The Late Greats Read Free Page B

‘Only briefly.’ I’d read the earlier ones, amazed at how arrogant Tasker had sounded in those days. The tone of the articles was patronising, like a band from Hull shouldn’t be expected to succeed, but he hadn’t done himself any favours, writing off almost every band that had gone before New Holland. I wondered how far his words had been twisted. Flicking through more printouts, I suspected not too much. Despite myself, I couldn’t help smiling at his words. He’d claimed that what good music there had been had come from the North. The South didn’t do anything for him. Not that it had stopped him moving down to London.
    ‘Have you read the more recent articles?’ Sarah said to me.
    ‘Not yet.’
    ‘There’s some stuff about the opening of his studio, basically saying how much he was looking forward to coming home, leading a quieter life and making the business a success. You know the kind of thing.’
    I found the article. I quickly scanned it, but didn’t find anything else of interest. I turned back to the coverage of Tasker’s suicide attempt. It had happened just over five years ago, shortly after his solo comeback album flopped. I held the page up for Sarah. ‘Do you remember this at the time?’
    ‘Vaguely. I wasn’t that interested, to be honest.’
    The BBC report said Tasker had taken an overdose of pills and made an emergency call for an ambulance.
    ‘Skip a few pages’ Sarah said, ‘there’s a couple of bits about the aftermath.’
    I found them. Tasker had gone into rehab and received treatment for depression. Seemingly, he couldn’t come to terms with things.
    I turned back to the more recent articles in the file. The photographs of Tasker showed he hadn’t aged well, but that he was still just about clinging to his rock star looks and haircut. I’d been thinking about things. I put the file to one side and called Major.
    ‘Any news?’ he asked me.
    ‘No.’ It hadn’t been that long since I’d spoken to him. ‘I need to talk to the band properly’ I said. ‘Steve Priestley in particular.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘He might know something. Something he didn’t want to tell you.’ Priestley had been Tasker’s long-standing co-songwriter in the band. They’d been friends back then.
    ‘I’ll sort it. First thing tomorrow’ he said.
    ‘Good.’ I terminated the call and turned to Sarah. ‘Gut feeling?’
    She sat down next to me. ‘If the band’s about to reform, why would he kill himself? It doesn’t make sense.’
    That was the way I saw things, too. Unless something came to light to suggest otherwise, I was treating Greg Tasker as missing, but nothing more than that.
    ‘They should go to the police’ she said.
    I shrugged. ‘It’s Major’s call.’ I’d been thinking it over. Sarah was right, but it wasn’t a situation I could force. There was no guarantee the situation would be taken seriously. That said, crossing your fingers and hoping for the best wasn’t the way it should be handled.
    Sarah yawned and looked at her watch. I took the hint and stood up. Looked for my coat.
    ‘Your brother called the office earlier’ she said.
    ‘Niall?’
    ‘Have you got another?’
    ‘What did he want?’
    ‘Said to just give him a call sometime, you know, like families sometimes do.’
    ‘Ok.’ I started to make a move, but I didn’t want to go back to my flat yet. I could make last orders at Queens if I was quick. It was where I always retreated to when I needed to think.
     

 
     
    CHAPTER THREE
     
    Major called me at lunch time to tell me Priestley would be expecting me at the rehearsal room on Bankside. Music is a nocturnal business, so I’d spent the morning in the office, trying to get a handle on where Tasker might be. I’d read articles, looking for any clue or hint of a favourite place. I called a handful of associates who can usually help with missing persons, but they hadn’t called back yet. The reality is that it’s easy enough to disappear if you