The Song Never Dies by Neil Richards Read Free Book Online

let me know if you find out anything?”
    “Of course,” said Jack.
    In your dreams, thought Sarah. This case is now officially live. And while it is — we trust nobody.

8. The Song Not the Singer
    On the way back to the main house, they passed another low building with windows set in the roof.
    Sarah could see lights on inside, and she could hear music playing. Bits of tracks that played for a few seconds, then stopped.
    “Is that the studio?” she said.
    “Yes,” said Gail.
    “Mind if we look around?” said Jack.
    “I’d rather not,” said Gail. “Perhaps some other time? We’re clearing up in there right now.”
    “We?” said Sarah.
    “Staff.”
    “Sounds like they know what they’re doing,” said Jack.
    “Getting rid of old CDs, I imagine,” said Gail.
    “Would be useful to take a look,” said Jack. “It would only take a minute.”
    But now Sarah saw the hard-nosed TV presenter and producer emerge: the one that had made this fortune and married the rock star.
    “I said you had fifteen minutes, and I have given you way beyond that. Right now, I have a million things I should be attending to, so if you don’t mind.”
    “Sure, no problem,” said Jack. “Thanks for the coffee.”
    “Really appreciate it,” said Sarah. “I know how hard it must be for you.”
    They walked to the back of the house, then Gail gestured for them to go round the side of the house to the car park rather than go through.
    “You’ll find it’s quicker that way,” she said. “Goodbye.”
    Ten minutes ago we were all friends, thought Sarah.
    Now she wants us out of here — fast. Why?
    “And as I said, please let us know if you find anything.”
    Then Sarah watched her turn and walk across the terrace and disappear into the house.
    As she and Jack walked round to their cars, she saw a big Range Rover Sport that hadn’t been there when they arrived.
    “Jack,” she said, nodding at the car.
    “Staff?” said Jack. “I think not.”
    She opened the door to her car — then stopped.
    “You going to go see Nick Taylor, then?”
    “Grab a bite to eat first, I think,” said Jack. “Good luck with Lauren.”
    “Thanks,” said Sarah. Then she nodded back towards the house. “You think she’s hiding something?”
    “Don’t you?” said Jack.
    “I’m sure of it. Though I don’t see her as a killer.”
    “Me neither. But something’s been going down here …”
    “She definitely didn’t want us in the studio.”
    “My guess … someone was in there she didn’t want us to meet. The driver of the Range Rover, I’d bet.”
    “Worth a second visit?”
    “Definitely,” said Jack, climbing into his little sports car. “Anyhow, I’d better get back and feed Riley. See ya later, Sarah.”
    “Call me when you get home,” she said.
    Then she watched him fire up the engine and head off fast down the drive to the automatic gates.
    An instinct made her turn.
    At one of the upper windows, she saw Gail King looking down at her.
    Then the face was gone.
    She climbed into her car and checked the clock.
    Just time to get home to make the kids some lunch, she thought.
    Then back to the office.
    The investigation continues … and just where would it lead?
    *
    Jack pulled up in the centre of Bourton-on-the-Hill and checked the address for Nick Taylor’s rental that he’d written in his notepad.
    48 High Street. Should be just ahead …
    He decided to walk.
    Bourton turned out to be little more than a row of honey-stone cottages, a pub, and a village shop.
    But in the afternoon sun, it had a pleasant sleepy feel. He locked the car and headed up the gentle hill, tracking the house numbers. The little terraced cottages gave way to larger stone houses, set back in formal gardens, with tall walls and iron gates.
    Jack guessed which house was number 48 when he was still fifty yards away: rock and roll blasting. He could feel the thud of the bass in his chest.
    Nick Taylor certainly wasn’t going to make any friends