Vanishing Act

by Bill Kitson

  ‘I think is it’s very difficult to decide which of the two of you is the more devious. I’d accuse you of corrupting Charlie, Eve, except that it seems to be a clear case of hereditary evil.’

  I looked at Charlie, who was grinning broadly. ‘I don’t know what you’re smirking about. I once told your mother you’d go a long way – probably to prison. I can see now that I was dead right.’

  Eve’s call to Alice Pattison gave us the necessary impetus to go ahead with the scheme. ‘Lew caught a flight to America yesterday evening. He’s gone there to arrange recording sessions for a couple of his artists. Alice reckons he could be away for a week, maybe even a fortnight.’

  ‘With Pattison away it might be difficult getting Trudi and her mother to come to Yorkshire,’ I pointed out. The disappointment on Charlie’s face was comical.

  ‘Alice reckons not.’ Charlie’s frown vanished at his aunt’s words. ‘She said if we tell her what we need to do with contracts, she can pass the message to Lew when he phones her. The company has an office in Detroit, so he’ll be able to send a telex to London, giving detailed instructions to Trudi.’

  ‘In that case I suggest we head for Allerscar this morning and see if Crowther has made his mind up.’

  ‘I bet he says yes,’ Charlie piped up. ‘He’d be daft not to. Besides, I reckon he’ll be mad keen to meet his daughter.’

  I couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease Charlie. ‘You’re only saying that because it will give you chance to meet Trudi. You can’t wait to see if she looks as good in real life as she does on that poster on your bedroom wall.’

  Charlie blushed slightly, but denied the allegation. I didn’t believe him, and nor, to judge by her expression, did Eve.

  We arrived outside Crowther’s house shortly after 11 a.m., just as a van I recognized as belonging to our local greengrocer was pulling away from the end of the drive. Crowther, who was in the process of closing the five-barred gate, recognized us and gave a small wave.

  I gestured to a potato sack that was leaning against the gatepost. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d need to buy fresh produce when you’ve got that huge vegetable plot at the back of the house. It’s bigger than most allotments I’ve seen.’

  ‘I wasn’t buying, I was selling. That,’ Crowther gestured to the sack, ‘is by way of part-exchange. It’s some fertiliser for the stuff in the greenhouses.’

  ‘It sounds as if you’ve got the makings of a thriving business,’ Eve suggested, ‘a sort of miniature cottage industry.’

  ‘Not so miniature,’ Crowther smiled, ‘and you’re right. I’m hoping to expand it. The farmer who’s my neighbour is hoping to retire, and I’ve been negotiating to buy several fields from him. I plan to use one of them for larger greenhouses. With luck I’ll be able to generate sufficient power from the mill to service them.’

  ‘What will you use the rest of the land for?’

  ‘I’m hoping to grow sufficient wheat on it to grind my own flour, which means the windmill should prove a worthwhile investment. In a couple of years, I should be bagging and selling home-produced flour. I’ve already got a couple of village shops keen to try it out.’

  Once we were seated round the kitchen table, Eve asked the question we’d come to have answered.

  Crowther thought for a moment before responding. ‘I’ve decided to take the chance,’ he told us. ‘I’m fed up of living in the shadows; of being afraid to leave the house, even to walk to the village. You’ve no idea what it’s been like all these years, never knowing when someone might be lurking, waiting to harm me. Even though the world thought I was dead, that was mere chance, and it’s only been recently that I’ve come to realize that I’ll never be at peace until I face my demons once and for all.’

  He paused for a moment, his face sad and reflective. ‘I’ve missed my daughter’s childhood because of that fear. I only hope that Sheila can see her way to forgive me. I dread the idea that she might think of me as a coward. That wasn’t why I planned my disappearance. Yes, of course I was worried for myself, but I could have put up with that, hired bodyguards or something. But I could never have forgiven myself if whoever was responsible had taken out their hatred on Sheila and the child she was carrying. So the answer to your question is yes, go ahead and tell Lew, but I’d rather that nobody else but Sheila and Trudi know where I live. Do you think that can be arranged?’

  ‘I think that’s perfectly understandable, and I believe the plan that Eve and Charlie have concocted between them will set your mind at rest on that score.’

  I sat back and watched Crowther as Eve explained their scheme. For the first time since we met him, I noticed an air of calm and optimism in his face. The thought of emerging from the shadows, of casting off, albeit only gradually, the half-life he had been living for so long had obviously cheered him immensely.

  Not being part of the conversation gave me the opportunity to shift the focus of my attention to another topic. I was still in the process of mulling this over when I realized I was being spoken to, or more accurately, spoken about.

  ‘Don’t worry about Adam, he often goes into a trance-like state. It might seem as if there’s nothing going on in there, but I do believe there’s a certain level of activity, even though it may not resemble life as we know it. If he lives up to expectations, any moment now he’ll surface and claim that he was thinking, you’ll see.’

  I’d hate to disappoint an expectant audience. ‘Sorry, did I miss something? I thought I heard someone speaking, but I couldn’t make any sense of it, so I assume it couldn’t have been anything important.’

  Crowther looked from me to Eve and then back again. ‘Are you sure you two aren’t married?’

  ‘No, and nor are we likely to be unless Eve minds that wicked tongue of hers.’

  Eve stuck the offending article out at me. I ignored her.

  ‘I was thinking,’ I began.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Eve gave me an unrepentant grin.

  ‘As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, I’ve been thinking about the copyright release form that Pattison’s office will have to draw up for you to sign. Given what Lew told us regarding what happened back in the sixties, I think it might be wise to take one or two simple precautions.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m not with you.’ Crowther frowned. ‘What was it that Lew told you about the sixties?’

  ‘When they were trying to find you, before Carl Long’s body was fished out of the Tyne and everyone assumed it was you, Pattison employed a firm of private detectives to search for you. Before long, news of what was going on was leaked to the press, who had a field day over it. Lew still isn’t certain if the leak emanated from the enquiry agents, or within his own organization.’

  ‘I can understand that, but I don’t see where it ties in to the contract that’s going to be drawn up now.’

  ‘Look at it this way. Your reappearance from the dead would be certain to make sensational news headlines, don’t you think?’

  ‘I suppose there’s some truth in that, although I’m by no means the sort of household name I was back then.’

  ‘Still, rather than run the risk, don’t you think it would be sensible if the composer’s name on that contract wasn’t Gerry Crowther?’

  ‘That makes sense, I suppose, but whose name would you suggest putting on the form?’

  ‘That seems obvious to me. What’s wrong with the name you’re known by locally? Charles Hardin?’

  ‘Of course, and only real fans would know that it’s an alias.’

  ‘Even if they did happen to work out the Buddy Holly connection, nobody would automatically link that to Gerry Crowther and go rushing off to the papers.’

  ‘That’s brilliant,’ Crowther said, ‘but is it legal?’

  ‘Is what legal?’

  ‘Would it invalidate the form if we entered a name that wasn’t real?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I believe you’re allowed to call yourself what you like, as long a
s it’s not with fraudulent intent.’

  Crowther turned to Eve. ‘I think you got it wrong. I reckon there was a lot going on in Adam’s head, and very productive it was too.’

  Eve smiled but failed to respond. She was staring at me in an uncomfortably meaningful way. I knew that she had gone at least some way towards working out the additional agenda concealed within my suggestion. Rather than provoke her into making an untimely remark that might reveal my true motive, I carefully avoided her gaze.

  Once we were inside the car on the return journey to Laithbrigg, Eve came straight to the point. ‘OK, Adam, out with it. What were you playing at in there? Don’t try and fob us off like you did Crowther, with all that publicity stuff. What were you really after with that Charles Hardin bit? I’m sure there’s far more to it in that devious mind of yours than simply avoiding an embarrassing leak to the press.’

  ‘I wondered about that as well,’ Charlie added.

  ‘OK, let’s think about it this way. Crowther had been the target of several attempts on his life prior to his disappearance. We also believe that Carl Long might have been murdered by someone who mistook him for Crowther. That caused the vendetta to cease. News that he’s alive and kicking might be all that’s needed to start it all off again. Especially if we believe Mitchell’s death was linked to our search for Crowther. And this time the targets might well be Sheila and Trudi Bell.’

  Eve nodded. ‘I can see why you didn’t want to say that in front of Crowther. It would have set his paranoia working overtime.’

  ‘I’m not saying we keep Gerry’s identity hidden forever, that might not be practical or possible anyway, but I think it would be wise to do so until such time as we’re in a stronger position.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean by “a stronger position”, and I’ve certainly no idea how we get there.’

  ‘The only way that comes to mind at the moment would be by trying to discover who was responsible for the attempts to kill him back in the sixties. And unless the people responsible are out-and-out psychopaths, the best way to do that would be by finding out what their motive was.’

  ‘You said “people” and “they”,’ Charlie butted in. ‘How do you know it wasn’t just the work of one person?’

  ‘Do you remember what Julie Firth told us about the night Crowther disappeared? When she thought she’d seen him by the river? Well, that was obviously Carl Long, but Julie also said she’d seen two people she thought might have been following him. That makes it far less likely to have been the work of a lone psychopath, don’t you think?’

  That night, following a lengthy conversation with Pattison’s wife, Eve reported that Alice would keep us up to date with developments.

  ‘I told her we’d located the composer, and that for the time being he wished to be known simply as Charles Hardin. I also explained that he’d requested a meeting with Trudi Bell, as he had certain ideas about the arrangement of the two songs, and he wanted to make sure she performed them to the best possible advantage.’

  Twenty-four hours or so later, Alice Pattison phoned us back to give us an update. I listened in on the extension as Eve spoke to her friend. ‘Lew’s absolutely thrilled,’ Alice reported. ‘He’s happy to keep the composer’s true identity secret, and he’s sending a telex to his deputy giving instructions about drafting the release form, which will be sent to you. He’s also going to ask him to contact Trudi or her mother regarding the meeting, and will them give your phone number as a contact point.’

  After that, events moved forward at speed. First of all, we received a phone call from Lew’s deputy at the London office of Pattison Music and Management. ‘My name’s Harvey Jackson. I’ve received instructions from Lew and I need to make sure I have everything correct before I go ahead.’

  ‘Fire away,’ I told him.

  He went through the items one by one, even to the extent of spelling out Hardin’s name and mine, together with my address. He also asked me to confirm that it was in order to pass my phone number to Trudi or Sheila Bell. I agreed that I had no objection to this.

  ‘OK, I’ll pass the message, and I’ll ensure those forms are sent to you via tonight’s post.’

  It was my turn to cook dinner that evening, so when the phone rang, Eve took the call. Several minutes later, she and Charlie joined me in the kitchen, where Eve imparted the exciting news. ‘That was Sheila Bell on the phone. It seems that Trudi has a singing engagement in Sheffield on Friday evening. Sheila suggested they could travel to York on Saturday, and make their way here, but I told her we’d meet them from the train if she lets us know the time. I hope you don’t mind, but I suggested if they want to they could stay here on Saturday night.’

  I was the recipient of a fixed glare from Charlie, as if daring me to refuse. ‘Do you think we ought to expose Trudi to one of her most ardent fans?’

  ‘I’m sure Charlie will behave himself like the gentleman he’s been brought up to be,’ Eve told me severely.

  Next morning, I had just made coffee when Charlie walked into the kitchen. He was carrying a bunch of folders in his hand, which he set down on the kitchen table. ‘What have you got there?’ Eve asked, punctuating her question with a yawn. ‘Don’t tell me it’s homework?’

  Charlie grinned. ‘Hardly, this is some research I did last night.’

  ‘Research? Into what?’ I asked.

  ‘I was trying to find someone with a motive to kill Mr Crowther.’

  ‘And did you succeed?’ Eve gave another huge yawn.

  ‘Actually, there are several candidates, but one thing I did come across that I think you might be interested in.’ Charlie paused and opened one of the files. ‘This folder contains all the press cuttings about Northern Lights. The ones that interested me were the reviews. Those of one reviewer in particular: Diane Little. She wrote some very damning reviews of Northern Lights, mostly directed at Crowther more than any of the other band members. She criticized his singing, his keyboard playing, and his songwriting.’

  Eve and I examined the paperwork Charlie had produced.

  ‘I have to say, Charlie, that whether you’re right or wrong, this is an impressive piece of research. What do you think, Evie?’

  ‘I was wondering whether Diane Little was acting on orders, and if not, what she had against Crowther.’

  I looked through the cuttings again. Most of them were gig reports, plus press releases, but towards the bottom of the pile was the collection of reviews. Many of the music critics were highly complimentary about the group’s performance, and in particular about Crowther’s skill both as a musician and as a songwriter.

  The glaring exceptions were the half-dozen written by Diane Little. Charlie certainly hadn’t exaggerated when he’d described the reviews as damning, or that the journalist had reserved her most savage criticism for Gerry Crowther. What, I wondered, had sparked such vitriolic attacks? Of one thing I felt certain; there was far more to Diane Little’s criticism than mere differences in musical taste. This was personal, but I couldn’t begin to think of a possible motive behind the scathing assault.

  I went back to other reviews covering the same events and the contrast between these and Diane Little’s was stark. Reading any two versions alongside one another, you almost felt they were describing different groups playing separate venues.

  ‘I think we should make a point of asking Lew Pattison about that journalist when we get the chance. If she is still involved in the music industry, Pattison will be far more likely to be able to tell us about her than if we tried to discover her background for ourselves, and he’s sure to know if she is in the habit of slating other artists in a similar fashion.’ Eve looked at me. ‘What do you think, Adam?’

  ‘I can’t believe that journalist would be interested in pursuing a long term vendetta against Gerry Crowther just out of spite. There has to be a stronger motive.’

  Chapter Ten

  It was mid-morning on Friday when Sheila Bell rang back and confirmed th
e time she and Trudi would be arriving in York the next day. She also took up Eve’s offer to stay with us on the Saturday night. I was intrigued to see how Charlie would approach the impending meeting with his pin-up girl. Would he be tongue-tied with embarrassment, or worse still say something trite or inappropriate? I guess most boys of his age would be socially inept when they came face to face with the object of their wildest dreams. I certainly would have been.

  When Saturday arrived, fortunately for Charlie’s peace of mind their train was only a couple of minutes overdue. When the doors to the first-class carriage opened, the second passenger to alight was a woman whose striking good looks could have enabled her to pass herself off as the singer’s elder sister rather than her mother.

  She turned to take a suitcase from inside, and as we moved forward to greet her and introduce ourselves, Trudi emerged from the compartment, hauling a second, larger case. She seemed oblivious of the curious stares from a number of other passengers, who had obviously recognized the young singing sensation.

  ‘Sheila Bell? I’m Adam Bailey, and this is my fiancée, Eve Samuels, and Eve’s nephew Charles Rowe.’

  There was a moment’s handshaking, before I offered to carry their cases, only to find that Charlie had already taken possession of Trudi’s, which earned him a smile of gratitude. ‘Thank you, Charles,’ Trudi told him, her voice soft and pleasantly musical.

  As we walked across the concourse towards the car park, I covertly checked out the girl’s appearance. Although the likeness to her mother was obvious, I thought I could also detect a strong similarity to Crowther in the line of her jaw, the slightly slanted eyebrows and of course that distinguishing mole on the left of her chin. It had been that mole I had seen fleetingly on the television shot of Trudi, which had convinced me that my theory about her parentage was correct.