Blood Never Dies Read online

  ‘No, thank God,’ she resumed. ‘It was bad enough as it was, but we were spared that. And then he met Annie. Annabella Casari. English, despite the name, though the family was Italian by blood. Her parents owned a restaurant in the East End – ordinary people, comfortably off but not educated. Annie was a backing singer in Asset Strippers when Ben met her – he was doing the video for their new single. Oddly enough,’ she said, looking up at him, ‘it was because of seeing her in the video that he’d fallen for her in the first place. I never understood why. She was a skinny little thing, nothing to look at, and I could never see anything in her. Anyway, it seemed Ben didn’t like seeing her doing that half-naked sadomasochistic act in his video, even though he’d written it himself. He got all stern and protective – quite illogical.’ She gave a quavery smile. ‘He thought she was better than that, that she could make it as a solo artist, and introduced her to his agent Danny – Danny Ballantine. He saw the potential and took her on. Changed her look and her name, found her a writing team, launched her, and with Ben doing the videos she made a hit. I expect you’ve heard of her – her stage name was Kara.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Slider. When a pop singer was known by one name only, it was hard not to at least have heard of them; though searching memory, he could not accuse himself of knowingly having listened to anything she sang. The connection in his mind was from an incident – or was it two incidents? – of drink-and-drugs-fuelled public disorder leading to arrest and photographs in the paper the next day. And if two of them had made the papers, it was likely there had been more than two, on a rising scale of seriousness.

  ‘I can see you’ve heard of her,’ Mrs Shepstone said with some bitterness.

  ‘I think I’ve seen her picture in the papers,’ he said politely.

  ‘Yes, for all the wrong things. That was when I really started to learn about the way those people live. A few drinks after a show to wind down escalates into heavy drinking sessions and late-night parties. Beer becomes vodka – or any other spirit that comes to hand, but for some reason they seem to prefer vodka. And drink isn’t enough, so out comes the cocaine. But as the cocaine wears off they start feeling the down, so they drink more to compensate, and then they feel better so they take more cocaine.’

  ‘I know,’ said Slider.

  But she wanted to talk. ‘And so it goes on. Waking up feeling terrible, breakfasting on vodka and orange juice, taking a line or two before rehearsal just to give them an edge, more drink before the show, more drugs, more and more of everything after the show. Staying up all night partying, not eating properly. Tremors, nausea, sweating, anxiety, paranoia, fits of temper, loss of boundaries, promiscuity, dangerous, stupid behaviour. Annie turned out to be as weak-minded as the worst of them. Got herself into such a mess, Ben and Danny persuaded her to go into a rehabilitation centre – The Denes. Not far from here, as it happens.’

  ‘I know it,’ said Slider.

  ‘When she came out, she promised Ben she wouldn’t take any more drugs. The one thing she did for him was to put him completely off it himself. After her first crash he stopped, and as far as I know he never touched another thing. He even moderated his drinking.’

  ‘And were they . . .’ He wasn’t sure what the right word was in this circumstance. ‘A couple? Were they together?’

  ‘Oh, he was mad about her. I could never understand why – unless it was a Svengali thing. And she loved him – well, why wouldn’t she? They weren’t living together officially, but they were together so much they might as well have been. She had her own place by then, a flat in St John’s Wood. He was still living at home, and the parents were around a lot more at that point, so he didn’t bring her there. They stayed at her place, when they weren’t on the road.’

  ‘So, what happened? After she came out of The Denes.’

  ‘It all went wrong again very quickly. I think she only stayed straight about a week. Weak-minded, as I said. She was back on the cocaine, and it just escalated until after a few months she was as bad as before. If not worse. I think I read somewhere she started smoking heroin as well. Can you smoke heroin? Anyway, eventually she got into some kind of trouble with the police outside a nightclub, got arrested, and it was all over the papers the next day. Her record company insisted she go back into The Denes. When she came out, Ben told her it was over between them.’

  ‘He’d fallen out of love?’

  She hesitated. ‘I don’t think it was that. I think he still loved her – though he was angry and hurt that she’d let him down – but he couldn’t cope with what went with it. Now he was straight, the stupidity of the drugs scene bored him, and the one thing he could never cope with was boredom. They still met from time to time and they were still friends, but not lovers. He said she could have cocaine or him but not both.’

  ‘And she chose cocaine.’

  ‘I’m not sure there was much choice in it by then. You probably know better than me how these things go.’ She shrugged. ‘Ben had left the pop scene by then and gone into music journalism, though of course his contacts were what made him valuable and he still visited backstage to get interviews and gossip. So he watched Annie’s deterioration from a not very great distance. She spiralled downwards, lost her recording contract, lost everything, had to give up her flat and go home to her parents. Apparently with their help she got off the cocaine again, but it was too late. She died on the twenty-fourth of February from what they said was a heart attack. At the age of twenty-six.’

  Slider knew the pathology: it was all too common. Cocaine increased the heart rate and the blood pressure, but in large doses it also reduced the heart’s ability to contract. So a decreasing myocardial oxygen supply met the increasing demand of the faster heart rate, leading to convulsions, respiratory failure, myocardial ischaemia or infarction. Not only that, but cocaine and alcohol taken together created a chemical called cocaethylene in the body which was extremely toxic and directly affected the heart. Parts of the heart tissue could die – he had seen extensive necrosis at post-mortems. Even someone who was now completely straight could have so damaged their heart that the slightest extra strain – getting up out of a chair – could be too much.

  ‘How did Ben take it?’ he asked.

  ‘Shocked, of course – she was so young – and, as I said, I think he still loved her. Angry about the whole drugs scene and how everybody just pretended it was all right, that cocaine was no different from a gin-and-tonic. In retrospect he hated the lifestyle he used to be part of – the stupidity of “living it large” as they say.’ She gave a tired smile. ‘It’s the zeal of the convert, isn’t it?’

  ‘There’s nothing worse than being stone-cold sober when everyone around you is giggling drunk,’ Slider said.

  ‘Hm,’ she said, as if doubting he was taking it seriously enough.

  He went on quickly. ‘You said earlier that he became a bit strange. What did you mean by that?’

  ‘Well, for a while he went on about drugs and drug pushers and saying that Annie could have stayed straight if people hadn’t egged her on. Though personally, I doubt it. She was rather a whiny, defeatist sort of person, from the little I knew of her. Self-indulgent and self-pitying – she did what she wanted to, but the consequences were always someone else’s fault. But then it stopped and he went very quiet. All you could get out of him was a “Hmm”, and a “Sorry?”, as if he wasn’t really listening. The next thing I heard was that he had left his job with Musical World. He rang me one day and told me, and I asked him how he was going to earn his living. Mummy and Daddy let him live at the flat, but they’ve always insisted that he pays his way. Although they’re pretty well off, as I imagine you must have guessed, they’ve never allowed either of us to count on that. They wanted Ben in particular to stand on his own two feet.’

  ‘And what did he say he was going to do?’

  ‘That’s what I meant by strange. He was being secretive about it, which was not like him. He said, “Don’t worry about me. I’m
going to be very busy for a while.” And when I asked him, busy doing what, he wouldn’t tell me.’

  ‘How did he sound when he said it? Happy, sad, excited – what?’

  ‘Nothing in particular. He just said it; as if it was quite ordinary, just something he had to do. That’s why I thought he was over Annie, and getting on with his life. I was pleased – only wondering why he wouldn’t tell me what it was.’

  ‘What did you think it was?’

  ‘I suppose I suspected it was something Mummy and Daddy might not approve of. Or some mad scheme he knew I would tell him was impractical. But he wouldn’t say any more, so I had to leave it. Oh, and he said he might be away from home quite a bit, so not to phone him – he would phone me.’

  ‘And did he?’

  She frowned. ‘Well, now you mention it, he didn’t. But that wasn’t unusual. We were always very fond of each other, but we had our separate lives. It wouldn’t surprise me not to hear from him for a couple of months – and vice versa. We tended to catch up when the parents came home, but this year they haven’t been home since February – Daddy had work to do in Canada, so he said they’d holiday on the west coast of America this summer.’

  ‘So you last heard from him – when?’

  ‘It would be – about the beginning of April, I suppose. About six weeks after Annie died.’

  ‘And you’ve no idea what he might have been doing since then?’

  ‘Not the slightest.’ She looked haunted now. ‘I should have tried to find out, shouldn’t I? I shouldn’t have just left him to his own devices. But I thought he was all right. And you know how it is. The days go by so quickly when you’re busy and you don’t notice how long it’s been. I never really have time to stop and think – there’s always something coming up. When you run your own business, it’s twenty-four-seven and three-six-five. I didn’t know he was so unhappy he would do something like that.’

  He had felt sympathy with her until she said ‘twenty-four-seven and three-six-five’. But he squashed his linguistic sensibilities and said, ‘You don’t need to feel guilty. Everybody’s busy these days. And in fact, although I said it looked like suicide, I don’t think he did kill himself.’

  She stared. ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘It looks,’ he said carefully, ‘rather as though someone killed him and then staged it to look like suicide.’

  She was almost speechless. ‘But you . . . Why did you say—?’ She reddened. ‘You let me think—’

  ‘I wanted to give you time to get over the first shock. Now I have to ask you if you can think of anyone who might have had reason to harm your brother.’

  ‘No,’ she said, sounding bewildered. ‘I told you, I don’t know what he’s been doing these past few months. Before that – well, I don’t know who he knew. I never mixed in that circle. What are you saying – someone murdered him?’

  ‘I’m afraid it looks that way. Your brother was left-handed, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, from babyhood. They say left-handedness often goes with artistic talent. Mummy’s left-handed too. Daddy and I are both right-handed.’

  ‘The fatal wound seems to have been administered by a right-handed person. And there are other factors I can’t go into that suggest it was murder.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said flatly, staring at him as if to force him to recant. ‘People don’t get murdered. Not ordinary people.’

  ‘I’m not sure everyone would think of your brother as being an ordinary person,’ Slider said. ‘And he doesn’t seem to have led a humdrum life.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not humdrum. Not Ben.’ And then she made a strange sound and put her hands over her face.

  There was a little knot of people around Atherton’s desk – Hollis, Swilley and Atherton himself – looking over the shoulder of someone clattering away at the keyboard. As Slider moved across the room he saw it was Emily. She was in a business suit, and there was a flight bag on the floor beside her, from which he deduced – being the ace detective he was – that she had just got back from Paris and had called in to see Atherton on the way home.

  No one looked up at him, so he said, ‘I know all about Ben Jackson now. And, he had a relationship with Kara.’

  Swilley answered at him. ‘We know. That’s what we’re looking at.’

  ‘Emily knew,’ Atherton said. ‘As soon as we said Ben Jackson, she was off and running.’

  Emily peered apologetically round the screen. ‘I remembered the various fusses. Well, it’s my job to keep up with the news. She died of heart failure from excessive use of cocaine.’

  ‘I know,’ said Slider sturdily.

  ‘We’ve looked at one of her pop videos,’ Atherton said with a mild shudder. ‘It’s important to try to remember that Kara comes from the Greek, meaning sweet melody.’

  ‘She’s a sexy dancer, though,’ Hollis said.

  ‘Violent hip thrusts, suggestive of someone with their skirt caught in a lift door, is not sexy.’

  Hollis ignored him. ‘Guv, is it possible there was someone connected with Kara who blamed Ben Jackson for her death?’

  ‘Why should they?’ Slider asked.

  ‘Well, because he got her started as a soloist. She were just a backing singer before.’

  ‘I’m sure everyone in the business comes into contact with drugs,’ Slider said. ‘She’d have been backstage with the stars and the roadies and the hangers on long before she and Jackson – Corley – whatever – were an item. We’ll have to decide what to call this man,’ he added peevishly, ‘before he drives us all nuts. I think we should go with Corley from now on.’

  ‘What did you find out from the sister?’ Atherton asked.

  ‘Nothing much. Except that he was left-handed. He apparently rang her in early April to say he was going to be busy, wouldn’t say busy doing what, and said he might be away from home quite a bit, and not to ring him. And that’s the last she heard.’

  ‘April,’ said Swilley. ‘Just about when all this starts. So he deliberately cut himself off, took the flat under a false name, got the job as a porn star – what the hell is it all about?’

  ‘Porn star?’ said Emily, startled.

  ‘She did say the parents, though rich, did not pony up at the slightest demand,’ Slider said. ‘Wanted both children to stand on their own two feet. He was allowed to live at the family flat but had to earn his own living.’

  ‘So maybe he did the porn thing just for the money after all,’ said Hollis.

  ‘What porn thing?’ Emily pleaded.

  ‘But then why would he take on the rented flat?’ Swilley said, while Atherton answered Emily’s question in a murmur.

  ‘And it was the beginning of May when he got the job at Ransom’s,’ Slider pointed out. ‘What was he doing for the month before?’

  ‘Research,’ Swilley suggested.

  ‘More’s the point, what’s he been doing since?’ Hollis added. ‘He was out o’ Ransom’s by the end o’ May.’

  ‘Well, we all identify the questions very readily,’ Slider said. ‘What I’d like is someone to find some answers. Where’s everyone else?’

  ‘McLaren, Connolly, and Fathom are at the flat. Gascoyne was still out hunting pizza last we heard, and Mackay will have gone off to the clubs by now,’ said Atherton.

  ‘All right, well you can finish up and get off. Nothing more to do here tonight.’

  ‘What’ll you do?’ Atherton asked. ‘Emily and I are going for something to eat.’ He saw Slider was not really listening, and added provocatively, ‘We’re going to try that new Jewish-Italian place, Kosher Nostra.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Slider said vaguely, ‘but I want to talk to Jackson’s agent.’

  ‘Corley’s agent, boss,’ Swilley corrected. ‘Though that sounds wrong given he was Jackson when he needed an agent.’

  ‘Oh, blast the man,’ Slider said. ‘Too many names spoil the broth.’

  ‘As Mr Porson would say,’ came a composite murmur fro
m the troops.

  He reached for his telephone but it rang before he could touch it.

  ‘Bill, my old fruit bat!’ someone bellowed in his ear.

  Tufnell Arcenaux from the forensic lab usually referred to himself as the bodily fluids man, and given his huge appetites in all fields of human enjoyment it was an apt sobriquet. With the reorganization of the service he was also now in charge of toxicology, which was fortunate for Slider. Tox results had always taken weeks in the pre-Tufty days, but now Tufty put a rocket under anything that was wanted for his old chum Bill.

  Tufty was a huge man – six foot five and muscled to match – and he had a huge voice, a sonic boom that could have unclogged drains from thirty feet away. Slider always had to hold the receiver some distance from his ear or risk having his fillings shaken loose.

  ‘Tufty,’ he said mildly. ‘Is that you, or has Krakatoa erupted again?’

  ‘Sorry!’ Tufty howled at a slightly decreased volume. ‘People tell me I tend to shout a bit. I’ll try and lower the jezebels. How are you, anyway, my old banana? Getting any?’

  ‘Getting so much I’m thinking of opening a branch,’ Slider said. ‘How about you?’

  ‘You know me, old horse. Life affirmation is my creed. How’s the lovely lady?’

  ‘A bit thoughtful at the moment. Wondering whether to go for a more stressful job or give up on ambition.’

  ‘Bugger the way it always comes down to that,’ Tufty roared sympathetically. ‘Shinning up the ziggurat’s all very well, but like the gorilla and the waistcoat, you have to have the stomach for it. Any idea which way she’ll jump?’

  ‘None. I wish I had, then I could say the right things.’

  ‘You could give her an honest opinion.’

  ‘Haven’t got one. I can see arguments on both sides.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the curse of Libra. Well, chum, to take part you have to send off the entry form. Who dares wins. You can’t be in two minds without having two faces. And it’s the rolling stone that escapes getting cemented into the foundations of a dinky bungalow on the Chelmsford Bypass.’