by Paul Charles
Sgt. Flynn’s Lonely Hertz Club Van
This edition first published 2017 by Fahrenheit Press
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www.Fahrenheit-Press.com
Copyright © Paul Charles 2017
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F 4 E
Sgt. Flynn’s Lonely Hertz Club Van
By
Paul Charles
An Inspector Christy Kennedy Mystery
Fahrenheit Press
INTRODUCTION by Paul Charles
So may I introduce to you
The album you’ve known for all these years…
I remember the day just like it was just yesterday. It was one morning early in 1963 and I strolled into my mum’s cosy kitchen without a care in the world. She was busy preparing lunch and, as ever, she had the radio on. She’d have been hoping they might play Tony Bennett or Frank Sinatra or, better still, her favourite disc, What Do You Want to Make Those Eyes A Me For? by Emile Ford & The Checkmates.
Up to that point music had been a bit like wallpaper to me; it was there all around me all of the time but it was pretty easy to ignore. It didn’t engage me. But that morning I heard a joyous, infectious, melodic, pleasing sound that stopped me in my tracks and, quite literally, changed my world.
The sound I heard was Please Please Me and I soon discovered this magic came from four Liverpool lads called The Beatles. I became obsessed by both the single and the group. Soon I’d a cheap record player and, a few months later, was also the proud owner of Please Please Me (the long playing record). Another six albums and four years later, I thought I’d it all figured out when they hit me (and the rest of the world) with what has arguably become the most important album ever released: Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts’ Club Band.
During the summer of 1967 I was still living in Northern Ireland, getting ready to leave for London in fact. I'd bought Sgt. Peppers the day it was released but hadn't had a chance to listen to it too much, preoccupied as I was then by trying to secure gigs for my first group, The Blues By Five. But I had liked the album; most certainly I’d liked it a lot. Then, one Saturday evening, I was at this party in a church hall in Cookstown, up in the heartland of Northern Ireland in Co. Tyrone. Up until this point Cookstown was famous for having one very broad street which ran the whole way through the townland. The street was so broad that legend had it pedestrians brought a flask of tea and some sandwiches with them so they could take a break mid-way across. Now, to me, Cookstown was going to become famous for something entirely different.
All the walls and ceiling of the church hall were covered with a mass of colourful posters, streamers and balloons. The music was great and, as they say up in those parts, the craic was ninety. We just sat back and let the evening go. People were talking, laughing, joking and dancing. Some were sitting around, drinking and having a good time and then someone put the Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album on a record-player they’d wired up direct to the PA system.
One by one the party-people stopped talking and chatting and the noise and bustle of the party died down completely until the entire crowd present was being seduced by this beautiful and inspiring music. People were smiling and loving it. Happiness was spreading from one person to another with the same power and speed panic can move through a gathering. It was wonderful to be there. It was certainly a thrill. Every new track drew everyone deeper and deeper into this new world. Our new world, a world created for us by The Beatles. It was like everything they had ever done had been leading up to that point. Every note of music they had ever played, every song they had ever composed had been in preparation for this moment: the moment they captured with Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. It didn't matter that perhaps the Revolver album might have been a better album. It didn't matter that touring had nearly destroyed our band. It didn't matter that I didn't have someone there with me to love and share this with; there was already more than enough love in the air. Nothing really mattered apart from the wonderful sounds filling the speakers and the fact that the Beatles had fulfilled their unspoken promise to us. This album wasn't a great album because it sold lots of copies. The album sold lots of copies, purely and simply, because it was a great album. Yes, maybe even the perfect album.
And the thing about the party that night in Cookstown was that we were all sharing it, sharing the pleasure. And as it was being shared, the pleasure grew. When John Lennon started to sing A Day In the Life, I swear to you I felt shivers run down my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my throat went dry. I could feel my nostrils tightening as though tears were going to flow. I bet you not one person in that hall felt any different. No one moved a muscle for fear of spoiling the mood. As the last note, the E Major, drifted into silence, everyone was left stunned and speechless. It was like a mass turn-on but instead of the buzz being incited by a drug, it had been induced by the show The Beatles had wanted, needed to present to us. This was the show they knew they could never do on stage as the moptops to their screaming fans. But they felt they could do it by sending it out to us in the form of the Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album. I know that probably sounds as if I may have been indulging in some of the stimulants that had even managed to make it as far as Cookstown in those days. I wasn't. I never felt the need to. But you really had to be there, in Cookstown on that spectacular summer evening, to know what I'm on about. It was a perfect moment. It was one of those moments that rarely happen in your life but when they do, well then you have to try and find some way to savour the magic moments and cherish and protect them in your memory. All I can tell you is that as we strained to hear the disappearing E Major, there was the most incredible feeling of elation, yes… even euphoria. When all that was left was the crackle of the needle on its final revolution everyone started to clap their hands. We didn't know what else to do. We just clapped and clapped and then clapped some more.
You'll never ever meet anyone who can tell you what it was like the first time the 1812 Overture was performed, or what it was like sitting in the Olympia Theatre in Dublin when The Hallelujah Chorus was receiving its world premiere. In fact, I can guarantee you won't. Time has drawn a line under both of those. But, with hand on heart, I'm happy to tell you that for me what those audiences felt could not have compared with the experience I felt while listening to The Beatles' masterwork that night in Cookstown.
It was never the same again. I never ever experienced that same buzz again. I don't tell you that with the slightest regret. I am proud to have been alive in that time and enjoyed that once in a lifetime experience. I still love and enjoy listening to the record. But it just may have been the communal spirit between all present at the party that special summer evening in Cookstown that made the Beatles playback so extraordinary. I suppose for an experience to have been so special meant that it certainly wasn't going to be an experience which could be repeated frequently, if ever.
And it all came from the music; the music of The Beatles.
And here we are fifty years later (nearly to the day) and we’re enjoying that music and those moments once again and to mark thi
s special 50th Anniversary celebration I wanted to share a D.I. Christy Kennedy (short) mystery, entitled: Sgt. Flynn’s Lonely Hertz Club Band, which was inspired by the Beatles eighth album or, as it was known to the EMI accountants, PCS 7027.
I hope you enjoy.
Paul Charles, May 2017
Chapter One
‘She said he was nice. She said he had clean fingernails and his shoes were very well polished,’ Jane Kelly gushed, as she leaned over the reception desk of North Bridge House, the home of Camden Town CID.
‘Did she tell you his name?’ Timothy Flynn, the duty desk-sergeant, asked.
Miss Jane Kelly had called into North Bridge House, on her way to work one sunny, but cool, spring Monday morning to make a formal Missing Person report on her flat mate, a Miss Penny Pathe, who’d been absent since Friday night just gone. The desk-sergeant’s log recorded the fact that Miss Kelly had also rung in on Saturday at lunch time (13.17) and again very first thing on Sunday morning (08.03). Flynn himself had explained to her on the Sunday call that a person needed to be missing for at least 48 hours before they officially became a Misper (Missing Person).
‘Yes, of course she told me his name, we’ve no secrets; his name was William Shears.’
‘Did you ever get to meet him?’ Flynn asked, his Ulster accent, although still noticeable, considerably softened with the years.
‘No, I never did get to meet him,’ she replied, sounding more Cotswolds than Home Counties and more wistful than regretful.
‘Look,’ Flynn offered, stepping out into the public section of the reception area, ‘let’s you and I use one of the interview rooms. We’ll have a lot more privacy and we can start this over again from the very beginning.’
‘Okay, first off, I have to say that we both – Penny and I – joined Happenstance Romances – you know, “a safe way of meeting men,”’ Miss Kelly confessed, using two fingers on each hand to emphasise the quote marks.
‘It seems to me that would certainly be a much safer way to meet someone rather than the computer-dating approach,’ the grey haired, well groomed, crisp-uniformed, Flynn replied, sounding positively encouraging.
Jane Kelly visibly stopped in her tracks, as if she’d fully expected the desk-sergeant to frown upon such an approach to dating. Perhaps she’d even been expecting an, “Well back in my day…” type of putdown. Perhaps she was thinking that or she was thinking, “but surely Happenstance Romances is computer dating?” Either way she kept her thoughts to herself, looking like she felt that the world did not owe her any favours. She was in her mid-twenties and dressed in a very sensible outfit of black trousers, a red flowery blouse, cream slip-on shoes and her blonde hair was pony-tailed over a black Harrington style zip-up jacket. She looked as if she might have modelled herself on a much older sister, perhaps even her mother. Her make-up was so subtly applied it was totally ineffectual. Flynn’s heart immediately went out to his daughter who he figured was of a similar age to Miss Kelly and seemed to be equally burdened with the how, whys, wherefores, and even ifs, of making a romantic connection.
‘We did it originally as a lark,’ Jane Kelly continued, sounding as if she’d been tuned into Flynn’s thoughts. ‘You know, we’d been fed up sitting in, indulging our chocolate-diet and feeling sorry for ourselves, on just one too many an evening. Penny had filled the forms in first … she was always first to do things. Next we had to learn the correct language to come across hip and cool. After Penny and I read all the wonderful and exciting biographies of the males approaching other women, those who responded to us sounded positively dull. Nonetheless, after a lot of late night debating, and a few glasses of wine, we agreed to give it a try!’
‘You mean you would go out on your own to meet these strangers?” Flynn asked, trying not to sound judgemental, but failing miserably.
“Well, actually in a way we did,’ she replied, fiddling nervously with her handbag. “If it was her date, I’d go and plant myself in the chosen pub, say, maybe thirty minutes before her date. I’d just hang around trying not to be visibly distracted every time a stranger walked through the door, wondering, sometimes dreading, if the new arrival might in fact be Penny’s date. Sometimes they wouldn’t even show or… or… maybe they had also shown up in advance and they’d been doing their own version of my recce, didn’t like what they saw and so scarpered off before wasting any more time.’ She paused and added, ‘I’m wasting your time here now, aren’t I?’
‘No, no,’ Flynn protested, ‘the more information we have the better.’
‘Of course, Penny would do the same for me,’ Jane replied, seeming to agree with him.
‘Many successful dates?’
‘Not really,’ she replied regretfully.
‘Oh?’
‘Until William Shears.’
‘Oh!’ Flynn replied, visibly perking up and looking like he hadn’t expected to get to this point in the story for ages. ‘So Miss Pathe had already met Mr Shears a few times?’
‘Yes about three times before… before Friday night.’
‘And you hadn’t run shotgun for her on her first date with him?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I meant, sitting in the background, watching out for her?’ Flynn offered.
‘Oh sorry, yes, I see… no, I mean I didn’t.’
‘O-kay,’ he sighed, again trying not to sound judgemental.
‘Yes, she spoke to him a few times on the phone in advance before agreeing to their first date. By that point in the Happenstance Romances dating game, we’d figured no harm could come to you in a public place like a pub?’
‘Right.’
‘She seemed very comfortable with William and she’d agreed to meet him in the Engineer, which had become the meeting place of choice for our prospective Happenstance Romances. She came back saying he had clean fingernails, was dressed in expensive clothes and his shoes were brilliantly polished. Penny said…’
“What Jane?’ Flynn pushed, when she appeared not to want to continue.
“Well it’s maybe just a wee bit rude, but it was our sense of humour, you know?’
‘It’s okay, you can tell me, it might be important,’ Flynn coaxed.
‘Well Penny said,’ Jane Kelly barely whispered, ‘she said that his shoes were so well shined that if he placed his foot in a strategic position he might be able to see up her dress.’
Timothy Flynn chuckled gently. Once again he was reminded of the cheeky and naughty, but never crude, humour of his own daughter. His reaction seemed to relax Miss Kelly a little.
‘Then they enjoyed a meal upstairs in the Queens and as there was still no sign of any funny business she agreed to go out on a proper date with him,’ Jane offered.
‘So where were they going on Friday night?’
‘It was meant to be a total surprise.’
‘So she didn’t even know where she was going?’ Flynn offered, unable to keep the concern from his voice.
‘Penny felt it was time to go on a date with William without a safety net.’
‘Had she given any hints that there might be a sleep-over?’ Flynn asked, reverting to his daughter’s terminology.
‘Goodness… no! They’d hardly even kissed! We’re not that type of a girl, you know!’
‘Sorry, of course,” Flynn started, wishing that DI Christy Kennedy had been on duty. ‘I wasn’t suggesting…’ he fumbled on, hiding behind a quick sip of the lukewarm tea. ‘Might she have gone to her parents or something?’
‘She had no-one but me… in London,’ Jane claimed.
“Parents live abroad?”
“No, she was an orphan.”
‘What about people from work? Any friends from there she might occasionally stay with?’
‘We both work at the same place,’ she started and seemed to study Flynn before continuing, ‘there’s no-one else there under the age of 50.’
‘Has she ever stayed out before, you know, over a weekend, with you not knowing where she was?’
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‘We’re not that type of a girl, you know,’ she repeated from earlier, but this time she added, ‘I know that sounds corny in this day and age.’
‘Listen Jane, anything but… I should tell you, you’re the type of daughters, fathers dream of having.’
Her eyes and her voice replied, ‘like I always say, kinda boring.’
‘So you really just have each other?’
‘We just want someone to love.’
‘Does it bother you to be on your own,’ Flynn asked.
‘As you said, we have each other.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Flynn continued, sounding a little surprised.
‘Well, we don’t need just anybody, but we’d both like someone special to love.’
‘Okay,’ Flynn replied, once again thinking of his daughter.
By this point, Flynn felt he was truly out of his depth and if he didn’t enlist someone’s help pronto he was sure he’d live to regret it. There was just something about Miss Jane Kelly – a controlled edginess - that was making him concerned on Miss Penny Pathe’s behalf.
Chapter Two
But Kennedy wasn’t on duty and Dot King had seemed just as lost as he was when Jane Kelly first approached them. Superintendent Thomas Castle encouraged the front desk staff to deal with the Mispers, at least in the initial stages, without involving the detectives. So Flynn accepted there wasn’t really much he could be doing wrong. All he could do, all he should do, was to take down as much information as Miss Kelly would give him. He thought of his daughter and how he would like her to be treated should she ever find herself in this situation.
At the same time, Miss Kelly, in her own cumbersome way was making it very clear that she wasn’t the kind of girl who’d be brushed off with, “Well that’s all we can do for now, we’ll be in touch with you when we hear anything.”
