Page 37 of Murder in the Winter Woods
‘You really jogged my memory about those times with that band. I even dreamed about that studio last night. Dreamed I was back there, mixing an LP with David Bowie and a dog, one of those big sled dogs, a husky, and Bowie said…Never mind…Anyway, I remembered something. One of the band members got in touch with me a few times in subsequent years.’
‘Was it Lewis or Matthew?’
‘No. I found his name in an old diary – I kept a stack of them from back when they were paper – his name was Ken. And he came calling some years after the band split up.’
‘What did Ken want?’
‘What everyone wants in this business. Fame and fortune. He was upset about how things had gone down. Upset that they didn’t get the recording contract. I actually met up with him once. He phoned and said he had something to pitch, a solo thing. He’d moved to Scotland, where his family was from, but he came down all the way to London to see me. When he got to the office, he had nothing to pitch. He just kept trying to convince me to get the band back together and give them another chance. Or to give him a shot at a solo career – absolutely no chance of that, I assure you. He couldn’t let go of the thing, his one shot at the big time that had been ruined.’
‘Poor guy. It must have been hard to get so close and then fail.’
‘Well, he didn’t make things better by pitching up at my office smelling of booze and shouting. He said some particularly rough things about the singer. Although frankly, the way he behaved, I felt I’d dodged a bullet. Imagine managing that lot.’
‘Did you ever see him again?’
‘No, he phoned me a few times, wanting to come down from Edinburgh, or send demos. And getting pissed off when I refused. After a couple of not very lucid and borderline threatening conversations, I told my secretary not to put his calls through any more. But I’m not sure if this is the sort of information their widows want?’
‘Maybe not. I don’t suppose you’ve also remembered the names of the other band members – the fourth guy and Egg’s real name? I think that the widows would like to look them up.’
‘I don’t remember much about the other guy except that he was quite posh, and self-assured. Not like Ken at all. And he hada name, like…I’m thinking Tom, something like that? And the girl, I’m sorry, I only ever knew her as Egg.’
‘Ah well, thank you, David. I really appreciate you phoning. And if anything else comes to mind…’
‘I’ll be sure to let you know. What a strange and sad loss.’
19
Whoever said ‘home is where the heart is’ must have had a Labrador. Julia’s return to her house after a two-day absence (days in which Jake had been showered in pats and snacks and walks and love and Leo’s company) was greeted with yelps and yowls of delight. It was lovely to be enthusiastically welcomed, although it could be perilous, too. She held on to the door frame for balance while Jake jumped up and down, and then watched as he set off in a manic zoom around the garden. She felt well and truly loved.
‘As you can see, we kept him locked in the shed without food or water,’ Jono said, solemnly.
‘We didn’t give him a walk or a pat the whole three months you were away,’ said Laine.
‘I’m sure he had a wonderful weekend with you two,’ Julia said, patting the chocolate blur as it whizzed by. ‘Yes, I’m happy to see you, too. Good boy. Settle down now, Jakey.’
‘Bit rude, actually, if you ask me,’ Jono said, sadly. ‘I was his best friend until ten minutes ago. Hey Jake? Even after the late-night sausage snacks? The cuddles in bed…Oops, sorry Julia.’
Leo greeted Sean with a happy whine and a frantic wagging of his tail, but didn’t feel the need to knock over bits of furnitureor bruise shins. Sean patted him and played with his silky ears, and opened the car door for him to jump in.
‘I’m going to go straight off. I need to be getting home,’ he said. ‘Thank you for a lovely weekend.’
Julia gave him a quick hug and a peck of a kiss. ‘And thankyou.’
Sean turned to the young folks. ‘And thanks for looking after all the animals.’
‘No problem, it was fun,’ said Laine, putting her arm through Jono’s. ‘Shall we get going too?’
Much as she loved them all, Julia was pleased to see everyone go. ‘I’ve become such a homebody,’ she said to Jake. ‘I’m all peopled out. I am so looking forward to a quiet afternoon all to myself. And with you, of course. You and the other animals, but no humans. No talking.’
Having tossed some dirty clothes into the washing machine, she went out into the garden to let the chickens out for a scratch, and to see how the plants were doing. There was always something new to see, even after a couple of days, and even in winter. That was one of the lovely things about gardens. Chaplin followed her, trying to look as if he happened to be going for a walk which happened to be in the same direction as hers. ‘Funny boy, come here,ksksks…’ Julia sat on the low stone bench in the kitchen garden, watching the chickens peck about. The cat jumped up next to her, sitting close enough that she could feel the rumble in his ribs against her thigh. Much as she resisted it, her mind couldn’t help but turn towards London. More specifically, to what David had said about Ken, the bitter, out-of-control band member.
Two people were dead, both killed in the same way. And both had been members of a band in their youth – the local band thathad almost made it big time. And one of the surviving members was bitter. He would have been on the list of suspects, if the deaths had occurred forty years ago. Maybe even more recently, if he didn’t live hundreds of miles away. But she was being silly – the fact of the matter was that the band had dissolved forty years ago, and angry Ken lived in Scotland, not down the road in Edgeley or the likes.
She closed her eyes, listening to the chickens’ contented clucking and the cat’s purring, and enjoying the peace.
‘Oh, you’re home!’
Julia opened her eyes to see Hester peering over the wall that separated the two gardens.
