Hathaway laughed.
‘Fuck you and the horse you rode in on,’ he said good-naturedly. ‘Who told you about that? It’s true. Billy, our bass player, came up with the name. Didn’t tell us for years where it came from. We were so pissed off, especially as, by then, that whole Avalon and Grail thing was part of the zeitgeist.’
‘The zeitgeist?’
‘I know a few big words, Bob. You don’t get to where I am without a brain.’
‘Seems your band was pretty good.’
‘The funny thing is we were pretty good.’
‘Why is that funny?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘Come on, John. Share, since we’re getting along so well.’
Hathaway pointed back at one of the guitars on the wall.
‘That was my very first. A Rosetti. Sounds crap now but at the time… well, actually, it sounded crap then. Then my dad bought me a Fender Stratocaster.’
He nodded to himself.
‘My dad. I didn’t know for ages we were only getting gigs because my dad was leaning on publicans and club owners. It saved him giving me money if I was earning it myself, you see. So we thought we were great when actually we were rubbish. But as time went on we did get better. Very much better. Dan could really sing. Charlie the drummer, despite all the jokes about drummers, never screwed up the beat, however drugged-up he was. Billy had a really fluid bass line. Then Tony joined us on rhythm guitar. He could play anything.’
‘And you?’
‘Me?’ Hathaway looked wistful. ‘I could carry a tune.’
‘So what happened? You seem to have disappeared off the music scene around the same time that Elaine disappeared for good.’
‘There’s no connection.’
‘No?’
Hathaway sat forward in his chair.
‘No. The band split up because of – what do they say? – creative differences. Five guys with big egos – it’s surprising we stayed together so long.’
‘What happened to the others?’
‘You don’t know?’
Watts shook his head.
‘Billy turned out to be a poof and moved to San Francisco to be with others like him.’ Hathaway caught Tingley’s look. ‘I know. If he’d waited in Brighton a few years he could have saved himself the plane fare. Got involved in gay politics with that bloke Harvey Milk. Died in the gay plague.’ Hathaway looked at the ceiling. ‘Had quite a life journey, our Billy. Always the quiet one.’ Hathaway tapped his head. ‘But a lot going on in here.’
‘The others?’
‘Dan stayed in the music business and did pretty well. He had a good voice and he started writing songs. Ended up in the States. Hung out with the Brits – Graham Nash, Terry Reid – that crowd. We knew Graham from when he’d been in The Hollies – we’d played support a couple of times. Good bloke. Got friendly with Graham’s old lady, Joni Mitchell, and Stephen Stills, Dave Crosby, Neil Young. Couple of minor hit albums, lot of session work doing backing vocals. Later he used to play footie with Rod Stewart’s team.’
‘And now?’
‘He went into record producing then Al Stewart – no relation to Rod, this was the Year of the Cat guy – advised him to get into the wine business. Al had got some vineyards for himself – so Dan bought himself a winery up in the Napa Valley. Got in at just the right time. Does pretty well. We’re still in touch. Sends me a case of a rather special Merlot every Christmas. You can try a glass if you like next time you’re over at the house – you seem to be regular visitors.’
‘And Tony?’
‘He joined us late on so he wasn’t really one of the gang. I think he went back to being a butcher.’ He spread his hands. ‘So there you go.’
‘You’ve missed out Charlie the drummer?’
Hathaway looked over at his guitars.
‘Charlie went his own way. We lost touch.’
‘Drugs?’
‘Yeah, something like that.’ Hathaway cleared his throat. ‘So, that’s all I can tell you about the good old, long-gone days.’ He looked at Watts. ‘And if you’ve got Elaine’s diary that’ll tell you anything else you need to know about me.’
Watts stood up, maintaining eye contact.
‘Actually, John,’ Watts said. ‘I hate to disappoint you but she doesn’t mention you at all.’
Hathaway gave an odd smile.
‘That so? Well, there you go, then. Told you our affair was something and nothing.’
Outside, Tingley looked at Watts.
‘I don’t think he was disappointed at all.’
Karen Hewitt met Bob Watts, her predecessor as chief constable, in a restaurant under the arches near the West Pier. It was a regular haunt for her. She liked fusion food. Their table was on a mezzanine, right next to the semi-circular window that looked out on to the shingle beach and the remains of the pier.
Hewitt knew she looked tired, her long blonde hair framing a haggard face. Watts was drawn too but his eyes still flashed an amazing blue. Hewitt chinked her glass of Prosecco against his.
‘To results,’ she said.
He nodded and put his glass down.
‘Have you got anything for me yet?’ she said.
‘It’s only been two days, Karen. But, yes, actually, on the Elaine Trumpler front. John Hathaway or his father are in the frame.’
‘Elaine Trumpler?’
‘The remains under the West Pier?’
Hewitt put her own glass down.
‘Sorry, Bob. It’s been a bad week. That man on the Downs. That bloody party on the beach. Laurence Kingston. The West Pier-’
‘No news on Kingston or the Pier, I’m afraid. But Trumpler was Hathaway’s girlfriend. She lived in one of his dad’s flats. If you want to go for Hathaway, maybe this is the way to bring him down. I don’t think he did the firebombing.’
‘How do we prove a forty-year-old crime?’
‘Not my area of expertise,’ Watts said. ‘Have you got anything for me?’
‘Nothing on the pier. Fire services think it probably was arson but most of the proof is in the sea. Kingston died of a mixture of pills and alcohol. Choked on his own vomit. There were two glasses in the room where he was found, as if he’d been entertaining somebody.’
‘Odd – he should have been entertaining me – but great news-’
‘Except that the cleaner put them in the dishwasher. Scene of crime have got some samples for DNA analysis but Kingston was a party animal – had people over all the time.’
‘It could be suicide but there’s a strong suspicion of fraud. Karen?’
Hewitt was gazing out of the window watching people fooling around on the beach. She looked back at him. He was starting to look jowly. He’d have to watch that.
‘The other thing that has been ballsing up my week is the official report about the Milldean massacre.’
Watts sat back, watching her intently.
‘You’re cleared of any operational misdemeanour but criticized for your actions after the incident.’
Watts shook his head.
‘No surprise there. When is it being published?’
Hewitt picked up her glass then put it back.
