The End of the Roadie (A Mystery for D.I Costello) by Elizabeth Flynn

everything, I was thrilled. I’ve never been that close to him before.”
    “Yes, apart from the fact that Gary had arranged a chair for him and something to keep him warm, I don’t think he’d moved from that spot by the time I arrived. The doctor treated him for shock.”
    “As I drove away I saw people beginning to realize something serious had happened. They were talking in groups and then asking others. I was tempted to park up somewhere and hang around. But it would only have been worth it if I could have got another look at Brendan and I didn’t think it likely.”
    “You made a wise choice. I think his manager hurried him away in a car with tinted windows – well, as far as you can hurry someone who’s been sedated and is more or less out of it.”
    “It doesn’t say who got shot.”
    “That’s because we haven’t released the name.”
    Madeleine looked up at Angela and studied her for a moment.
    “What?” asked Angela.
    “You’ve got that same look on your face that Dad used to have when he was in the police and I asked him about a case.”
    “Oh, really? And what look is that?”
    “Inscrutable.”
    “We do special training to achieve that look.”
    Madeleine laughed. “Seriously, you’ve no idea how frustrating it is that you’re going to be rubbing shoulders with my absolutely most favourite singer and I can’t even ask you about him.”
    “You can ask.”
    Madeleine grimaced. “Yeah, and a fat lot of good that will do me!”
    “Actually…” began Angela, and stopped.
    “What?”
    “We could have a very unfair exchange of information.”
    “Er, like, I tell you everything I know about Brendan Phelan and you tell me absolutely nothing about your meeting with him.”
    “That’s the sort of thing I mean.”
    “That’s just the sort of line Dad would take! OK, then.”
    “You’re a star, Mads,” said Angela, taking her notebook out of her bag. “So what do you know about his private life?”
    “He’s got a girlfriend but I read somewhere that they don’t live together.”
    “How long have they been dating?”
    “A year or so, maybe.”
    “Do you know her name?”
    “Tilly Townsend. She’s an interior designer. Very successful she is, too. He commissioned her to do his decor; that’s how they met.”
    “Ah! Yes, I do know of her and now that you’ve mentioned her I realize I’ve heard them spoken of as a couple. Do you have to go?” asked Angela as she saw Madeleine looking at her watch.
    “Sorry, Step-ma. I can answer more questions tonight, if you have any.”
    “Thanks, this is great to be going on with.”
    Madeleine closed the newspaper and got up. “ Pas du tout. ”
    “You seem to be settling in well to this job.”
    “Mm, nice crowd, the work’s not too arduous and I get to use my French.”
    “That’s good. You’ve taken after Patrick there. I didn’t even know he spoke the language until we were on honeymoon.”
    Madeleine moved around the kitchen, gathering her bag and keys together. Angela, watching her, suddenly said: “I’m sorry, I forgot to ask how the concert went! Gary and I only had the briefest of words about it last night, and then we were launched into this investigation.”
    Madeleine smiled. “Oh, it was great. Fab. Mind you, I’ve never been to a bad Brendan Phelan gig. Gary wasn’t at all sure about him at first, but I think he felt a bit differently by the end of the evening.” She went into the hall and took her jacket from its hook.
    “That’s good. And how are things going there? You and Gary, I mean.”
    Madeleine smiled as she opened the front door. “I’m sorry, I have nothing more to say at this juncture. See you tonight.”
    “Now who’s being inscrutable?” laughed Angela as the door closed behind her. The telephone rang – her husband, Patrick. A coroner’s officer, he’d been at work an hour by now, and was calling from there. She picked up the phone. “Morning, darling.”
    “Morning, sweetheart. What