The Late Greats

The Late Greats

Nick Quantrill

Having been convinced by their manager, Kane Major, to put their acrimonious break-up behind them and launch a comeback, ‘New Holland’ Hull’s most successful band of the 1990s is reforming. Allowing one privileged journalist to document the process.

Joe Geraghty is employed to act as a liaison between the different camps. What appears to be a straightforward assignment sees him neck deep in trouble when singer, Greg Tasker, disappears leaving behind a trail of people who wanted him out of their lives. Having to choose sides, the investigation penetrates deeper into the city, and as the rich and famous rub shoulders with the poor and vulnerable, the stakes increase. Forced to keep his friends close but his enemies closer still, the case could see Geraghty lose everything.

Published by Caffeine Nights Publishing 2012

Copyright © Nick Quantrill 2012

Nick Quantrill has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998 to be identified as the author of this work

CONDITIONS OF SALE

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanning, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher

This book has been sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental

Published in Great Britain by Caffeine Nights Publishing

www.caffeine-nights.com

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN:
978-1-907565-19-9

Cover design by

Mark (Wills) Williams

Photography of the Humber Bridge

Courtesy of

Nick Triplow

Everything else by

Default, Luck and Accident

Also by Nick Quantrill

Broken Dreams

Dedication:

For Cathy and Alice

Acknowledgments:

As ever, writing this has not been a one man show. I owe a debt of gratitude to many people.

Darren Laws, Mark Williams and Julie Lewthwaite at Caffeine Nights for all their help which often goes beyond the call of duty.

My Mum for all her support and help. And that to come.

Mac for his continued willingness to read early drafts and help me improve the book with his eye for detail.

Stephany NJC for her unstinting support.

Richard Sutherland for all his organisational help at Hull Truck and pretty much anywhere else I’ve pitched up over the last two years.

Jason Goodwin for continuously coming to my rescue when I make a mess of updating my website.

Ian Ayris, Paul Brazill, Col Bury, Andy Rivers and all the other writers behind the many excellent crime websites who’ve interviewed me, plugged me and offered the hand of friendship. It’s appreciated.

Drop me a line here:

www.hullcrimefiction.co.uk

The Late Greats

You flush the toilet. You’ve been sick. Nerves. All the hours in the rehearsal room haven’t prepared you for this moment. How could they? The Adelphi is like being in someone’s front room. It’s so small. Maybe thirty people in, but it’s enough to make it look busy. You’re the first band on tonight. The other two bands look like men compared to you. You see them laughing and joking with each other. They’re relaxed. You know they’re far better than you are. You find the rest of the band. You smile, but you still feel sick in the pit of your stomach. You can tell Priestley is every bit as nervous as you are. You met a few months ago at university, answering his advert for a vocalist and songwriter. He’s a couple of years younger than you, but despite your reservations, you believe in him. You’ve bonded with him. It’s maybe ten paces from the bar to the stage, but every one of them feels like a mile. You’re on stage. It’s lit up, but you can’t see any of the faces in the crowd. You don’t want to see any of the faces in the crowd. You mumble into the microphone, announce that you’re New Holland. Your voice sounds quiet. You assume the microphone is working. You glance at Priestley. He’s ready. You count the band in. Your first gig.

CHAPTER ONE

Kane Major
did nothing quietly. His entrance attracted a buzz of attention at the bar. People knew who he was. Arrogance and false sincerity dripped off the man. Like family, it’s a fact you can’t pick your clients. He made his way to where we were standing. Even during the afternoon, the Princes Avenue cafe-bars were busy. Still the place to be seen.

‘Julia, always nice to see you’ he said. I watched him kiss her on both cheeks. It wasn’t the way we did things here. ‘I trust PI’s being a good boy and giving you all the help you need?’ He held out a £20 note to me. ‘Be a love and get the drinks in.’

I didn’t care for his tone, but I was glad to get away. I called myself a Private Investigator, and although this job was a little unusual, I would be earning every penny. Major was reforming New Holland, the band he’d managed during the 1990s. Hull’s not had many musical success stories to boast of, but fronted by Greg Tasker, these had been the exception. He’d invited Julia Gowans to document the process for her newspaper. She was going to be there from the early rehearsals right through to the comeback tour. It was important coverage. My role was to act as a buffer between her and the band.

‘I was just telling Julia how well the rehearsal went’ he said to me when I returned. ‘They sounded fucking great, didn’t they?’

I nodded. I’d spent most of the morning sat in the rehearsal room, bored, waiting for something to do. Seemingly, I was the odd-job man.

‘I can’t wait to hear them again’ Julia said before turning to Major. ‘But Joe was telling me you’ve employed him to keep an eye on me.’

‘It’s not like that’ he said.

I said nothing. I was keeping out of it.

Julia let it go. ‘I thought Greg was joining us’ she said.

‘He’s not feeling too good’ said Major.

‘I need to talk to him again. A bit more for the article I’m working on.’

Major shrugged. ‘I’ll sort it.’

I felt like a gooseberry. They lapsed into talk about their lives in London, discussing mutual friends and swapping gossip. I zoned them out and we finished our drinks. Major told me to take Julia to her hotel, so she could check in. I bit my lip. I’d do as I was told for now. He allowed her to head for the exit first. Once she was out of sight, he pulled me back. ‘Have you heard from Tasker yet?’

I said I hadn’t. There’d been no sign of him at the morning’s rehearsal. He passed me a piece of paper. It had addresses for Tasker’s studio and his girlfriend’s boutique on it.

‘You best find him, PI’ he said to me. ‘And find him quickly.’

We hurried back to my car and followed the one way system back onto Princes Avenue.

‘Why does it always rain when I’m back in Hull?’ Julia said.

I shrugged and concentrated on the road. We were heading for her hotel. I turned left off Princes Avenue and onto Spring Bank, towards the city centre. The afternoon drinkers sat under canopies gave way to young men huddled around shop doorways. Signs I couldn’t read. Some were Arabic, some were Eastern European. Julia was a little younger than me, mid-thirties, attractive, with a glint in her eye which drew you in. It was dangerous, seeing as she was a journalist.

‘It’s just nice to get out of London for a while’ she said.

‘Catch up with some old friends?’

‘Not exactly’ she said, before going quiet on me. I concentrated on the road until I pulled into the hotel car park and switched the engine off.

‘Does Kane think he’s being funny calling you PI all of the time?’

‘He’s paying. He can call me what he likes.’

She turned the conversation back to New Holland and asked me what my job title was.

‘I’m just another pair of eyes and ears for the band, that’s all; make sure things run smoothly.’

‘Keep me at arm’s length, you mean.’

‘Not at all.’ I hoped I sounded convincing. ‘You’ve got a decent story, haven’t you?’

‘Definitely. Bands reform all the time, but New Holland are different. If I can go behind the scenes and get the real story, from the first rehearsals to the comeback gig, it’ll be really interesting.’ She smiled at me. ‘I just have to make sure you don’t stop me.’

I smiled back. ‘I’m here to help.’

‘Good, because I’m not here to play Kane’s childish games.’ She paused. ‘Want to tell me about your position within his little empire?’

‘I’m just the hired help’ I repeated.

‘You’re a hard man to get anything out of’ she said, laughing. ‘I understand. You’re obviously not allowed to tell me.’

Daring me to say something. ‘You’ll have to do better than that. Oldest trick in the book.’

‘So what makes you suitable for working on this job?’

‘I said I’d do it. Simple as that.’

‘Keeping your cards close to your chest, I like that.’

‘I knew Tasker when he was a kid.’

‘Really?’

I nodded. ‘My dad knew his dad. Rugby team-mates back in the day.’

‘You’re older than him, though?’

‘We weren’t really mates. He was just a kid who’d appear every now and again.’

‘Does Kane know?’

I nodded and concentrated on the road. That was the sum of it. I’m a few years older than Tasker, and that kind of thing is important when you’re a child. Kane had laughed when I’d told him, but he seemed to think it was a good thing.

Julia changed the subject. ‘You don’t look like a rugby player to me.’

She’d done her homework on me and knew my background. I was impressed. ‘Retired. I’m too old now.’

She laughed again. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘We come in all shapes and sizes.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’ She got out of the car. ‘I’ll be in touch very soon.’

I looked at the address Major had given me for Tasker’s girlfriend. I hoped she’d know where he was. The boutique was out to the west of the city, on the corner of Willerby Square, hidden away amongst a plethora of estate agents and banks. I found a parking space and walked in. I don’t like regular clothes shops, so this place was well out of my comfort zone. It was small, with mirrors strategically placed to suggest it was bigger than it was. The sparse rails only contained a handful of items, emphasising the place’s exclusivity. I walked across to the sales assistant and asked to speak to Siobhan. When she appeared, I told her who I was. She walked me over to the door, looking for a quiet corner. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, which made her about fifteen years younger than her boyfriend. A decent age gap. She was pretty, with that highly styled look which was meant to make me think she’d made no effort at all.