost the plot.’
‘It makes him a hypocrite, then, doesn’t it? We never really got on, that’s true, but don’t let him fool you. He’s a businessman. He was never a musician or someone who cared about the music. His thing is doing deals, seeing who he can screw a little bit more out of. It’s all a game to him. When I stepped up to the plate with the songs, he carried on like we were best buddies. The bottom line was money, and to get money, he needed the band to function when Greg had his troubles. I made it happen for him, whatever he says about it now.’
I wasn’t going to argue with his assessment. Not after Major had gone back to London, touting for business on the back of what’d happened. But I had to keep an open mind. ‘If we’re talking about Greg’s murder, you see it gives you motive? There was a professional rivalry between you and Greg. The arguments could have become heated, neither of you wanting to back down. Sometimes things happen which we don’t intend when we’re angry.’
Priestley shook his head. ‘I loved Greg like a brother. It was always about the music for me, and that was what was most important to us. We’d argue and he was difficult to deal with, I can’t deny that, but any bad feeling never lingered.’
I’d listened to the tapes of Julia’s interview with Greg again. ‘Didn’t you resent him taking over your band?’
He shook his head. ‘There wasn’t much to take over. Sometimes you’ve got to know when to make sacrifices. Did I want to be a big fish in a small pond, or a smaller fish in a much bigger pond? Greg could do things I couldn’t do. I was happy when he came along.’
I wasn’t sure if I believed him. ‘Tell me about Lorraine Harrison’ I said.
He smiled. ‘I wondered how long it’d take you to find out about that.’
Priestley picked up his water again. I didn’t like it. It was a stalling tactic. I could see him working out what he wanted to tell me.
‘It was a private matter’ he eventually said.
‘There’s no such thing at the moment.’
He put his bottle down and explained how they’d argued over her. ‘I assume you know she was seeing Greg?’
I nodded. ‘She’s told me.’
‘They go way back. I had a stupid crush on her. That’s all. I wouldn’t have embarrassed her by making a move.’
‘I think it was more than that.’
Priestley took a deep breath and toyed with his water. Drummed his fingers on the mixing desk. He looked away from me after nodding his agreement. ‘I’m not happy, Joe. It’s like I’m living a lie out here.’
‘Your marriage?’
He nodded. ‘I owe Carly everything. She saved me when I was a mess. She’s a great woman who sorted me out when I needed it the most. I owe her everything.’
‘But you don’t love her?’
‘No.’
We sat in silence. I already knew his wife was protective and it was obvious she was in charge of their relationship.
Priestley sipped at his water before continuing. ‘I always had a thing for Lorraine, but Greg got there first. Story of my life. I suppose I was always too shy to do anything about it. It was never the right time. You know how it is with these things? And then the band moved down to London, so that was that. I didn’t see her again for years until I heard about her website.’
‘Did you approach her?’
‘No.’
‘Did you argue with Greg about her?’
‘She deserved better than him.’
‘Did you argue over her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Recently?’
He nodded. ‘He always knew I had a thing for her. He used to enjoy rubbing my nose in it, letting me know he had what I wanted. He told me he was seeing her again.’
‘What did you about it?’
‘Nothing. I did nothing. What could I do? I’m not stupid. I knew she was only interested in Greg. It was always that way.’
‘But he wouldn’t let up about it?’
‘He was very keen to let me know he’d won.’
‘How did it make you feel?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve already told you I didn’t kill him. Don’t try to twist my words.’
I stood up, unsure whether I felt sorrow or pity for him. ‘If you didn’t kill Greg, you’ve got to give me something’ I said. I looked him in the eye. ‘You’ve lied to me once before.’
‘I explained that, but it doesn’t change anything. I’ve still got nothing to give you. The cards will have to fall where they fall.’
‘It doesn’t give you an alibi, does it?’ I decided to leave him to his recording. He’d argued with Tasker about Lorraine Harrison. Priestley said it himself: she deserved better. I wondered if their argument had spilled over into violence and how it had finished. And he’d lied to me. Even if he was toeing Major’s line about the reunion, he’d still lied. ‘You must have seen somebody on your way to Paull’ I said. ‘Passed a petrol station or something?’
Priestley picked his guitar back up and turned away from me. ‘What’s the point?’
I called Julia to bring her up to date with my movements. As I’d headed back towards Hull, I’d dropped in at the garage where Jason Harrison worked. I wanted to check out his alibi. The garage was on an old industrial block, out towards the eastern edge of the city, not far from Paull. The area was deserted and decaying. It wasn’t the sort of place which attracted passing custom. You went there for a purpose. The businesses which could afford it had relocated, leaving behind several empty units and those which obviously didn’t have any real need to move. It was maybe ten miles away from Siobhan’s boutique, but it felt a world away. I’d had to wait in my car until I saw Harrison leave for a break.
I told Julia what Harrison’s boss had told me. ‘They did go out for a drink’ I said. ‘They went into town, had a couple of pints, planned to get a curry to round the night off. Same old story.’
‘So his alibi stands up?’ she said.
I smiled. ‘Not quiet. His boss said when they got onto the subject of family, Harrison started to get a bit agitated. He went off on one about Tasker and how sick he was of the man. He got himself really wound up about it and then disappeared, leaving his boss stood by himself in the pub.’
Julia got it. ‘Early in the evening, was it?’
‘Correct.’
‘So, theoretically speaking, he would have had time to get to the studio?’
‘Correct.’ I ended the call, threw my mobile onto the passenger seat and drove off.
I wanted to know more about the Bilton brothers. The ring road was as busy as ever, heading to the estate’s shopping centre. Several of the shops had closed permanently, shutters down, covered in graffiti. I walked into the newsagent’s. The man behind the counter physically backed away from me when I mentioned Bilton by name. He told me he wasn’t prepared to say anything. The shop was dirty, tired and anything of value was kept behind the till. The sign on the door said he was open until ten p.m., so I could only guess at the level of trouble he had to contend with.
I left and walked down the arcade of shops. Spotting the library, I went in and headed straight to the notice board. I found what I was looking for; a flyer for a forthcoming Neighbourhood Watch meeting. I leaned forward to read it. The group was meeting next week to discuss a course of action. The flyer gave the name and address of the group leader. I made a note of it.
Betty Page’s house was to the north of the estate, a disorientating five minute drive through symmetrical housing along identikit roads. It had been a while since I was here, playing rugby on the large playing field as a boy. There hadn’t been many reasons to come back to the area over the years.
I explained I was a Private Investigator and she let me straight in. Betty Page was well into her sixties and clearly very house-proud. Nothing was out of place. Immaculately tidy. The air in the house was stale. It looked like she never opened any windows. The number of locks and bars she had on them was staggering. What depressed me most was how flimsy they were. They wouldn’t stop anybody. She settled me down and disappeared to make drinks. I passed the time by looking at the photographs on her mantelpiece. They portrayed three generations of her family. The way she quietly crept back into the room took me by surprise.
‘My husband, Ernest’ she said, pointing to the photograph I was looking at. ‘He died seven years ago.’
I put the photograph back in its place. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
She passed me my coffee. ‘You never get over it properly.’
‘I know.’
She didn’t press me. She sat back down in her chair and asked what she could do for me.
‘Do you know a man called Trevor Bilton?’ I asked, getting straight down to it.
‘Of course I do.’
‘What can you tell me about him?’
‘What do you want to know?’ She leaned forward in her chair. ‘This used to be such a lovely place to live, especially when me and Ernest first moved here. We all moved together from Hessle Road when they pulled a load of the old houses down.’ She laughed, shook her head. ‘It was supposed be an improvement. Move people out of what they called the slums. Biggest mistake they ever made. These were decent people who worked and instilled some manners and discipline into their children. Now it’s the complete opposite and it’s people like Trevor Bilton who are to blame. He’s made life for everyone around here a misery. You know what the do-gooders are like. Nobody nipped his behaviour in the bud when they had a chance. Did you know his brother is a worker on the estate? I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, I really don’t.’
I agreed with her. ‘It’s a bit unusual’ I said. ‘What’s Gary like?’
‘I often deal with him at the Community Centre where he works. He’s not a bad lad, really, which is more than can be said for his brother. At least he’s trying his best to make things better around here. Problem is, these kids don’t think there’s anything better for them. They idolise Trevor, but they don’t see that they’re the ones taking all the risks. They can’t see the truth.’
I looked around the room, letting her continue.
‘Their parents don’t care’ she said. ‘Bilton and his like rule this place at the expense of us decent folk. The kids are out of control, setting fire to stolen cars, posting dog muck through doors, you name it. Even the fire brigade are too frightened to come out here unless the police will escort them.’
‘What do the police have to say?’
She laughed. ‘They tell me they can’t do anything. They’ve got no proof, but we all know that he directs things from the pub, and if he’s not there, he’s gambling on the horses. He’s a man of habit and he thinks this is his kingdom.’
‘I bet your viewpoint hasn’t made you popular around here’ I said.
‘I don’t care. Somebody has to say, it’s time to put a stop to it. We can’t have people too scared to leave their own homes. Enough’s enough. It’s not how it should be. It’s not a community anymore and I’ll keep shouting until the police do something.’ She struggled to her feet and picked up a folder from her bookshelf. She took out a photograph of Trevor Bilton. ‘They keep telling me they need evidence, so I take photographs.’ She passed me one. ‘You can keep this. It’s a copy.’ She moved across to her mantelpiece and looked at the neat framed photographs she had on display. ‘If my Ernest was still alive, he wouldn’t stand for this kind of thing either, I can tell you.’