Vanishing Act

by Bill Kitson

  Crowther burst out laughing, something I don’t remember having heard before. ‘I think I might be able to spare a few minutes in my crowded work schedule for you.’ He reached out and took his daughter’s hand. For a moment she tensed, then visibly relaxed as he said, ‘Come along, and I’ll show you my purpose-built, state-of-the-art recording studio. Or, as it’s more commonly known round here, the garage.’

  The outer shell of the building was where the resemblance to a garage started – and finished. Inside, there would have been insufficient room to fit anything bigger than a bicycle. Much of the space was taken up with the acoustic blocks, which, as Crowther explained, not only kept extraneous sound out, but reflected back almost every decibel of sound produced inside the room.

  As I looked round, I realised that although my knowledge of the music industry and the various devices used was sketchy; either the shop owner had not told us the full story, or Crowther had bought a lot of equipment elsewhere. I asked him about this.

  ‘I bought what he had, but his stock was limited, so I had to go elsewhere for much of this stuff. With it, I can replicate almost every musical instrument, and provide the effect anything from a full concert orchestra to a brass band if I need to.’

  He walked across the room, pausing to flick several switches before beckoning Trudi forward. ‘How do you fancy trying out that song I wrote for you?’

  Trudi hesitated.

  ‘Go on, Trudi, we’d love to hear it.’

  I saw Sheila look sharply at Charlie as he spoke, then exchange glances with Eve. Better be on your best behaviour, young man, I thought. Now you’ve got her mother to contend with as well as your aunt.

  ‘OK.’ As she spoke, and as she looked at the sheet music he placed before her, I realised how alike father and daughter were. At first sight you only saw the strong resemblance between Trudi and her mother, but closer inspection showed her similarity to Crowther.

  What followed had a hint of magic about it, as Trudi performed the song for the first time. Her clear, sweet voice was echoed and emphasised by Crowther’s consummate artistry on the keyboard. When the song ended we all applauded. Sheila was clapping loudest and smiling broadly, but I could see the tears in her eyes.

  After a moment, Crowther suggested she look at the other sheet music he’d placed on the stand. ‘It’s brand new, so I’ll give you a minute or two to read it through.’ As he waited, Crowther played a few notes. At one point, I thought I recognized a snatch of a familiar melody, but then Trudi looked up and said, ‘OK, I’m ready.’

  The second piece was even more enchanting, a haunting ballad about lost love regained. As he played, Crowther’s eyes went from Trudi to Sheila and back, and I realized that this song was for them – was all about them.

  ‘I wrote that earlier today,’ Crowther told us when it ended. ‘What do you think?’

  Eve spoke for all of us. ‘If that doesn’t make number one then there’s no justice in this world.’

  Some of the practical matters regarding Sheila and Trudi’s move north had to be left for later consideration. ‘We must think about Trudi’s change of school, and I’ll have to give my notice in. That will mean going back to London, and I think you should come with us, Gerry.’

  ‘That’s a good idea.’ Crowther held up the draft contracts Pattison’s assistant had sent me and announced, ‘I’ll go to London with Sheila and Trudi. Together, we’ll sort out Sheila’s flat and make arrangements for them to move here. I will also sign and deliver these to Lew Pattison, so that Trudi can record the songs I wrote for her.’

  Crowther looked at his daughter, and I think even he was surprised by her response. ‘I will only record them on one condition. And that is that you play the accompaniment. These are your compositions, and nobody could do them justice like you.’

  I remembered Crowther saying that he didn’t much fancy the idea of a return to showbusiness. It seemed as if Trudi wasn’t giving him much say in the matter. Nevertheless, I was surprised with how easily he capitulated. ‘It that’s what you want, Trudi, I’d be proud to play for you.’

  I was surprised by his statement, as I noticed the others were. ‘Does that mean you’re officially declaring yourself alive again?’

  Crowther nodded. ‘Yes, and what’s more if possible I’d prefer to do so in my own name, rather than hiding behind an alias. That belongs to the time when I was afraid for myself, for Sheila, and for Trudi. Whatever problems being me again might cause, we face them together.’

  ‘That might not be wise,’ I said. ‘Let’s see what we can do.’

  Sheila smiled encouragingly at him, and I guessed Crowther’s new resolve owed a lot to her. She looked around the sparsely furnished lounge. ‘Let’s face it, Gerry, this house does need considerably more work to do the building justice. If everyone’s lifestyle was as meagre as yours has been, furniture stores all over the land would have gone out of business. When we pack up my flat we can decide what furniture we want to bring here.’

  Crowther smiled. ‘It was all I needed at the time, but I agree, we will have to get a lot more to make this a nice home.’

  ‘In the meantime, Trudi can continue to stay with us, can’t she, Adam?’ Eve asked.

  ‘Of course she can, she’s very welcome.’ I wouldn’t have dreamed of refusing, even without Charlie’s threatening glare.

  We returned to Laithbrigg early that evening. As she got into the car I noticed Trudi was clutching the sheet music Crowther had given her. ‘I need to memorise the words and the melody,’ she explained. ‘I think Mr … er … my father rather likes the idea of me recording this while we’re in London, with him providing the backing.’

  When we reached the top of the hill overlooking the village, I noticed two cars parked outside Eden House. One of them I didn’t recognize. The other, I knew well. It was Johnny Pickersgill’s patrol car. Why, I wondered, was our amiable village bobby visiting us on Sunday evening? And who had he brought along with him?

  My second question was answered when the man got out of his car and walked down the drive. ‘Who is that?’ Charlie asked. ‘I feel I ought to know him.’

  ‘The last time you saw him was at home when you were badly injured and drugged with painkillers,’ Eve told him. ‘That’s Detective Inspector Hardy. But what he’s doing here, I’ve no idea.’

  Neither had I, but one thing for sure, I knew it wasn’t a social call. I introduced our guests, and saw Hardy’s eyes widen with surprise at Trudi’s name. ‘I’d like a word with you and Miss Samuels, Adam, in private I think.’

  We took him through to the study along with Pickersgill, leaving Charlie to entertain Trudi. I waited until Eve had supplied both officers with a mug of tea before asking, ‘OK, what’s the problem?’

  ‘We were asked to investigate a road accident that happened yesterday,’ Pickersgill began the explanation. ‘I don’t know if you heard about it, but a car went off the road on Rowandale High Moor?’

  ‘Yes, we were in the pub last night and Zeke Calvert mentioned it. He saw some of what happened and didn’t seem to think it was an accident, though.’

  ‘Neither do we,’ Hardy picked up the tale, ‘for several reasons. First of all, the car was stolen. That doesn’t in itself mean that what happened wasn’t a tragic accident, but when we heard Calvert’s story and got the results of the post-mortem, we realised we were dealing with something far more sinister. The pathologist said that the driver’s injuries weren’t all consistent with those he might have suffered from the car going off the road. He believes the man was hit repeatedly with a blunt, heavy object, such as a hammer, probably after the vehicle crashed. Putting those facts with the gamekeeper’s account of what he saw and heard, I believe we have a killer on the loose in this area.’

  ‘That sounds very disturbing, but I can’t see how we can help you. I know Eve has some dodgy friends, but I don’t think any of them are car thieves.’

  Hardy smiled briefly, but I couldn’t see much evidenc
e of humour in his eyes. ‘Perhaps it would help if you told us why the dead man was carrying your business card in his pocket? And why he had a road atlas in the car with the village of Laithbrigg circled in red? By the look of things, he was either on his way to visit you, or had already been. However, as the car was heading towards Laithbrigg before the incident, I’d suggest he was on his way here.’

  Eve and I looked at one another, perplexed and troubled by this news. We had handed several business cards out during the interviews we conducted in our search for Crowther. But we couldn’t work out who might have been coming to see us, or why. ‘Have you identified the dead man?’

  ‘No, he had nothing in his pockets save some cash and your card. We rather hoped you might be able to put a name to him. If it had been his own car rather than a stolen one, that would have been different, of course.’

  I had an idea of how to narrow down the identity. ‘Where was the car stolen from?’

  ‘Outside a house close to Leeds city centre. Why do you want to know?’

  ‘We handed a few cards out recently, but only two in Leeds.’ I felt a heavy sickness in the pit of my stomach. The dead man had to be Pete Firth. Admittedly Pete was a bit of a Jack-the-lad, but I’d rather liked him. I could tell Eve shared my fear, and was equally upset at the thought that Firth had been murdered. Despite my concern, one thought struck me. Why had Firth been on that road? If he had been coming to Laithbrigg, there was no way he’d have taken such a circuitous route, one that was twenty or so miles longer than the direct way. He might have been lost, of course, but even that I doubted. Had he been coming from the north, rather than the south-east, that would have been a different matter.

  I explained my suspicion to Hardy and Pickersgill, adding that I supposed there was an outside chance that Firth had given my business card to someone else. Even to me, it sounded as if I was clutching at straws.

  ‘There’s an easy way to settle it,’ Eve suggested. ‘All we have to do is phone Firth’s home and see if he’s there.’

  Having put forward the idea, Eve was given the unenviable task of making the call. The conversation went on for some time, and I could tell Eve wouldn’t have good news to report. The agitated squawking I could hear at the other end of the line told me that Eve was speaking to Julie and she was extremely upset. After a few minutes, two questions from Eve more or less convinced me that the dead man had to be Firth. ‘And he didn’t tell you where he was going? Did he mention the possibility that he might be coming here to see Adam?’

  More squawking followed, with Eve attempting to reassure Julie. It didn’t seem that she’d been blessed with success when she eventually put the phone down. She looked at me, then at Hardy. ‘Julie says that she hasn’t seen Pete since the day before yesterday. He told her he’d had a visitor but wouldn’t say who. Whatever happened really upset Pete. Julie says she’s never seen him in such a state. Then he packed a small bag and left. He told Julie that he’d be back in a few days. She’s ever so worried, because it’s so out of character.’

  ‘It sounds to me as if the body must be this man Firth,’ Hardy said when Eve had finished. ‘Now, would you mind telling me exactly what is going on? Johnny here says you’ve got involved in another investigation. I’d have thought you’d fight shy of them, after your previous experiences.’

  ‘We didn’t set out to investigate anything,’ I protested. ‘And as far as I’m concerned, we still aren’t investigating. All we agreed to was a request from a friend of Eve’s, who wanted to find someone.’

  ‘What sort of someone?’

  ‘We were asked to try and find a dead man.’

  ‘By the sound of it, I’d say you’ve been remarkably successful, wouldn’t you? I assume you mean this man Crowther?’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  Johnny smiled. ‘Shotgun certificate! I wasn’t at liberty to say,’ he added by way of explanation.

  Between us, Eve and I took Hardy through the whole story, stressing our concerns regarding the findings becoming public knowledge.

  Before they left, Hardy said he was going to look into the original findings to try and determine how the body in the Tyne had been identified as Gerry Crowther. He also got me to promise to visit the mortuary the following morning, to try to help identify Firth’s body.

  Although Charlie later tried to pump us for information, Eve and I resisted his pleas.

  Next morning I set off for Thorsby Hospital mortuary to meet a constable and view the corpse.

  ‘I shouldn’t be away that long,’ I told Eve, ‘I feel sure it will only be a formality, sadly.’

  I was getting to be really good at making rash statements I couldn’t justify. Contrary to my prediction, it was early afternoon when I returned to Eden House. My mind was filled with questions. Unfortunately, it was empty of answers. Before I could attempt to search for solutions, I had to answer Eve’s queries, and settle her concerns.

  ‘Where on earth have you been? I’ve been ever so worried.’

  ‘Sorry, darling, it took longer than I anticipated.’

  ‘Why was that? I thought it would be a formality. I even rang the mortuary, and they said you left ages ago.’

  ‘I had to go see Hardy afterwards. That wasn’t planned.’

  ‘But why? Was it Firth’s body? Was he the victim?’

  I hesitated before replying, knowing there was no easy way to answer. ‘No, it wasn’t. It was Steve Thompson.’

  Eve looked astounded, much as I imagined I must have looked earlier when I saw the corpse. ‘That doesn’t make sense. Hardy told us the car was stolen in Leeds, and Thompson lives in Newcastle.’

  ‘Lived,’ I corrected her.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody pedantic. What on earth was Thompson doing stealing a car in Leeds?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

  ‘And where is Pete Firth?’

  I could think of no better answer than my previous one.

  Having got the identification, and with the information we’d supplied, the police were able to piece together most of Thompson’s movements from the time he left home until his death. We learned about it the following day, when we received a visit from Johnny Pickersgill, who provided explanations – in return for copious amounts of tea.

  ‘It seems that Thompson told his wife he had to go to Leeds on business, as he put it. He went by train, we think, and returned the following day in a car he told her he’d hired. She said he mooched around the house all that day, and eventually, after a sleepless night, announced that he was going to see “that author bloke”.’ Pickersgill grinned. ‘I suppose that means you. That was the last she saw of him.’

  ‘We still don’t know why he went to Leeds, unless it was to see Firth,’ Eve suggested.

  Pickersgill shook his head. ‘We’re still not sure. However, DS Middleton informed us that during the house-to-house enquiries after the Jimmy Mitchell murder, one of Mitchell’s neighbours reported talking to a man answering Thompson’s description a couple of days ago. When she told him what had happened to Mitchell, she said he went as white as a sheet.’

  ‘So you think Thompson learned what had happened to Mitchell then went to see Pete Firth and nicked the car to get back home? Then after he thought over what he’d been told he decided to come and see us, is that it?’ Eve asked.

  ‘That’s our belief, yes.’

  Despite this, I was left with some big unanswered queries. Why had Thompson gone to visit Mitchell? And what had been said between Thompson and Firth that had them both spooked? Above all, where had Firth disappeared to and why? All valid questions, none of them answerable.

  We debated long and hard whether or not to tell Gerry and Sheila about Thompson’s murder. By ‘we’, I meant Eve and I. The discussion took place when we were alone, with Charlie and Trudi watching an American cop show on TV. ‘We have to tell him. We must make sure he knows the danger,’ I told her.

  ‘What if it sends him back into his shell? What
if he runs away again? I don’t think we should put Sheila through that a second time.’

  ‘Having met her, I don’t believe she’d let that happen. As I remember, she didn’t have any choice in the matter before.’

  ‘I still think it’s wrong.’

  ‘Look at it this way, Eve, there’s been no threat against Crowther. The violence has occurred because people were about to talk to us. That sounds to me as if someone is trying to cover up past crimes rather than attack Gerry.’

  ‘If people were killed to stop them talking to us, how come Neville Wade is unharmed?’

  I looked at Eve, and saw the same thought had occurred to her even as she spoke. I glanced at the clock. ‘It’s too late to call him now. The surgery will be closed. I’ll phone him in the morning.’

  ‘If Wade has been left alone, I guess that means he doesn’t know anything incriminating,’ she suggested.

  ‘That sounds logical, and I’ll go further. I believe Mitchell and Thompson might have been the men Julie saw that night on the bridge. They might have been the ones who mistook Carl Long for Crowther, knocked him on the head, and dumped him in the Tyne.’

  ‘But why? They wouldn’t do that, surely? They must have known it would be the end for Northern Lights.’

  ‘True, but if they were paid enough, or coerced into doing it, that might have taken precedence over their music career. Let’s face it, the industry is a very uncertain one.’

  ‘Coerced, in what way?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but I remember something Julie Firth said about Mitchell. Julie would have been what, seventeen or eighteen at the time?’

  ‘No more than that,’ Eve agreed.

  ‘She told us she went out with Mitchell once, but that she was too old for him. Thinking back to that era, many of the fans would be under the age of consent. If someone had proof that Mitchell and Thompson had been with underage girls, they would have been ripe for blackmail.’

  ‘That’s disgusting, but having met Thompson, I wouldn’t have put it past him, and Mitchell’s reputation was less than savoury, as I recall, without what Julie said. You may be right about their sexual habits, but they weren’t who Julie saw on the riverbank.’