by Bill Kitson
‘He recognized you? You’re sure of that?’
‘Absolutely certain.’
I paused and lowered my voice to ask the next question. ‘Why did you go down to the river? I’d have thought you’d have headed straight for the hotel if you wanted to see Pete.’
Julie looked uncomfortable, embarrassed even. She didn’t reply immediately. ‘Ah, well, I don’t suppose it matters after all this time. Pete sent me to pick something up for him.’
Knowing Firth’s history made it easy for me. ‘I get it. You went to meet a dealer for him, is that it?’
‘Yes, but you won’t put this in your book, will you?’
I soothed her fears. ‘I promise you there will be no mention of drugs. Did anyone else know you were going there, and why?’
It was clear that she had never given the matter any thought before now. ‘Yes,’ she said at last, ‘Gerry Crowther knew, because earlier he’d passed Pete a message from the dealer and he was there when Pete asked me to go; saw him give me the money.’
‘One final question, what prompted you to go public with your sighting of Gerry?’
‘It was one of the guys in the group. We were talking about it in the hotel a couple of days later. At the time, Gerry was just missing. I mentioned seeing him by the river, and they suggested I tell the police.’
‘Can you remember who it was? One of the group, you said.’
‘I can’t be sure. I think it was Neville Wade.’
We thanked Julie and asked if we could contact her if we had any further questions.
As she waited for me to unlock the car door, Eve said, ‘That was brilliant. The way you got the information out of Julie, I mean.’
I looked at her suspiciously. Eve wasn’t one for throwing compliments around, but this time her praise appeared to be genuine.
‘I think we should head for home now,’ Eve said. ‘We’ve been far longer than we anticipated and Charlie will be getting bored. We can start again tomorrow.’
I agreed and we’d almost reached the other side of Leeds when Eve asked, ‘What did you find so interesting in those photos at Firth’s house? I noticed you spent a fair while peering at them whilst I was talking to Julie.’
‘It was the one of Crowther that attracted my attention to begin with. I was struck by the pose, which was unusual. All the photos I’ve seen of him, all the ones Lew sent up had him looking to his right, towards the camera. The only one which shows his left side is the one on Julie’s wall.’
‘I take it there’s some significance in that?’
I explained what I’d seen, and as she pondered it, I continued, ‘As I was looking at the photos, I saw one of Billy Quinn. When I examined it closely, I found that one even more intriguing.’
‘Why?’
‘At first I thought the photo had been cut from a larger one, because there was obviously someone standing alongside Quinn. Billy was seated, but you could clearly see another person’s arm and hand. However, when I looked at the edge of the photo, there was that white strip they always leave when they develop film, so obviously this was a single shot.’
‘Could you tell who was on the edge of the photo?’
‘No, like I said all I could see was the arm and hand. The hand was resting on Billy’s shoulder, and Quinn was looking up slightly, as if he was speaking to his companion. The other point that seemed clear was the affection on Billy’s face.’
‘Are you sure it wasn’t one of the other members of the group, or a female fan perhaps.’
‘I don’t think it was a female at all. The hand looked too big, too masculine. That led me to speculate about the nature of the relationship.’
‘Are you buying into Julie’s theory that Quinn was a homosexual?’
‘It’s possible, but it would have been a closely guarded secret. Back then, homosexuality was a criminal offence and lots of prosecutions were brought against anyone caught in the act.’
‘When did the law change, do you know?’
‘I’m not certain, I think it was around ’67 or ’68, but I’d have to look it up. One thing’s for sure: if people close to him knew Quinn was gay, they’d have gone to extreme lengths to keep it quiet.’
‘It’s a shame we can’t find out who the man in the photo was. If we knew, we could ask him.’
‘I would know him if he still wears the same ring on his left hand.’
‘Was it very distinctive?’
‘Unusual, to say the least. It was some sort of semi-precious stones, aquamarines or something similar, arranged in a large star shape inside a heavy gold claw setting.’
‘Blimey! That would be striking even on a woman’s finger. On a man, I’d say it would be unique.’
On the way home, Eve asked, ‘Do you think it’s wise for Charlie to know what these people are saying about Billy Quinn?’
Whilst I respected Eve’s wish to protect her nephew’s innocence, I doubted whether, after several years at boarding school, Charlie was as naïve as she believed.
We spent the evening telling him of our day’s findings, omitting some of the juicier statements we’d heard. Eve was trying to be tactful regarding Billy Quinn’s sexuality, but failed miserably.
‘You telling me he was a queer?’
‘Charlie!’
‘Oh, come off it, Aunt Evie, I’m almost sixteen. I even know the facts of life!’ I saw Charlie grin at me and wink. ‘Especially as my bedroom is just across the corridor from yours and Adam’s.’
Eve went scarlet with embarrassment. I don’t think my loud outburst of laughter helped.
Chapter Four
Next morning we set out again, taking Charlie with us. Eve had added conditions. If he began to feel unwell he should say. ‘Perhaps you ought to stay in the car when we talk to the men,’ she suggested.
‘Oh, Aunt Evie,’ he protested, ‘that won’t give me much work experience.’
‘If you want to come, get in the car!’
I’d tried to contact Jimmy Mitchell again the previous evening. At least someone picked the phone up this time, but after I introduced myself, they put it down again without speaking. From then on it was a continuous engaged tone. I gave up in despair. It was just after lunch when we reached the address. We hoped we would be able to fit in our planned visit to Neville Wade in Harrogate later that day.
The property was a brick-built semi, dating I guessed from around fifty years earlier. The front gate was open, which looked to be a permanent arrangement as it hung drunkenly from rusted hinges. The front garden showed a similar lack of care, and the building looked in need of urgent maintenance work. As we walked up the crumbling concrete path, I noticed that although it was a bright, sunny summer’s day, all the curtains were closed, and no light showed through from behind them.
I rang the doorbell, but got no response. ‘Perhaps he’s at work,’ Charlie suggested from the open car window.
After I failed to get any reaction to a second ring, Eve said, ‘Let’s try round the back. At least we can see if his car’s there.’
We walked down the path alongside the building, which was in no better condition than the one at the front. A lane acted as a service road to all the properties, and beyond it was a row of detached asbestos-clad garages. Eve pointed to the small window in the door of the one directly behind Mitchell’s house. ‘There’s a light on in there.’
The double doors to the garage were secured with a large padlock, which I found odd. Perhaps Mitchell had forgotten to switch the light off. Alternatively, there could be another entrance. I banged on the doors, but with no more success than with the front doorbell.
‘Wait there, I’ll have a look through the side window.’
The space alongside the garage was a tangled mass of knee-high weeds. Despite the gloom, I could tell that these were mostly thistles and nettles. I reached the side window, which was festooned with cobwebs. I cleared those that were on the outside and peered in. There was a Ford Cortina in the garage. The w
heels had been removed and were stacked in the corner, leaving the car resting on its axles. I guessed that Mitchell was in the process of repairing the vehicle. However, the position of the car was unusual. Perhaps Mitchell had lowered the hydraulic jack for some reason, but I couldn’t think what that might be.
It was only then that I noticed something protruding from underneath the front of the car. I recoiled, the shock of what I’d seen almost causing me to stumble and fall into the weeds.
I went back to where Eve was waiting to find Charlie standing alongside her, arguing. ‘I was bored,’ he grumbled.
Eve turned to me for assistance but I think she guessed from my face that I’d seen something amiss.
‘Did either of you see a phone box as we drove here?’ I demanded.
‘There’s one at the end of the street,’ Charlie pointed to where we’d come from.
‘Why, what’s wrong, Adam?’ The concern showed on her face.
‘There’s a car inside the garage, but that’s not all.’ I took a deep breath. ‘There’s someone trapped underneath it.’
‘Dead?’
‘I think they must be. I can’t see how anyone could survive being crushed by that weight. We need to call the police.’
When we were sitting in the car, awaiting their arrival, Charlie began speculating about the accident, but Eve and I remained silent. It was only when he asked my opinion that I explained. ‘It wasn’t an accident, Charlie.’
‘Why do you think that? You can’t be sure?’
‘Adam’s right,’ Eve told her nephew. ‘Whoever is in that garage was murdered. The front doors are padlocked from the outside.’
‘And there’s no other way into the building,’ I added.
‘Good heavens, I didn’t think of that.’ Charlie sounded more excited than upset.
I still didn’t respond, and Eve guessed I was holding something else back. ‘Tell us everything, Adam.’
‘I was thinking about my phone call to Mitchell, when whoever answered it left it off the hook. That person might well have been the killer.’
The cover story we’d agreed with Pattison about my researching a book came in very useful when the police asked why we’d visited Mitchell’s house. It was getting late before the officer in charge yielded to Eve’s pleas about her nephew’s health and allowed us to set off back to Laithbrigg. Had he not recognized me, we might have been kept there even longer.
Having received confirmation that the victim was Mitchell, courtesy of a horrified neighbour, the officer, Detective Sergeant Middleton, surprised me by asking me if I realized the implications in what we’d found. ‘From what I’ve read about you two, I understand you’re becoming experts,’ he said, a trifle sarcastically.
I rose to the bait. ‘You mean the fact that Mitchell was murdered?’
‘What leads you to think that?’
‘Oh, come off it, Sergeant; don’t play the innocent with me. There can be no other explanation, unless you can demonstrate how the dead man padlocked the door from inside the garage.’
‘Yes, I didn’t think you’d miss that. What you may not be aware of is that his house was ransacked too.’
‘Now that is interesting. Tell me, Sergeant; was the phone off the hook when you went inside?’
Middleton stared at me in astonishment, tinged with a little suspicion. ‘How on earth did you know that?’ he demanded.
I explained about my abortive phone call. Middleton seemed to agree with my theory, but added, ‘We’ll have to wait for the pathologist to determine the time of death, but you could well be right. I’ll be in touch to arrange a formal statement.’
‘You could save everyone time and expense by getting our local man to take it,’ I suggested. ‘His name’s Pickersgill, John Pickersgill.’
As we drove back to Laithbrigg, two thoughts disturbed me. Had Mitchell already been murdered when I made the phone call, or had mentioning my name precipitated the attack? Was his death concerned with our enquiries? If Crowther was still alive, this disturbing development caused me to fear for his safety.
Along with that line of thought was another, equally troubling one. If the murder was an attempt to frustrate our investigation into Crowther’s disappearance, might the killer not be tempted to more direct methods? I was concerned on two counts. The first was, how had the killer discovered what we were doing? The second, even more worrying: might their next logical step be to come visiting, to physically deter us from continuing with our enquiries? It did not take me long to decide that I would not share these ideas with either Eve or Charlie.
The discovery of Mitchell’s body had delayed our visit to Harrogate even further. Next morning, Eve contacted Pattison to inform him of the development. As she was talking, I signalled that I wanted a word with him.
‘What can you tell me about Billy Quinn’s death?’ I asked.
There was a long silence before Pattison replied. ‘Billy was murdered in London. He’d been to a nightclub and his body was found in an alleyway nearby. He’d been stabbed several times. Police thought the motive was robbery.’
‘I heard different. Someone suggested he’d been sexually assaulted.’
‘That rumour was doing the rounds at the time, but I can assure you there’s no truth in it. Why do you ask?’
‘It seems a curious coincidence that one of the group closest to Crowther was murdered, and then as soon as we start asking questions, another one is killed before we had chance to interview him.’
After I’d rung off, Eve said, ‘If Mitchell’s death is connected to our search for Crowther, how did the killer know what we were up to?’
‘There can only be two ways. Either there’s a leak in Pattison’s organisation, as he suspected originally, or one of the people we’d already spoken to told them. That means Thompson, Firth, or Julie.’
‘Unless one of them killed Mitchell,’ Eve pointed out.
‘True, I hadn’t thought of that. I can’t see Julie as the type, nor does Firth really fit the bill. On the other hand, I could believe it of Thompson.’
We’d barely finished breakfast next day when the doorbell rang. I’d an idea of who our visitor might be even before I opened the door.
‘Now then, Adam, what have you two got mixed up in this time?’
I stood to one side to allow him to enter. ‘Good morning, Johnny.’ I raised my voice. ‘Eve, put the kettle on. The law’s here.’
Eve appeared in the lounge doorway and greeted Johnny Pickersgill, our village bobby, who was also a good friend. She went into the kitchen, and after I introduced Charlie, I explained what had happened in Leeds. Midway through the tale, Eve reappeared with a mug the size of a small swimming pool, which she handed to Pickersgill. He eyed it approvingly, and listened to the rest of my tale in silence. It was one thing telling a stranger like DS Middleton our cover story, but Pickersgill knew us too well to be fooled.
‘Somehow I can’t imagine you writing a biography of sixties pop groups, Adam, so why not tell me your real reason for going to see this man Mitchell? What’s really going on?’
I looked at Eve, who nodded, before explaining what Pattison had asked us to do. When I’d finished, Johnny scratched his chin reflectively.
‘It sounds as if someone isn’t too happy at the idea of this Crowther chap coming back to life. Let me know if there’s any way I can help. I shall have to tell Middleton that you’re looking into Crowther’s death, of course.’ Johnny smiled slightly and I knew full well that he wouldn’t lie intentionally, just skirt the facts. ‘For the meantime, I need your official statements.’
We travelled to Harrogate next morning. Two days had passed since we found Mitchell’s body, but I noticed from the morning paper that the victim had still not been named.
As we pulled into the small parking area alongside the veterinary surgery, Eve pointed to the only other vehicle there, a tangible sign of Neville Wade’s success. I looked at the car as we walked over to the surgery entrance. It was
a newish-looking Triumph Dolomite Sprint, with Wade’s initials incorporated into the registration number. I had to admit that the vehicle did look a little flash for a vet. ‘Perhaps he’s harking back to his rock ’n’ roll days. Wade has obviously done better for himself than the other members of the group.’
Wade was of no more than medium height, with a cheerful, good-humoured expression that I guessed was as much professional as natural. The shock of blond hair that had been almost a trademark when he’d sat behind his drum kit was all but gone, save for a small fringe above his ears. It looked as if some demented barber had been overzealous when asked to provide a tonsure. I explained the reason for descending on him unannounced. He looked wary, but asked, ‘What do you want to know about Northern Lights?’
As I took Wade through the band’s history, it soon became clear that he had little regard for most of them. When I mentioned Gerry Crowther, however, Wade’s attitude changed markedly.
‘Gerry was the best thing to happen to Northern Lights, but I guess you’ve already worked that out. Despite that he was fairly bloody unappreciated by the others. They knew that he almost single-handedly took the group from an obscure outfit that I heard was on the verge of splitting-up, to chart-topping success around the world, but small thanks he got for it.’
Wade paused and looked from me to Eve and Charlie and back again. ‘The rest of them were too busy feeding their own egos and imagining they had far more talent than they actually possessed, and being bitter and resentful about Crowther at the same time.’ He took a deep breath that turned into a sigh of genuine sadness. ‘Apart from Billy Quinn, that is. Billy was too gentle, too nice a person, and far too timid for all the backbiting that went on.’
‘Were you surprised when Crowther disappeared, and when you learned that he’d committed suicide?’
‘I wasn’t at all surprised that Gerry wanted out, although the way he went about it was unusual, to say the least. As for the rest, I still don’t … can’t believe he committed suicide.’
‘Why do you think he did it? Surely not simply because of discord within the band? There has to have been a deeper cause than that.’
