by Bill Kitson
‘That still gets us no nearer to finding Crowther. How do you suggest we go about trying to locate him?’
I blinked in surprise. ‘That’s strange; I was just pondering the same question.’
‘What about asking at Allerscar post office? I don’t suppose they get too many people sending registered mail from there, surely.’
‘You don’t know the sub-postmaster there like I do. He’s a miserable, tight-fisted old so-and-so, who wouldn’t give you the time of day unless you paid for it. I reckon you’d stand a much better chance of getting information out of the KGB.’
‘OK, so if the post office is out, have you any other ideas?’
‘No, at the moment I’m right out of them.’
We were still no nearer a plan for locating Crowther when we retired for the night. However, next morning, Charlie had a stroke of genius. It came shortly after breakfast, when Eve had gone for a shower.
‘Adam, the tape that was sent to Trudi Bell. That was how Mr Pattison recognized Crowther’s keyboard style, correct?’
I nodded, puzzled as to what Charlie was driving at.
‘If he’s right and it was definitely Crowther on the tape, how did he do it?’
‘Sorry, Charlie, I must be a bit thick this morning. How did who do what?’
‘How did Crowther record the music? When he disappeared he had only the clothing he stood up in. He certainly didn’t take his keyboard with him.’
‘Yes, I accept that.’ I was beginning to see where he was headed.
‘Crowther would have needed access not only to a keyboard but also some recording equipment. At the very least he would have required a tape recorder.’
‘I get you. He would have had to buy new equipment.’
‘Either that or have access to a recording studio.’
‘I don’t think that’s likely round here, Charlie. We might be able to track down where he lives from the place he bought the equipment. One of the music shops round here would be my bet. Let’s see what your aunt thinks to your theory.’
I let Charlie pitch his idea to Eve. Her reaction was one of cautious approval. ‘I think it’s worth following up, Charlie, and as we seem to be stuck for any other options, I vote we give it a shot. There can’t be that many music shops round here. What do you say, Adam?’
‘What are we waiting for?’ I went to my study and when I returned I plonked the Yellow Pages in front of Charlie. He looked puzzled. ‘There you go. As you suggested it, I think you should have the pleasure of finding some addresses for us.’
As Eve had suggested, there weren’t too many shops in the area that stocked tape recorders, let alone keyboards. However, we’d drawn a blank with the closest ones, so we had to cast our net wider and wider. What had seemed simple when we started soon presented unforeseen snags. For one thing our vague description of the customer was almost twenty years out of date. Also, we might be visiting the shop on the one day in the week when the assistant who had served Crowther was on their day off. Nor did we have a clue as to what name he might have given. I felt sure he wouldn’t have used his real name when buying a keyboard. That would have been too risky, especially when talking to someone in the trade.
‘This is the next-to-last shop on the list,’ I said, as we stood outside, ‘and if we strike out here, I reckon we’ll have to rethink Charlie’s theory, because I’ve no confidence that Crowther would have used the other shops.’
The proprietor of the establishment, who I guessed to be in his late fifties, was certainly more helpful than some of his younger counterparts, although he was far more talkative, which made getting him to stay focused on our request difficult.
‘We don’t get many people enquiring about keyboards, let alone going ahead and buying them. The cost puts a lot off, and those that persist usually want them on the never-never. To get a cash purchaser is a rare event. Have you any idea what make of keyboard the person bought?’
‘All we know is that the man lives locally, and that he’s somewhere in his late thirties. At a guess, I’d say he knew exactly what he wanted.’
The shop owner thought for a moment or two. ‘There was one bloke, a year or so ago, who bought a Yamaha. I think he also bought a quality cassette recorder at the same time, as I remember. He was a cash buyer. He tried out the keyboard and he was a real maestro. In fact I wondered if he was a professional musician, he was that good.’
‘Can you remember anything more about him? His name, for example?’
‘Now there, you’ve got me. I have to admit I’m very bad with names. I seem to recall that he asked for the stuff to be delivered, but don’t ask me where to, because I can’t remember that either.’
‘Is there no way you could find out; a receipt, for instance? I take it you do issue receipts?’ Eve asked; her tone and expression pleading. It was a look I couldn’t have resisted, and it seemed that the music shop proprietor was made of no sterner stuff.
‘We do, but all that would tell me is that it was a cash sale.’
‘Would you have ordered replacement stock?’ I asked.
‘Well, yes, I would. Why?’
‘Don’t suppose you have a purchase ledger, do you?’
‘Of course I do, but what’s that going to tell us? Oh, I see. If I check when I ordered one, then the sale would have been a little earlier than that.’
He thought for a little longer, then exclaimed, ‘Deliveries! That would tell us.’
Eve, who seemed to have got his measure, leaned across the counter and placed her hand on his. ‘Would you do that, for me?’ she pleaded. ‘Adam, you and Charlie go and pick out those LPs you wanted while this gentleman has a look.’
Eve’s beguiling charm was too much for the shopkeeper. As Charlie and I wandered along the stacked shelves I could hear the conversation as Eve watched her new friend going through his books. I’d chosen one LP, and Charlie had picked four.
The owner paused and stared at an entry in his ledger for several seconds. ‘I reckon this might be the man you’re after.’
‘What are the details?’ Eve asked him.
‘I’m not sure I should give you them, really.’
‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’ She directed her attention to me. ‘Adam, didn’t we want to look at a Teasmade for the new extension?’
I caught the look, or maybe it was a glare, she gave me. ‘Er, yes, we did,’ I replied through gritted teeth.
The owner looked at Eve, then at me. That was a mistake. He saw the pile of LPs we intended to buy and shrugged. ‘I suppose it will be OK. ‘The man’s name is Hardin, and the address is Lovely Cottage, Fatted Calf Lane, Allerscar.’
Eve, who was taking notes, looked up. ‘Is that Harding with a G or Hardin without?’
When the shop owner repeated the man’s name, I stopped dead in my tracks and listened as he explained. ‘Hardin, without a G. Mr Charles Hardin. I remember asking him the same question. He bought a Yamaha, a recorder, and reams of score sheets. I thought he looked vaguely familiar, and that name rang a bell too. Mind you, I was probably confusing him with someone else. If I’d to guess, I’d say this guy was a builder or a farmer, something like that. Certainly someone who works outside a lot.’
‘That’s definitely the man we’re after,’ I told them.
We thanked the shopkeeper and after paying for the LPs and the Teasmade, went outside. ‘You seemed convinced this is the right man,’ Eve looked at me, ‘what makes you so certain?’
‘The name he used; Charles Hardin. Even the shopkeeper thought it sounded familiar. So it should, especially to someone in the music industry.’ I could see Eve and Charlie were still baffled. ‘Charles Hardin,’ I explained, ‘Crowther’s idol was Buddy Holly, and Buddy’s real name was Charles Hardin Holley. Who else would Crowther use for an alias other than his hero?’
Chapter Six
One question was uppermost in my mind. Now that we had confirmation that Crowther was alive I was concerned as to the identity of the man whose b
ody had been recovered from the River Tyne. There might be an innocent explanation as to why someone was wearing Crowther’s jacket when their body was found, but I couldn’t think of one. As I was trying to work out the best way to approach Crowther, Eve, and Charlie were looking through the collection of old photos of Northern Lights that Pattison had sent us. Their research threw up a possible candidate for the drowned man.
Before that, though, something quite unexpected happened which gave another interesting slant to the events leading up to Crowther’s disappearance. I gave voice to the thought that had occurred to me. ‘Do you remember the conversation we had with Pete Firth? Something Firth told us could provide a clue as to what happened in Newcastle. Firth said that Crowther’s behaviour changed, which was more or less what Pattison said. I think his words were “Crowther actually became human for a while”, or something close to that. Did you pick up on it, Eve?’
She shook her head.
‘I think it might be worth having another word with Firth.’
‘You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.’ Eve pointed to the clock. ‘He’ll be at work now.’
I got hold of the DJ the following morning, after Julie had dragged him from his bed. Once he’d stopped complaining, I explained the reason for my call. Firth thought about the question for a long time before replying. ‘Have you ever seen the film Frankenstein?’
‘I have, and read the book,’ I admitted, ‘but that was a long time ago.’
‘You could say that Crowther’s behaviour was a bit like that. It was almost as if the electric shock brought him to life, and for a while everything was OK, but then the bump on the head changed him and he became a monster.’
‘Whoa, hang on, you’ve lost me. What electric shock and bump on the head?’
‘It was a few months before he topped himself. Less than a year, I’d say. We were playing a gig in Sheffield. The place was a bit ramshackle, but the booking had been made when we were struggling, and we didn’t want to get a reputation for letting people down. There was something wrong with the electrics. During the rehearsal, when Crowther started to play he damned near fried himself and almost torched the building. I think if Nev Wade hadn’t yanked the plug out of the wall Crowther would have died.’
‘Nasty!’
‘It was. Although Nev had cut the power, the instrument was in flames. One of the roadies rushed onstage with a fire extinguisher he’d grabbed from the wings, but all that was left was a charred and twisted lump of metal and plastic, all fused together.’
‘Sounds as if Crowther had a lucky escape.’
‘Yes, and it wasn’t the first one either. He nearly got felled by a steel girder only a couple of weeks earlier.’
‘What happened?’
‘It was during a photoshoot for an album. Pattison had fixed a venue in Middlesbrough, on a building site. They were putting up a new industrial estate. As we were being set up by the photographer, a girder that was being swung into place on the roof behind us broke free and crashed to the deck only inches behind Crowther. If Nev hadn’t seen it and pushed Crowther out of the way, he’d have been squashed flat, I reckon. The weird bit is, the driver was on his break at the time; they never found out who was operating it.’
‘So that wasn’t when Crowther got the bump on the head?’
‘No, that came much later, in London. I never got the full story, but from what I was told, Gerry was attacked late one night; robbed and left for dead. There was some talk that a policeman disturbed the two attackers before they finished him off, but I couldn’t swear to the truth of that.’
‘And that was the bump on the head that caused his behaviour to change?’
‘Actually, now I come to think about it, that wasn’t the cause. It was the other accident that really triggered it off.’
‘Another accident? He seems to have had more than his share of them.’
‘I didn’t think of it that way, but I suppose that’s true.’
‘What was the other accident?’
‘It happened about a month, maybe two months, before he committed suicide. Crowther had started to unwind and enjoy life. He’d even got a girlfriend. I never got to know her name, but she was a smasher. Long black hair, lovely face, and superb figure.’ Firth coughed and added quickly, ‘Not a patch on my Julie, though. Anyway, Crowther had bought himself a sports car. I think it was an Austin-Healey. Brand new, and a real fanny magnet. One night he and the girl were travelling from Leeds to Harrogate when he went off the road. It was somewhere near that big stately home that belongs to one of the Royal Family.’
‘Harewood House?’
‘That’s it. Anyway, the girl was lucky. She escaped uninjured, but Gerry ended up in Leeds General with severe concussion. We had to cancel a couple of gigs whilst he recovered. When he rejoined us, it was obvious he’d been badly shaken-up, and from there on in, we noticed the change. He was moody, barely spoke to anyone, and if you came up on him unawares he’d jump out of his skin. It was almost as if he was afraid of his own shadow.’
‘What happened to the girl he was dating?’
‘I’ve no idea. I never saw her again. I think maybe she’d blown Gerry out, because I caught him once, about a week before he died, staring at a photo of her, and I swear there were tears in his eyes. If she ditched him, I suppose that would explain his behaviour.’
‘That’s extremely interesting.’ I remembered the pretext for my call. ‘I think that’ll set the scene for a chapter on Crowther and his suicide very well.’ I thanked Firth and rang off. I waited for a few minutes, staring at the phone as I considered the implications of what the DJ had told me. Then I went through to the study to tell Eve and Charlie what I’d learned, but it turned out they had news for me. Big news, at that.
‘Adam, we’ve got something to show you. Charlie found it, and we both agreed you might think it important.’
Eve signalled to Charlie, who turned over an early photo of Northern Lights taken when they were onstage.
‘That’s Carl Long behind the drum kit,’ Charlie told me.
I read the names of the line-up under the image. The photo had obviously been taken soon after Crowther joined the group, because both Carl Long and Robbie Roberts were present.
‘What strikes you about that photo?’ Eve asked.
‘Only the time it was taken; before the line-up changed.’
‘Nothing else?’
I examined the photo once more, but was unable to see what Eve was driving at. ‘Tell me.’
‘Look closely at Carl Long, and then look at Gerry Crowther.’
I peered at the two men. ‘They do look a bit alike. Is that what you mean?’
‘Alike? They could be taken for brothers. Their hair colour, build, shape of the face and features. Unfortunately, you can’t judge their respective heights with Long being seated, but apart from that it would be dead easy to mistake one for the other.’
On close inspection, I had to agree with Eve’s assessment. ‘What happened to Carl Long?’ I asked.
‘That’s something we haven’t been able to find out. There’s only background information in Lew’s notes. He seems to have disappeared as completely as Crowther.’
I looked from Eve to her nephew. ‘Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?’
Charlie grinned. ‘I think so.’
‘The body recovered from the Tyne might have been that of Carl Long, not Gerry Crowther?’
‘That’s it,’ Eve agreed. ‘Which means that Crowther might have killed Carl Long and dressed him in his own jacket so he could disappear. Nobody would bother looking for a dead man. But it still doesn’t explain his motive.’
‘It might have been fear,’ I told them, and went on to relate what Pete Firth had told me.
‘This is getting weirder and weirder,’ Eve said. ‘How do we sort it out?’
‘We ought to check with Pattison. He might know something about what happened to Long. The fact that it isn’t mentioned i
n those files doesn’t mean he isn’t still alive and kicking. You ring him, Eve, but don’t mention we’ve found Crowther’s address.’
The call lasted only minutes. Eve skirted the question of Crowther by saying we might be making progress. When she put the phone down, she told us, ‘Lew has no idea what happened to Carl Long. He neither saw nor heard of him after he left Northern Lights. His royalties are still sitting in the bank. So, what do we do next?’
‘I think we ought to go see Mr Charles Hardin tomorrow, and find out if he really is Gerry Crowther.’
‘Oh, good!’ Charlie exclaimed.
‘Not you, Charlie,’ Eve told him. Her tone was one that brooked no argument. ‘We don’t know what the state of this man’s mind is. He could be dangerous.’
Charlie looked mutinous, but for once I had to agree with Eve’s assessment. ‘Sorry, Charlie, Aunt Evie’s right. We’d never be able to face your mum and dad if you got hurt.’
Charlie begged and pleaded, and eventually won a small concession. We would allow him to tag along, but only if he promised to remain in the car – and this time to actually stay there.
Later, as we were eating dinner, Eve came up with a bright idea. ‘Before we go dashing off to Allerscar, wouldn’t it be sensible to find out what we can about Hardin?’
‘I’m not with you. Find out from whom?’
‘If anyone can tell us about him, it’ll be Johnny Pickersgill. I think it would at least be worth a phone call.’
Eve was right, of course. Pickersgill liked to know about everyone on his patch. ‘Good idea, Evie. I’ll phone him after dinner.’
The call was unsuccessful. ‘Would you believe it, he’s gone to watch a cricket match at Headingley and won’t be back until late. His wife promised to get him to phone or call in the morning.’
‘You’d better buy extra milk when you go for the paper. Johnny won’t pass up the chance to call, and that usually means a gallon of tea.’
Sure enough, we’d not long finished breakfast when Pickersgill arrived. Eve provided him with a mug of tea and asked, ‘How was the cricket?’
