Vanishing Act

by Bill Kitson

  Hardy didn’t miss the implication. ‘Someone?’

  Eve explained about Melissa Norton and told Hardy about the missing security men. ‘It sounds as if another of your theories has been proved accurate,’ Hardy remarked. ‘If you keep this up I’ll be out of a job. Now, I want to have a word with that producer chap. I’m going to try and get our people scattered around the first few rows, close to the aisles if we can.’

  As he walked away, one of the many assistant producers summoned me. ‘We need everyone who is appearing in the show to be in their dressing rooms. They’ll be letting the audience in soon, and we need you for make-up and stage clothes.’

  ‘It’s like Sunday Night at the London Palladium,’ Eve told me as I kissed her. ‘Be careful, Adam. There could still be danger, and we still don’t know what Kendall looks like.’

  Along with the rest of the performers, having left the auditorium, we were in effect sequestered. It was of some comfort that the venue’s security officers were on duty. This would prevent any unauthorised person from getting backstage. The disadvantage of that was that it also excluded Hardy and his officers.

  As I approached the dressing room I was sharing with the compère and Crowther, Lew Pattison emerged from the one next to it, which I knew was Trudi’s. He confirmed that Trudi was OK, and that she currently having her hair done, supervised by Sheila.

  I told him that Hardy and his colleagues were in the audience and repeated what the inspector had told us. ‘It would be useful if they had a more up to date description of Kendall to work with.’

  Pattison shrugged. ‘There was nothing unusual in his appearance, as I recall. You have to bear in mind that it’s almost twenty years since I last saw him, and even then it was only an occasional meeting. About the only thing I can remember is what I think Gerry’s already told you, the fact that Kendall was losing his hair rapidly. By now he must be completely bald, I guess.’

  ‘Will you remind Hardy of that when you go out front, it could prove useful.’

  ‘Of course, and speaking of that, I’d better be going. I want to have words with Melissa if and when she arrives.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll turn up?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea. I still can’t believe her capable of doing what’s she’s supposed to have done, so heaven knows if she’ll have the nerve to show her face. Unless she thinks we haven’t cottoned on to her. I’m not even sure what possessed her to ally herself with Kendall.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s in love with him.’

  ‘Melissa? I suppose it is possible, but to the best of my knowledge, she didn’t have much to do with Northern Lights, and her only contact with them was in the latter stages, just before Gerry disappeared.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘Melissa didn’t join the firm until then. She came to us straight from leaving school.’

  ‘But that means Kendall would have already left the group, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but what’s your point?’

  ‘How did she meet him? How did they get together if he was no longer on the scene?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, and we can’t very well ask her point blank, can we?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  Pattison was about to leave when I remembered a question that had been puzzling me for some time. ‘Do you have any idea how Robbie Roberts got the money to set up that music magazine? We had him down as prime suspect for long enough, until we worked out that the dates didn’t fit.’

  Pattison looked a trifle sheepish. ‘Actually, I should have said. I lent him the money. He came to me after he left the group and instead of ranting and raving like the others had, he put the business proposition to me. I thought it worthwhile gambling on, and by heavens he’s proved me right. Robbie is a very shrewd operator, and what he doesn’t know about business isn’t worth knowing. I’ve had an excellent return on that investment and a couple of others he brought me too. He’s coming to the concert. He and his wife will be sitting with Alice and me, so I’ll introduce you later. He’s the only one I can think of, apart from Neville Wade, who doesn’t bear Gerry a grudge.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  As the opening music faded and the compère walked out on stage and began to introduce the opening act, a highly popular dance troupe, I listened to the announcement that was piped throughout the corridors by various speakers, before entering the dressing room. I walked into the aftermath of what I guessed had been a blazing row. I hadn’t realized from my earlier brief inspection of the room that there was a connecting door to that occupied by Trudi, but Sheila had obviously found it, and she and Trudi were now confronting Crowther. The atmosphere was tense, almost visibly so.

  Although there was silence, I guessed it had only been the sound of me opening the door that had put an end to the words that had been exchanged. All three turned and looked at me, and from their expressions I could see my interruption was less than welcome. ‘Something wrong?’ I asked. Working that out hadn’t taken rocket science.

  The atmosphere, if anything, got even icier. It was some seconds before my innocuous question provoked a response. ‘Stage fright,’ Sheila told me tersely. ‘Gerry has chosen this night above all others to develop a phobia about appearing in public. It never used to worry him.’

  Crowther looked at me, whether because he was appealing for help or because he couldn’t look Sheila or Trudi in the eye, I wasn’t sure. ‘I can’t do it,’ he tried to explain. ‘I thought it would be OK, but I’ve been away too long.’

  ‘You’re not the only one,’ I pointed out. ‘I’ve not been away as long as you, admittedly, but all my previous TV appearances were done without a large audience, any audience.’ A random memory prompted my next remark, which in some bizarre way lightened the mood. ‘Unless you count the news report I did surrounded by a couple of hundred goats and a dozen camels. Seriously, Gerry, if you don’t do it tonight, you never will be able to do it. And if you don’t appear this evening there’s a strong chance those responsible for the murders will get away with it and you’ll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. You owe it to a lot of people to appear in this concert. To the victims and those close to them, to Lew Pattison and the TV people who have shown faith in you, but most of all to Sheila, to Trudi, and to yourself. Ask yourself this, Gerry, if Trudi was to have a little brother or sister, you’d want them to grow up to be proud of their father, wouldn’t you?’

  Sheila was watching Crowther carefully, and saw the bemused expression on his face at the notion of fatherhood. ‘Why not, Gerry? We’re not past it by any means, and I feel sure Trudi would like the idea.’

  ‘Dad, I am already proud of you,’ Trudi told him. ‘Proud of your courage, and the sacrifice you made for Mum and me, even though you didn’t know me. It must have been a heart-breaking decision, to have to turn your back on everything you loved. To forego your music, tear yourself away from Mum, and forfeit all hope of watching your family grow. That was a brave and selfless act, and I cannot imagine how lonely and scared you must have felt, but it didn’t deter you. Tonight, you won’t be alone. I will be on stage with you, and so will Adam, and Mum will be in the wings right alongside you for extra support.’

  Crowther smiled ruefully. ‘Or to make sure I don’t do a runner?’

  ‘Anyway, I have some good news. Hardy and his men are here. They’ve identified the villains and we think they know the game’s up, so it’s unlikely they’ll risk coming anywhere near.’

  Between us we coaxed and cajoled Gerry into a better frame of mind. He took a deep breath and told Sheila, ‘I will not run the risk of losing either you or Trudi again. I don’t care what it costs, I will go on stage tonight. As long as you’re there to hold my hand.’

  ‘I’ll be there, Gerry. Tonight, and always,’ Sheila assured him.

  We had been subjected to the ministrations of the make-up artist and donned our stage clothes when, during the first interval, the producer came to our dressing ro
om. He explained that the delay was to change scenery, and was scheduled to coincide with an advert break when the show went out. ‘I want to ask a favour of you,’ he told Crowther, ‘and Adam can help too. When Adam does his big announcement, I want one of the cameras to pick out the old members of the group and provide close-ups of their reactions. To do that I need the cameraman to know where they are seated. Will you come onstage and point them out for us?’

  Crowther looked terrified at the prospect, but the producer reassured him. ‘You won’t be visible to the audience. All they will see is the camera lens poking through the gap in the curtain, and I very much doubt if they’ll notice that. You’ll be able to view them through the camera monitor.’

  ‘Adam may be more use than me. I haven’t seen any of them for years, apart from Neville Wade.’

  ‘I’ve only met Firth. However, I do know where Roberts will be sitting.’

  We all went onstage, where the cameraman was already waiting for us. Crowther stood to one side of the technician, whilst I peered at the monitor from the other side. As he panned the first few rows of the audience, I picked out Roberts almost at the same time as Crowther exclaimed, ‘That big guy with the floral bow tie, I bet that’s Robbie Roberts.’

  I looked at the man who was seated alongside Alice Pattison. ‘I think you’re right. Lew said he would be with them. And look one row back, Gerry, that’s Pete Firth.’ As I pointed him out I added, ‘You might recognize the woman with him. That’s his wife, Julie, who you knew as Julie Solanki.’

  ‘She’s wearing well, a lot better than Pete, but then she was always a good-looking girl.’

  That remark earned him a sharp dig in the ribs from Sheila. Crowther grinned ruefully, and resumed his inspection of the audience. ‘There’s Nev,’ he said, gesturing to the image on the screen. The producer made another note on the pad he was carrying, and as he did, I noticed Melissa Norton in the second row. Alongside her was a man of around Crowther’s age, although it was difficult to assess how old he was, because he was completely bald. ‘Is that Tony Kendall?’ I indicated the figure in the centre of the monitor.

  ‘I very much doubt it, unless he’s had plastic surgery. The shape of his face is all wrong. What made you think it was him, the lack of hair?’

  ‘That and the woman he’s sitting with. That’s Melissa Norton, Lew’s secretary.’

  Crowther looked a second time, ‘Oh yes, so it is. I remember her vaguely.’

  I smiled, wondering if he was trying to avoid another blow to the ribs. However, our failure to identify Kendall in the audience concerned me slightly. Despite what Hardy had said, and our own earlier thoughts, the fact that Melissa Norton was there suggested that Kendall might also be desperate enough to risk appearing at the concert. There was little time to reflect on this, however, because we were ushered back to our dressing room. My mind was almost exclusively occupied by what I intended to say as I straightened my bow tie. Crowther looked much less formal. His attire was a pair of black jeans and T-shirt, over which he would slip the Buddy Holly jacket just before going on stage.

  I had chance for a quick word with the compère before he went back to introduce the next act. I’d noticed when we looked through the camera monitor that Eve’s seat was vacant. ‘Do me a favour. See if there’s a redhead sitting in the aisle seat on row three, will you?’

  He eyed me with world-weary suspicion. ‘I suppose that means you’ve got plans for her tonight?’

  ‘I hope so. She’s my fiancée.’

  ‘Oh, OK, I’ll check.’

  He returned a few minutes later, having announced the duo we’d heard rehearsing earlier. He gave me the thumbs-up sign. I relaxed, knowing that if Eve had resumed her seat, everything out front must be OK. All too soon for my liking we were summoned to the side of the stage. As we stood waiting in the wings, one of the many stagehands touched my arm and beckoned me away from the glare of the footlights, where even the most sensitive of microphones wouldn’t be able to pick up our whispered conversation. ‘A woman gave me this note to pass to you.’

  He passed me slip of paper, accompanying the gesture with a salacious grin that suggested he knew exactly what was going on. I sighed wearily. ‘I suppose that means I’ll have to take her to bed again tonight. Honestly, some women are insatiable. The price of fame, I suppose. I guess I’ll just have to marry her.’

  I saw his look of surprise and dismay and turned away, both to read the note and hide my smile. I opened the paper and all humour vanished as I read what Eve had sent me. ‘M denies cancelling guards. She says JL asked her to deliver tickets. She gave them to young girl.’ She’d signed it with three kisses. Eve, it appeared, was becoming sentimental. Suddenly, although we were only a few yards apart, I missed her, and wanted her beside me.

  I returned to the side of the stage, pondering what I’d learned, and whether to tell Gerry or Sheila that the mole inside Pattison’s company was Judith Lane and not Melissa Norton. As I pondered my decision, I suddenly recalled the label on the Mystery Minstrel’s record. The composers had been named as “A & J Deva.” Anthony and Judith, from Chester. The clue had been there all along, staring us in the face, but none of us had the wit to work it out.

  I was still mentally kicking myself for my stupidity when Crowther touched my arm. He leant over and whispered, ‘Look at the far side of the auditorium. Three rows back, near the side aisle there’s a blonde woman. The man sitting alongside her could well be Kendall, were it not for the fact that this bloke has a full head of hair.’

  I looked across and located the woman. I gasped slightly. It was Judith Lane. At that point I knew why no one had recognized Kendall. ‘Was he very self-conscious about his hair loss?’ I asked.

  Crowther smiled slightly. ‘You could say so. I remember him buying all sorts of weird preparations to try and restore it. Some of them stank to high heaven, but none of them did any good.’ He stopped suddenly and peered at me. ‘Is that what you think? That he’s either had a hair transplant or that’s a toupee? It would be just the sort of thing he would do.’

  I nodded, then looked round for someone to pass the message to Eve, or to DI Hardy, but even as I did so, the song came to an end, and the audience began to applaud as the duo took their bows, preparing to leave the stage. It was too late. Allowing only time for a swift scene change, Trudi would be summoned any second now, and Crowther would be stationed behind his keyboard. Both of them in vulnerable positions for someone desperate enough to harm them. Worse than that, they were defenceless, and short of stopping the show to warn Hardy, there was nothing I could do to protect them.

  To my side I spotted the stagehand and grabbed him by the arm. ‘This is urgent,’ I whispered. ‘The redhead who gave you the note.’ He nodded. ‘Go to her now and tell her end of row K. She must tell Hardy. Have you got that? Row K, tell Hardy.’ He looked thoroughly confused but nodded again. ‘Go on then, now!’ I urged.

  I’d already heard the producer telling one of his assistants that because they were behind schedule they would have to insert the final ad break afterwards. All too soon the curtain was down, the stage re-set, and the lights went up again. The backdrop had changed, to display a set of twinkling bright lights scattered in a haphazard pattern through a swirl of green haze. I guessed it was the set designer’s attempt to reproduce the Aurora Borealis. Someone, in the production team, I thought, had a weird sense of humour.

  There was no time to dwell on this, because the compère was already centre stage and beginning to introduce Trudi. I forgot everything that had gone on. My only task now was to concentrate on what I was going to say when my turn came to walk out there.

  I knew that Trudi was going to sing a medley of her previous recordings, after which I would go on and introduce Crowther. After that, he would play the Mystery Minstrel hit, and she would close the show with the song Gerry had composed for her. It would be ten minutes or so before I had to walk out there. Never has ten minutes passed so slowly.

&
nbsp; At last, the music died away, and I waited for the applause to die down before walking to the centre of the stage. Trudi turned and welcomed me with a warm smile. Any resemblance to the shy youngster who had been staying with us was gone. The moment she had walked on that stage she had donned the invisible cloak that all great entertainers wear, the air of a true professional. I kissed her lightly on both cheeks in the entertainment industry manner, which made her giggle slightly. Then I turned to the audience as she retired to stand alongside her father in the shadows. I unhitched the microphone.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ‘Good evening. My name is Adam Bailey. The reason I’m here on this stage tonight is to tell you a story. A story that not only involves Trudi, but one that has had a massive influence on her young life. Some of you in the audience may know parts of what I’m about to reveal, but very few of you know it all. I feel sure there are those of you watching who might have been puzzled by the producer’s choice of the Aurora Borealis as a backdrop for Trudi’s performance. The reason for that will soon become clear.’

  I was aware, subliminally, of a slight restless movement in one or two of those sitting in the front rows, and knew that certain members of the audience had already made a connection, albeit without knowing what I was about to reveal.

  ‘My story begins in the 1960s, before Trudi was born.’ As I spoke, I risked a glance into the audience, and was relieved to see that Eve was still in her seat. She looked nervous, which for some strange reason relaxed me. ‘At that time a young and highly talented musician was beginning to make a name for himself and his group within the booming British pop industry. They were tipped for huge international stardom. The man I am describing was far more than a talented performer. His ability stretched beyond his singing, beyond the instrument he played so well. In addition to these, he was a superb composer and songwriter. Although the many well-known temptations for pop stars were strewn in his path, he ignored them. He preferred to remain true to the girl he loved, the girl who had been his childhood sweetheart.’