Never Apologise, Never Explain - James Craig [68]
Standing next to him, sweating profusely, was Sergeant Dave Prentice. On a rare and unwelcome foray from his usual position behind the front desk at the station, he was reciting the basic facts that had so far been gleaned about the unfortunate musician: ‘Mid-thirties apparently. From Estonia apparently. Lives somewhere in East London.’
‘Apparently,’ Carlyle said, without thinking.
Prentice shot him a dirty look. ‘He’s been playing at this pitch three or four times a week for over a year.’
‘Well done,’ said Carlyle, trying to retrieve the situation. ‘That was quick.’
‘Speak to her.’ Prentice pointed at a woman standing nearby. ‘She knows him.’
Carlyle caught the woman’s eye and beckoned her over. Young and gaunt, she was about 5 feet 4 inches, with dark rings round her eyes that matched her black hair. You need a good feed and some prolonged exposure to sunlight, he thought. She was dressed in baggy green trousers and a cropped pink vest, allowing her to display a selection of rings protruding from her belly button. With too much jewellery and not enough make-up, she looked primed to run away and join the circus. Maybe she already had.
‘I’m Inspector Carlyle and I work with Sergeant Prentice here.’
The girl stepped directly in front of Carlyle, but said nothing. Despite the heat, she was shivering and he could see that she had been crying.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
The girl eyed him suspiciously. Then she glanced at the body lying on a trolley, hidden under a blanket, waiting to be taken away by the crew that had edged their ambulance to one corner of the square.
‘It’s not a trick question,’ Carlyle snapped, his meagre reserves of empathy already exhausted.
‘Kylie.’
How unlucky, thought Carlyle, to be named after a midget Australian pop star. He focused his gaze on a spot an inch above her head. ‘Okay, Kylie, what can you tell me about Mr Felix?’
‘He was from Tallinn, in Estonia.’ She scratched her neck. ‘That’s like, Russia, I think. Somewhere round there anyway.’
‘What else?’
Kylie thought it over at length. ‘I’ve known him for about six months,’ she said finally.
‘How?’
‘How what?’ She gave him a look like an inquisitive puppy.
Carlyle took a deep breath and counted to ten. Calm yourself, he thought. Don’t let little things wind you up. You have to try and keep things under control.
‘How did you know him?’ Were you fucking him? Did he try and dump you? Could you have cared enough to try and kill him? How did he die?
‘I work over there.’ She pointed to a fast-food trailer that had been parked by the entrance to the Jubilee Hall gym.
Carlyle realised that he hadn’t been to the gym for almost a week. He felt sluggish. I need a workout, he thought.
‘Dennis would often stop by for a smoothie and a chat. And I would listen to him play. He was good. Did an amazing version of “Wonderwall”.’
Shame I missed that one, Carlyle thought. ‘So what happened this morning?’
‘I dunno,’ she shrugged. ‘I saw him arrive and set up. He started drumming and then I had to get a customer a cappuccino. When I looked again, Felix was kind of slumped over to one side. No one seemed to be paying him any attention.’ Her eyes lost focus. ‘Maybe they thought it was part of his act.’
‘Why would they do that?’
She ignored his question. ‘I knew something was wrong, so I went over to see if I could help. I gave him a shake and then checked for a pulse . . . but there was nothing.’ She paused and a tear appeared at the corner of her right eye.
Give it a rest, Carlyle thought uncharitably. All you did was sell the poor sod the odd juice.
‘Did he do drugs?’
She looked at him blankly in a way that Carlyle read as: Yes, of course he did, you idiot! ‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
She shook her head. ‘I never saw Felix touch anything illegal.’
I’d need some serious drugs if I had to play the bloody bongo drums all day, Carlyle mused. ‘Okay, was he ill?’
‘No, no, he was very healthy.’
‘What else did he do?’ Carlyle asked. ‘Apart from play for the tourists here?’
‘He loved his music. He often worked with kids doing drumming workshops.