The Song Never Dies by Neil Richards Read Free Book Online Page A

round the quiet village.
    Jack reached the house, pushed open the gate, went down a central path through pretty flowerbeds, and up to the front door.
    The music was so loud, he wondered if Nick would even hear him as he hit the brass knocker on the oak door hard.
    But the door opened fast — and Jack saw a girl step out into the porch in front of him, as if she’d been fired from a gun. The music from inside was so loud it made Jack step back.
    “What time do you bloody call this ?” she shouted, almost spitting the words. “We rang you lot an hour ago!”
    Jack took in her punk shirt, silk dress, clunky shoes, triple nose piercings, and knew instantly who this must be.
    “Sarinda,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
    “Where’s our bloody pizza ?”
    “You ordered from Domino’s, huh?”
    “Yes!”
    “Think you’ll have to wait a while. I passed the bike a mile or so out of the village — and he was going the other way.”
    Jack watched this crucial information filter in.
    Then he saw the girl turn and call into the house: “Nick! You’ll have to call them again! Nick — call the bloody pizza people, will you?”
    “Guess he can’t hear you. The music — no?”
    “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Sarinda. “Who the hell are you then anyway?”
    “Friend of Will Dumford,” said Jack, figuring Will’s name wouldn’t start an argument. “Dropped by to have a chat with Nick.”
    The girl rolled her eyes, then turned without answering and went storming back into the house, leaving the door open.
    “Don’t mind if I do,” said Jack, and he went in after her.
    He shut the door behind him then looked around.
    The hall tidy — kitted out like a rental, with a solid table and chair, thick anonymous carpet.
    A hallway disappeared into the house.
    Jack smelled tobacco smoke.
    And above the tar and nicotine, the powerful smell of pot.

9. An Old-Fashioned Interview
    There was no sign of the girl so Jack went down the hall, heading towards the music.
    He figured that was where he’d find Nick Taylor …
    At the end of the hall, past tasteful watercolours of Cotswold scenes, and ornate wall-lights, he came to a door that opened into a living room.
    Jack stood in the doorway and took in the room.
    Ahead of him, a guy sat at a long dining table, his back to the door, dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans. In front of him, on the table, Jack saw a couple of laptops, a mini-keyboard and two big speakers, all connected with cables.
    To one side, a stack of guitars leaned against the wall.
    As the man tapped away at the laptop, the music pounded out of the speakers, louder even than the clubs back in New York that Jack sometimes had to visit on police business. Places where heavy drugs and music seemed to mix.
    To his right, the girl was now lying on a sofa, flicking her fingers at her tablet. She looked up at him, sighed, then got up, went over to the guy at the table and talked into his ear.
    The man turned quickly, looked at Jack, then hit a key on one of the laptops.
    The music cut.
    Jack’s ears hissed in the sudden silence.
    “Who the bloody hell are you?” said the man.
    “Name’s Brennan. Jack Brennan. Friend of Will Dumford.”
    “Oh, like that name should open doors with me? Do me a favour.”
    “You are Nick Taylor, yes?” said Jack, smiling. Then he turned to the girl, “And Sarinda?”
    “I thought he was the bloody pizza guy,” said Sarinda ignoring Jack. “He’s just some old geezer.”
    Ouch, Jack thought.
    Sarinda — what a charmer.
    “What the hell do you want?” said Nick.
    And Nick — mighty antagonistic.
    Jack nodded to an empty chair by the table.
    Time to engage, thought Jack.
    “May I?”
    Nick just stared — and Jack sat.
    “I’ve been over at Kingfishers,” he said. “Talked to Gail King. And I think she’s starting to think that maybe things aren’t so clear-cut about Alex’s death. Same with Will.”
    Jack smiled.
    He figured it would be interesting to see how Nick