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

time did you finally get home?”
    “Two-thirty to three, I think; I’m glad I didn’t wake you. I was totally zonked.”
    “Yes! You didn’t even stir when I left this morning. I wanted to make sure you were up. A forensic post-mortem will begin in about five minutes and D.C.I. Stanway is already here.”
    “And I suppose after that he’s going straight to the incident room and expects to see me there?”
    “Hey! You took the words right out of my mouth.”
    Angela laughed. “Thanks for the heads-up, Pads. I’ll be on my way in about five minutes.”
    “Good-oh. Stanway’d already run the gauntlet of the press when he arrived at the public mortuary. He’s a bit twitched by it all from what I could see.”
    “He would be; he’s not comfortable dealing with the media. You just watch. He’s the senior investigating officer, but he’ll put me in the firing line.”
    Patrick laughed. “A wise child knows its own parent; ditto worker and boss.”
    “You can count on it. How exactly was Stanway in front of the press this morning?”
    “Awkward, but then, how many different ways are there to say that you’ve got nothing to say? And, of course, they were all asking about Brendan Phelan and whether or not he’s involved. It’s like the dead man is an afterthought.”
    “Are you surprised?”
    “Not really. Turns out Stanway’s daughter is a keen fan.”
    “As is yours.”
    “You speak truth, O queen. Well, I quite like a lot of his stuff myself. When are you going to interview him?”
    “As soon as it can be set up after this morning’s briefing in the incident room.”
    “OK, well see you this evening.”
    “Cheers, Paddy – love you.” Angela drained her coffee and left the house.
     
    Angela slipped into the incident room three minutes ahead of D.C.I. Stanway. Her eye went straight to the big whiteboard on the far wall. The totally pristine surface she might haveexpected at this stage would have been understandable, but she took in with relief the pictures of Brendan, his band and the three women backing singers already stuck to it – evidence for Stanway of a team already hard at work. She beamed and turned to the only other two people in the room, Detective Sergeants Rick Driver and Jim Wainwright, lounging on chairs, waiting for the briefing to start. She noted Jim’s redrimmed eyes and Rick’s stifled yawn. “Mm,” she said. “I feel a bit like that too. It was one of those nights. Who did this?” she asked, cocking her head towards the photographs.
    “Who do you think?” said Jim. “Our keen young Girl Guide and Boy Scout.” Jim, never at his best in the mornings, didn’t take well to only getting a few hours’ sleep.
    With the reflex of long habit, his partner moved to smooth whatever feathers Jim might ruffle. “Leanne and Derek got here first, Angie,” he said. “They’ve been printing off photographs from the Internet.”
    “Very enterprising of them,” remarked Angela, ignoring Jim. The door opened and Detective Constable Derek Palmer came in carefully carrying a tray of coffees. He was closely followed by D.C. Leanne Dabrowska and Gary.
    “Brilliant! Coffee,” said Angela swooping on one of the cups. She noted that even if he was too tired to be polite, Jim could wake up enough to grab a cup of coffee.
    A moment or so later, D.C.I. Stanway breezed in. “Morning all,” he called, with all the cheerfulness and energy of a man who’d had a full night’s sleep. A chorus of greetings in varying degrees of enthusiasm met his. “Ah, good, the gang’s all here,” he said, looking around the room. He cast a brief glance up at the photographs. “Well done, whoever got started on these.”
    “Thanks, Leanne and Derek,” said Angela. She believed in credit going where it was due.
    “Right, I don’t need to tell any of you this is going to be a very high-profile case,” continued Stanway. “Brendan Phelan is so famous even I’ve heard of him.” The polite laughter