by Bill Kitson
I watched them mull over my point of view, but was unable to gauge how well I’d put it over, so I continued, ‘I think if we plan our campaign carefully and avoid mentioning any names in the early stages, we will actually provide more protection rather than exposing anyone to risk. In addition to everything else, I’m fairly certain they’re unaware that Gerry’s still alive, and in any event the idea that they might have been found out is sure to stop them taking further action. If they’re unsure how much we know, anything that could tip their hand would be far too risky.’
‘How do you plan to go about it?’ Crowther asked. It seemed strange that he, of all people, was most receptive to the idea. I had expected him to be hardest to convince. ‘I mean, if you don’t mention names, it will hardly be of interest, will it?’
I explained in detail. When I’d finished, Crowther looked at Sheila for reassurance, and when I saw her nod, I knew I’d converted the two people most affected by the plan. Naturally enough, Eve wasn’t as easily satisfied. ‘Do you have anyone in mind for the job?’ she asked. ‘I’d hate it to appear having been mishandled by some of the gutter press.’
‘I was thinking about Paul Faulkner.’ I saw her eyes widen with surprise, and knew I was almost there. ‘Paul is an old friend, and I know he’s also an avid fan of pop music. This is just the sort of story he would love to write.’
Inevitably, it was Eve who threw a spanner in the works, even if it was only a temporary show-stopper. ‘Before we do anything, ought we not to discuss what we’re planning to do with Lew Pattison? He doesn’t even know about the copyright theft, and I for one don’t think we ought to proceed without an expert opinion.’
Crowther looked at me, as if urging me to contest the issue, but I wasn’t about to do so. The logic and common sense in Eve’s remarks was unarguable.
Having acceded to Eve’s suggestion, our next problem was arranging a meeting with Pattison. This time, our luck was in. Alice explained to Eve that she and Lew were planning on visiting us anyway. As Eve reported, ‘Lew got back yesterday, and next weekend he wants to go to Harrogate to arrange something. It’s to do with Trudi, but Alice wasn’t sure exactly what “it” is. Anyway, Lew suggested to her that they come and visit us at the same time, so I said, yes, why not. Maybe we could do Sunday lunch. That would make it perfect. Here, in private, we could bring Lew up to speed on everything.
We told the others. ‘Ooh, that’ll be about my concert,’ Trudi said, her excited expression reminding me yet again how young she was. She explained, ‘The TV people want to do a special concert and I’m going to be one of the acts. I think they’re planning on showing it at Christmas.’
Fortunately, Sunday was warm, dry, and sunny, perfect for our plans for alfresco dining. My stint in Africa had given me a liking for food cooked over a fire pit, and although the British climate gave few opportunities for barbecues, this summer had enabled us to take advantage of the good weather on several occasions.
As I had been placed in charge of cooking, Eve and Sheila were busy preparing salad, dips, and dessert, while Charlie acted as my assistant, not too onerous a task. Trudi volunteered to take the role of waitress, leaving her father the job of barman.
There was ample opportunity during the cooking process to bring Lew and Alice up to date with our discovery of the copyright theft. At one point Charlie and Crowther escorted them into the study to listen to the record I’d bought.
On his return, I asked Pattison what he thought. ‘I remember thinking at the time what a shame it was to have spoiled such good tunes by getting a second-rate musician to record them. I assumed he or she must have been the songwriter, otherwise the record label would have insisted on somebody better.’
I chuckled. ‘That was pretty much what Gerry said, but put it down to wounded pride. What you will be able to tell us far more accurately than anyone else, Lew, is how much they might have made from those records.’
‘That’s anyone’s guess. It isn’t as simple an equation as royalties on book sales. Every time one of those tunes is played, on a radio station for example, the composers are entitled to a small fee. The amounts may be tiny, but it’s surprising how they add up. Tunes like those, that were so popular in their day, keep on getting played, as you discovered recently.’
‘You must have some idea though, Lew,’ Alice prompted him. ‘Is it thousands, or hundreds of thousands?’
‘The four Mystery Minstrel tunes all got to number one in Britain, and two of them reached the American top ten, I seem to recall. So I’d say you could be looking well into seven figures by now, possibly eight.’
I hadn’t been giving Pattison lessons in how to stun an audience to silence. He didn’t seem in need of teaching. He had a natural talent for it.
We had set up a table on the lawn, and as we ate, Pattison told us more about the concert that was to feature Trudi Bell. ‘The show should have been in the can long ago, but the recording has had to be postponed a couple of times because the comedian who is down to act as compère has been ill. However, the TV company have signed up a stand-in, so if he can’t make the next date, they’ll go ahead without him. Which means, young lady,’ he smiled at Trudi, ‘that we’re all set to go in three weeks’ time.’
‘Where is the venue?’ Eve asked.
‘The new International Conference Centre in Harrogate, where they held the finals of the Eurovision Song Contest earlier this year.’
Pattison talked to Trudi and her mother about the details of her appearance in the show, and at one point mentioned her new song. ‘This will be the perfect occasion to unveil it,’ he suggested, ‘but I need to be able to talk to you regarding the fine details soon. Do I contact you here?’
‘We should have our phone line installed next week and then we can return to Allerscar,’ Sheila told Pattison. ‘We’ve imposed on Adam and Eve’s hospitality long enough.’
‘Before that happens, Lew, I’ve had an idea how to bring this matter to a head.’ I explained my plan for getting the copyright theft into the public domain, and could see Pattison was in favour of what I proposed.
‘I know from experience,’ Alice added her support, ‘that anyone involved in this sort of crime fears the idea of their misdeeds becoming public more than anything.’
Late that night, as Eve and I were preparing to go to bed, she stopped in the middle of getting undressed. ‘Damn!’ she exclaimed, ‘I forgot to ask Lew about that magazine.’
My attention was on the strip-tease. ‘What magazine?’
‘You remember, the one that guy Roberts founded, Music Magic.’ Eve turned to face me, unhooking her bra as she did so.
‘Oh, that one.’ My mind was still not on magazines, or music tycoons. ‘Ask him later.’
Eve realized the futility of further conversation and gave up the effort.
Getting approval to approach Paul Faulkner had been by no means an easy task. Actually getting to speak to the reporter proved even more difficult. Paul, it appeared, was now so important that the telephonist and secretaries at the newspaper where he worked had obviously been given instructions to act as his gatekeepers, preventing waste of time callers getting through to him.
In the end, following three abortive phone calls, I resorted to subterfuge and a little gentle blackmail. Having stated my name, I added that of the TV channel where I had previously worked. I then explained that if Paul wasn’t interested in the story, I would have to approach another paper. I may have mentioned the name, which was that of their fiercest rivals. Quite accidentally, of course.
I was still uncertain of the outcome when the secretary gave me my opportunity by asking if I could explain what I wanted to speak to Faulkner about. ‘Let me see …’ – I pretended to count – ‘there have been three – no – better make that four murders so far, plus arson, attempted murder, and a giant financial fraud, possibly running into millions.’
There was a long silence, before she uttered the magic words, ‘Hold the line, sir, and I’ll put you through.�
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A few seconds later I heard a couple of clicks, then, ‘Paul Faulkner, who am I speaking to?’
‘Strictly speaking, that should be “to whom am I speaking”, Paul. And the answer is, Adam Bailey.’
‘Adam, trust you to be so bloody pedantic. What’s woken you from your rural slumber? I thought you were out in the wilds, in sheep-shearing country?’
Faulkner was obviously in an open office, otherwise he wouldn’t have cleaned his sentence up.
‘I am, Paul, and if you want the biggest scoop of your failing career, you’ll catch the next train up here.’
As Faulkner had won the most prestigious award in journalism the previous year, the calculated insult made him chuckle. ‘What’s the story, Adam? My secretary gave me a fantastic tale of multiple murders et cetera. Has someone slaughtered Bo Peep and her flock?’
I told him just sufficient to whet his appetite, and it had the desired effect. ‘OK, how do I get there? And where do I stay? Should I bring my own wellies, or is there a hire service?’
Two days later, I drove with Eve across to York to meet Faulkner’s train. Eve had a reservation about involving the journalist in our scheme, but it wasn’t the one I expected. ‘This doesn’t mean you’re hankering after your old life, does it? I’ve heard about seasoned travellers getting itchy feet once they settle down, and let’s face it, Adam, you’ve travelled more than most.’
I would have turned and stared at her in surprise, but that’s hardly the most sensible thing to do when driving through the narrow lanes of our dale. The volume of traffic might not compare with rush hour in London, but then you rarely encounter combine harvesters in the capital.
‘No, of course I’m not, Evie. Why would you think that? I have a lovely home in delightful surroundings. Added to which I now have a beautiful, intelligent, and loving partner. I think I’m as lucky as a man can get. Only a fool would wish to put even a fraction of what I have at risk.’
Having made the declaration, I risked life and limb by casting a swift glance sideways. The quick glimpse I had of the expression on Eve’s face put me in mind of a cat. One from Cheshire.
During her recent shopping expeditions, Eve had discovered to her delight that her favourite café, Betty’s, had a branch in the town. She suggested that we collected Faulkner and took him for afternoon tea. Not that I minded.
‘OK, Adam, you’ve got me up here.’ Paul bit into a choux bun as he spoke, careless of the consequences. He wiped cream from his tie before continuing. ‘The buns are great, but we have confectionery in London, so what’s the story? I don’t think a critical review of Yorkshire patisserie is going to do wonders for the paper’s circulation.’
Before telling him anything, we extracted a promise from Faulkner that he would not allow anything to go into print without first seeking our approval. Between us, Eve and I told him the full story from the moment Pattison came to visit us, omitting only the names of the group, the people involved, and of course Crowther.
‘What we’d like to do, Paul, is take you to our place and introduce you to someone who is directly concerned, and demonstrate to you there and then what this is all about.’
‘OK, why not?’
It was late afternoon when we arrived in Laithbrigg, and as we approached Eden House, Faulkner conceded that he could see the logic in my choosing to live in such delightful surroundings. ‘Apart from the setting, Adam, I couldn’t imagine anywhere further from the rat race, except perhaps the plains of Africa, and I suppose there’s far less risk of being shot at round here.’
‘I wouldn’t put money on that,’ Eve muttered, ‘we seem to do nothing but attract trouble and violence.’
‘I can’t quite work out how Adam persuaded you to join him out in the wilds,’ Faulkner told her. ‘London has so much life.’
‘Put it down to my natural charm.’
The outburst of laughter from the passenger seat was totally unwarranted, I thought.
There was no one in sight when we pulled up in the drive, which concerned me for a moment, but my fears were eased when Charlie opened the front door and waved a greeting. Faulkner looked at Eve’s nephew for a second, before transferring his gaze to the pretty girl standing alongside him. ‘Hang on,’ he exclaimed, ‘isn’t that –’
‘Trudi Bell? Dead right, Paul, and she has a part to play in all this. Now you can understand how newsworthy this story is. Come along inside and we’ll explain further.’
As we entered the building, I told him, ‘By the way, when I was reciting that litany of crimes to your secretary, I forgot to add criminal damage to the list. Believe me, our house doesn’t usually look like this.’
I introduced the reporter to Charlie and Trudi. ‘Is everything set up?’ I asked.
‘Of course, Adam, just the way you asked for it. We’re ready to go when you are.’
We steered Faulkner into the study, with Eve staying a couple of paces behind. She stopped in the entrance, ensuring the door remained wide open. ‘I want you to listen very carefully, Paul,’ I told him. ‘I know you have a decent ear for music, but it is very important that you carry the melody you are about to hear in your mind for the next few minutes, OK?’
I nodded to Eve, who took a couple of paces back into the hall and waved her hand. Seconds later, the house was filled with the sound of an instrumental piece. Even with my limited knowledge, I could tell that the musicianship was superb, the work of a true maestro on the keyboard. When the last note died away, Faulkner was about to speak, but I held up a prohibitive hand, nodding to Charlie at the same time.
I think Charlie was relishing his role as the house DJ, for he placed the stylus on the disc with a flourish, and we listened as the tune was replayed. Hearing the two in such rapid succession, it was easy to tell that the recorded version was vastly inferior to the previous rendition. When it was over, I looked at Faulkner. ‘Well, Paul, what do you think?’
‘It’s obviously the same tune, although the first version was far superior. Isn’t it that hit by the Mystery Minstrel?’
‘Yes, it is, and on the record, the songwriters are identified as A and J Deva. I’ve never heard of them, and I can vouch for the fact that whoever they are, they didn’t write a note of that music. Would you like to meet the man who did? The man who has just played you the better version? The man everyone believed died seventeen years ago? Which, for your information, is three years before that record was released.’
Faulkner nodded, seemingly at a loss for words, which was almost a unique event. Eve stepped out of the room.
‘Prepare yourself for a shock.’ Eve returned right on cue, and as her companions followed, I told Paul, ‘Allow me to introduce Sheila Bell, Trudi’s mother, and the man alongside her is Gerry Crowther, former lead singer and keyboard player of Northern Lights.’ I watched Paul grow more confused. ‘Gerry is the actual composer of the tune you just heard, and he is also Trudi’s father. None of which you can reveal just yet, OK?’
I have to admit that my talent for reducing an audience to stunned silence had never faced a stiffer challenge than that posed by Faulkner. My success was therefore all the sweeter.
Chapter Eighteen
The Admiral Nelson had six letting bedrooms, which were in the form of a terrace of chalets across the car park from the pub itself. I had arranged accommodation for Faulkner there. Despite the popularity of the pub as a bed and breakfast establishment, I’d been lucky enough to secure the last available room. That evening, as we entered the pub, I noticed that there seemed to be quite a lot of young customers in the bar, far more than usual, and many of the faces were unfamiliar to me. The landlord explained. ‘Word seems to have got round about the identity of your famous house guest. Most of the local lads and some from Thorsby and Dinsdale are in here. I’m surprised they haven’t been knocking on your door.’
I was intrigued to see how Trudi dealt with the situation. The solution she came up with was a simple one, and had me smiling with admirat
ion at her ingenuity. As she was approached by first one, then another autograph hunter, Trudi appeared not to notice them. Instead, her attention remained fixed on her companion, as she stared with apparent adoration into his eyes. Immediately she had dealt with the request, sometimes even as she was handing the biro and paper back, she resumed her seemingly intimate conversation with Charlie. Even though he was obviously aware of her strategy, he played along with it. Only when we had entered the relative privacy of the restaurant and took their places at the table did they drop the pretence.
They walked the full length of the bar hand in hand, to the obvious disapproval of Trudi’s followers. Once the dividing door closed behind them, I heard Trudi tell him, ‘Thank you for helping me, Charlie. It can get a bit oppressive. It’s nice to be noticed, but sometimes you don’t need all that attention.’
As we followed them to the table, I noticed that Trudi seemed in no hurry to let go of Charlie’s hand, possibly, as a gesture of thanks, I thought. Nor did Charlie seem in the least upset by the arrangement.
Over dinner, we planned our strategy for going public with our story of the crimes we knew had been committed. Once Faulkner was in possession of all the facts in the case that we knew, I realized that it would be up to him how he wanted to play it. ‘We have to maximise the impact for the readers, without giving it all away in one go,’ he told us. ‘One thing I will have to do even before we start putting the article together is obtain approval from our legal people. That’s a much tougher assignment than it sounds. They’re very twitchy about the paper being sued for libel, because judges seem to enjoy awarding large sums of damages against the media.’
He looked at Crowther. ‘Going from what you told me earlier, I’d say it would be relatively easy to establish the provenance of the sheet music in your safe deposit, especially if it’s signed and sealed. However, even doing that would need some careful arranging. I think we should make sure that when the envelope is opened, we have people present who can vouch for the authenticity of the paperwork and the occasion. In addition, we’d get a staff photographer up from London. Not for pictures that will be printed,’ he added hastily, seeing the look of apprehension on Crowther’s face. ‘Not in the first instance, anyway. But they will be invaluable when you take the case of copyright theft to court, as I assume you will.’
