Rick Hendry had no sagging jowls or beer-gut either. He’d taken care of his body and was still as thin as a whip. Though the rock publicity machine had blown up the mandatory debaucheries of Zedrach-Kona, Rick himself had only dabbled lightly with drugs and alcohol. A control freak by nature, he disliked anything that limited his command of himself or his circumstances. So, all the time he was encouraging the press to run stories about cocaine-fuelled post-concert orgies and the other excesses necessary for a rock star image, he had kept himself almost entirely clean.
Rick Hendry was a businessman. He would have made a fortune in whatever industry he’d chosen. But, as a young man, he’d seen rock music as his most promising opening.
He smiled when Jude was ushered into the office. His was a big smile, much caricatured in the music press. The teeth had always been too bulky for his mouth and expensive cosmetic dentistry had ensured that their makeover was exactly like the original – though now with an unnatural whiteness. The famous smile deepened the grooves of his facial muscles.
‘Long time no see. Take a seat.’
She knew that was all he would offer. No peck on the cheek, certainly no refreshment. Other men might have conducted this interview over lunch, or at least a cup of coffee, but Rick Hendry lived up to his legendary parsimony. The room chosen for the meeting was anonymous, just another conference suite in a town whose main business was conferences.
Why hadn’t he made more effort, Jude thought with annoyance. He’d initiated the meeting, and she’d made her way there on the train from Fethering at a time that fitted in with his schedule. But he was the supplicant. He was the one who wanted something. (Well, actually, Jude wanted something too, but he wasn’t to know that.) Rick had known she would turn up, exactly when and where he specified. The infuriating thing was that his confidence had proved justified. There she was.
‘Great to see you, Jude.’
‘And you, Rick. What brings you to Brighton?’
‘Work, of course. It’s always work. The way the Pop Crop thing has taken off is just out of this world. Broadcaster wants a new series almost before the last one’s finished. So I’m here auditioning the young hopefuls.’
‘Female young hopefuls or male young hopefuls?’
He gave her a sharp look, suspicious she was referring to the tabloid allegations. Jude kept the stare of her brown eyes steady, and he backed off. ‘Both. I make and break boy bands and girl bands indiscriminately. Have you seen the show, by the way, Jude?’
She shook her head. ‘Not for me, I’m afraid. Unlike most of the viewing public, I’ve never confused humiliation with entertainment.’
He didn’t take the criticism personally, just smiled one of his big smiles. ‘You’re right, of course. I’m constantly amazed that “ordinary people” still put themselves up for this garbage. They should have seen enough of the programmes to know that everyone who’s on them ends up getting stuffed. Any television producer with half a brain in an editing channel can make a “member of the public” look stupid. But still they turn up – each one presumably convinced they can break the sequence, that their natural personality will shine through, that they’ll become stars. They’re wrong –’ another big smile ‘– but don’t tell them. I’m making a lot of money out of them being wrong.’
‘But some of the ones who’ve been through Pop Crop must’ve had talent. I read somewhere they’ve had number-one records.’
A cynical laugh. ‘Talent and number ones don’t have a lot to do with each other. The Pop Crop kids have done well just because of the promotion and coverage they’ve got. Give the same amount of airtime to a choir of donkeys with sore throats and they’ll go to the top of the charts.’
Jude couldn’t help admiring his candour. With a journalist, he’d have been extolling his programme’s encouragement of new talent, its achievements in giving young people hope and aspirations, its contribution to the nation’s cultural heritage. With her, he cut the bullshit.
There was a tap on the door; it opened. A purple-haired girl in T-shirt and jeans pointed to her watch. Rick Hendry nodded. The door closed.
Jude got in first. ‘Better move on to what you wanted to say.’
‘Yeah. It’s still about that night you talked to Suze about.’
‘Tuesday last week.’
‘Right. Gather you know I was there.’
‘Max Townley the chef told me.’
Rick gave a little nod, as if that confirmed his conjecture. ‘Listen, Jude, it’s very important no one else knows about that.’
‘Why? There doesn’t seem to have been any publicity about that solicitor’s death. So you can’t use your previous line about protecting Suzy and the hotel.’
‘I’m not so sure that—’
‘So is it maybe you who needs protection, Rick?’
‘Not protection. I just don’t need publicity at the minute.’
‘Because of these allegations about you and underage girls?’
He was angry, but contained himself. ‘That was a load of baseless tabloid garbage!’
‘Anyway, how does Suzy have anything to do with that? She’s hardly an underage girl. In fact, I’d have thought the news that you’d spent a night under the same roof as your ex-wife could do your image a lot of good at the moment.’
‘Jude, just take my word for it – my presence at the hotel has to be kept a secret.’
‘OK, I’m not about to rush to the press with the news. That’s not the sort of thing I do.’
‘And you’re not about to rush to the press with news about that boy’s death?’
‘No, of course I’m not.’
‘And you’re going to stop snooping round trying to find out how he died?’
He’d gone too far there. Firmly, Jude shook her head. ‘I’m going to find out everything I can about that.’
‘But you mustn’t! You can’t!’ For the first time in their conversation Rick Hendry lost his cool.
‘I don’t see why you’re so worried,’ said Jude evenly. ‘You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?’
‘Of course I didn’t. I never even met the guy. Or any of the other Pillocks of Sussex or whatever they’re called.’ It was the same name Max Townley had used for them. Jude wondered whether it was more than coincidence. ‘Except Bob Hartson, of course.’
‘Oh, you know Bob Hartson?’
‘Not know well. I’ve met him at the odd charity do.’
‘I see.’ So at least there was some connection between the worlds of the pop impresario and the Pillars of Sussex. ‘You still haven’t told me, Rick, why what I’m doing frightens you so much.’
‘I’m not frightened.’ But he sounded at least anxious. ‘I just know how out of hand publicity can get. News of a murder at a hotel owned by Suzy Longthorne would get all those scavengers licking their chops. Then, if they found out that I’d actually been on the premises when it happened.’
There was another tap at the door. ‘I’m bloody coming!’ he screamed. The door didn’t open.