Death of a Cave Dweller by Sally Spencer Read Free Book Online Page B

grin.
    Finn’s band had re-emerged from the dressing room, and were picking up their instruments.
    â€œI think you’re wanted on stage,” the chief inspector said.
    â€œYeah, I’d better go,” Finn agreed. “Mrs Pollard likes to get value for her money.”
    Woodend watched the young man weave his way back through the audience. Mike Finn had seemed quite open, and what he had said could possibly turn out to be useful. Yet the chief inspector couldn’t suppress a feeling that, if the singer had known there was a policeman standing at the bar, he would have stayed well away from it.
    A man wearing a cord jacket and grey flannel trousers emerged from the dressing room, dismounted the steps, and made his way towards the snack bar. He had thinning brown hair and a totally unprepossessing appearance. He was, Woodend guessed, around thirty-five – which probably made him the third-oldest person in the club.
    The man reached the bar. “Give me a glass of cold milk as quick as you like, Doreen,” he said in a squeaky voice to the girl behind the counter. “I’m so dry I’m spittin’ feathers.”
    He knocked back half the milk in a single gulp, then turned to Woodend. “You’ll be a policeman, will you?”
    â€œThat’s right,” Woodend agreed. “And you’d be . . .?”
    â€œI’m Ron Clarke, the resident DJ.”
    â€œIs that right?” Woodend asked, finding it hard to reconcile the washed-out little man standing next to him with the powerful, excited voice which had blasted its way out of the tannoy.
    Clarke read his thoughts, and grinned. “I’m a different person with a mike in front of me gob,” he said. “So how’s the investigation goin’?”
    â€œAs far as I’m concerned, it’s only just startin’,” Woodend told him. “You must have known Eddie Barnes quite well, workin’ at the club.”
    Clarke nodded. “Oh, I knew Eddie all right.”
    â€œAn’ what did you make of him?”
    â€œMake of him?” Clarke took a reflective sip of his milk. “Serious,” he said finally. “Very serious.”
    â€œAbout his music?”
    â€œAbout life, really. He wasn’t like the other Seagulls. You’d see the four of them in the pub when they had money – all gettin’ pissed – but you could tell just by lookin’ at him that Eddie would rather have been at home watchin’ the telly if he’d had any choice.”
    â€œâ€˜If he’d had any choice’?” Woodend repeated. “You mean someone was forcin’ him to be there?”
    â€œMaybe I’m puttin’ it badly,” Clarke admitted. “It wasn’t really a question of force. He was there because Steve Walker
wanted
him to be there.”
    â€œAnd what Steve Walker says, goes, as far as the rest of the Seagulls are concerned?”
    â€œNot for all of them – Billie an’ Pete can be quite independent when they want to be – but it did as far as Eddie Barnes was concerned. Anyway, that’s how it looked to me.”
    â€œAn’ there was never any sign of the worm turnin’?”
    â€œWhat do you mean by that?”
    â€œYou never got the impression that Eddie resented bein’ bossed around by Steve?”
    Ron Clarke shook his head firmly. “I really must be makin’ a mess of explainin’ myself,” he said. “It wasn’t like Steve was the boss an’ Eddie was his slave. It was more like Steve was Eddie’s big brother. Steve’s a couple of years older than Eddie is . . . was. I think that made a difference.”
    â€œSo Steve Walker must be really cut up about Eddie’s death?” Woodend suggested.
    â€œThat’s puttin’ it mildly,” Clarke replied. “He’s devastated – totally devastated. I think, if he’d been given the choice,