Her father had gone to speak with Toby. May as well admit to killing Jez, too, he’d told Ewing. Then the whole sorry mess could be closed for good. Why prolong the agony for everyone? He had caused enough heartache.
And so, in due course, Toby Ewing confessed to running down Jez Riordan. It was easily believed. He did, after all, have a strong motive. She had taken control of his life and had driven him to kill four people and beat Maggie Hull to death.
This morning, her father, Skip McIntyre and Jimmy Ewing completed the sale of Harbinson Fine Foods to a French food manufacturer. Ironically, The Moondreams album, The Food of Love re-entered the charts more than fifty years after its release. Recent publicity surrounding the band’s story had sparked interest in the musical tour de force.
She hardly noticed the traffic moving on ahead of her. Her foot pressed lightly on the accelerator and the Range Rover moved forwards smoothly.
CHAPTER 66
Saturday, 27 April 1968.
Anne Gibson could scarcely breathe. She longed for fresh cool air, but she didn’t want to miss a beat. Jammed next to her was her friend, Beverly, trying her best to sway in time with the music, but that necessitated everyone else swaying as one, such was the lack of space in The Cavern. The room was a hive of noise, laughter and music, thumping bass and pounding drums. The place reeked of sweat and damp, cigarette smoke and the odd aromatic notion of weed – sneaked inside more easily than a bottle of beer. This was a night like no other. Nothing of this quality had been seen or heard in this underground temple to musical art since John, Paul, George and Ringo said their goodbyes nearly five years earlier on Saturday, 3 August 1963.
Her cotton skirt was soaked with condensation. It dripped from the ceiling and ran down the brick walls in rivulets. Her hair was soaked and matted, as was Bev’s, and her white blouse had become see-through, not that she cared. No one cared about anything that night except for the sounds coming from the five lads on stage.
Anne was over her brief relationship with Roddy Craig. She knew, just looking at him now, that he was well beyond her reach. He was destined for immortality. His pink ruffle-front shirt was soaked in sweat and open to his waist, his leather trousers looked so tight even on such a slim frame, but nothing could detract from the sensual voice. She could tell that every girl in the room was feeling the same attraction. Her brother Paul was lost somewhere in his musical zone, some parallel world that gave him strange powers over his guitar. Anne was so proud of him at that moment. Eddie, Skip and Jimmy seemed to relish the occasion, more so than Paul and Roddy. Skip, though, looked nervous at times, especially since the electrics had fused because of the dampness on stage. Eddie had already suffered a mild shock from one of the microphones.
All of them looked every inch a rock superstar. Anne had witnessed them recording their songs in the studio at Abbey Road. In time, they would surpass the Stones and maybe even the Fab Four. Everyone was saying so.
The crowds outside in Mathew Street peeled away as the lucky few who had savoured this final show swarmed from The Cavern, their ears filled with the haunting sounds of The Daring Night, the last song The Moondreams would ever play live in Liverpool and, as it turned out, would play anywhere.
When bodies had cooled in the night air and clothes had somehow dried, leaving the tell-tale and unsavoury aroma of The Cavern Club, the five Moondreams found their way to The Grapes where band manager Tony Walker had set up a small private area for them to unwind. A few close friends joined the celebration. Anne had brought Beverley along, she hoping to get closer to Roddy, although Anne knew she didn’t stand a chance of anything more than a one-night stand. Paul had Eleanor in tow, she already stoned and egging her boyfriend to catch up. Jimmy and Molly were both quickly drunk but with eyes only for each other. Tony and Skip chatted quietly in a corner, both supping pints of bitter like any Liverpool lads on a Saturday night.
That left Eddie Harbinson who was throwing double vodkas down his neck as if he had a point to prove. Anne watched him turn down advances from three delicious young girls, all eager to spend a night with a pop star and quite willing to give up their bodies. But Eddie showed little interest and soon was joined at the bar by Skip who had abandoned Tony, a man likely to be going home with a young lad who’d been hanging around him all evening. Anne wondered what the press would make of it all.
She kissed her brother goodnight, while a desperate Beverley threw her arms around Roddy. He was hardly in any state to notice. He managed to kiss her and peel her off his body at the same time. In an instant, he was in the embrace of another girl as Anne grabbed Beverley’s hand and pulled her away. There was no point in prolonging her agony. After waving a final goodnight to Paul, she and Beverley sucked in the cool air as they meandered through the town, high on their laughter and happy for the night they had experienced.
It was well into the early hours when the band toppled into a quieter, near-deserted Mathew Street. Eleanor Riordan steadied herself on the arm of Molly. All other female company had somehow dispersed, leaving the lads to wander the streets just as they had done a year earlier when their lives were less complicated and more private than they now were. But fresh air, alcohol, weed and whatever pills had been downed made a sorry concoction for the members of The Moondreams. All but one of them would forever regret playing The Cavern one last time.
CHAPTER 67
Early hours of Sunday, 28 April 1968.
‘We should record that.’
‘What?’
‘Ferry Across the Mersey,’ Eddie slurred gleefully, watching his best mate Skip McIntyre standing by the quayside singing for all he was worth. ‘It could be like a signature tune for us.’
‘Fuck off!’ said Paul. ‘We don’t need any bloody signature tune. Certainly not a song written by some other loser. Isn’t that right, mate?’
Roddy managed to look up briefly from the pool of vomit he was at that moment depositing on the bonnet of a Ford Zephyr.
‘Ugh?’
‘I said we don’t need any songs written by losers. We can write our own signature tunes.’
‘Just thought it would be good for us since we come from Birkenhead.’
Paul, rocking on his feet and holding a bottle of Black Label in his hand, scoffed at Eddie’s suggestion. He had never been a sociable drunk. He tended toward aggressive. Skip was still singing to the heavens, casting his voice over the dark river in a futile attempt to reach the town of his birth. Jimmy was between the clutches of both Molly and Eleanor, all three trying their best to keep each other on their feet. Eddie’s heart raced. He had been fearing this moment for weeks, but he knew there were things to be said. It was such bad timing, with all of them being either drunk or stoned. But he could not let the moment pass. He had to tell Paul how he felt.
Paul, however, was first to blow off steam.
‘Me and Roddy make the decisions on what we record, not you, Eddie.’
‘We’re a band, Paul. I thought we all had a say in what we do.’
‘Bollocks! The rest of you are nothing without me and Roddy. Isn’t that right, mate?’ Paul turned to Roddy who was hardly aware of anything never mind contributing to the angry exchange.
‘The Moondreams are my band, Paul,’ said Eddie. ‘I started it with Jimmy and Skip in my dad’s factory. It was us who asked you and Roddy to join the band.’
Suddenly, Paul was standing face to face with Eddie, both men breathing heavily and eye-balling one another.
‘So fucking what? You three are nowt without me and Roddy. Who writes the songs, eh? You think I can’t get another bass player? Two-a-fucking-penny, mate! Same goes for drums and organ.’
He spat his words in Eddie’s face. Skip stopped singing and made his way over. Roddy had somehow taken in what was being said. Paul and Eddie weren’t finished.
‘Not all the songs,’ Eddie shouted back in Paul’s face.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The Daring Night is my song, Paul. I w
rote it and brought it to you and Roddy.’
‘No, you bloody didn’t! You brought me a few lines and a riff. I wrote the song, made it what it is.’
‘You’re fucking lying, Paul. You know it’s mine, and you and Roddy took credit for it. I’m not even listed in the credits on the record. You fucking stole it!’
Paul grabbed Eddie by the collar of his shirt and pulled tight. Eddie caught hold of Paul’s hair. Suddenly, Jimmy broke away from the girls and rushed towards them. Then Skip joined in. The pair danced around each other and drew closer to the edge of the quay.
‘Come on, lads,’ said Skip. ‘Leave it alone. We can talk about it tomorrow. Don’t spoil our last night.’
Eleanor tugged at Paul’s sleeve, but the guitarist continued to fume. Molly tried to pull Jimmy away from the fracas. But the scuffle continued.
‘I’ll fucking kill you!’ Paul shouted.
‘You’re out of the band, Paul!’ Eddie yelled back.
Somehow, Roddy had staggered over to join in the row. Jimmy had his arms around Eddie in a bear hug, trapping his arms and trying to pull him away from Paul. Roddy attempted the same by reaching for Paul.
‘Come on, Paul, calm down will ya.’
‘Stay out of it, Roddy. This bastard needs to know who’s boss in this band.’
The girls screamed at the guys to stop. Paul jerked himself away from Eddie and as he broke free, he spun around and pushed Roddy hard in the chest. The singer was unsteady on his feet. He stumbled backwards. He was too close to the edge of the quay. In a fleeting second, he dropped from sight.
The girls screamed in panic.
‘Roddy!’ Skip yelled, stepping to the edge and peering into the darkness of the river.
Jimmy still had a hold of Eddie. Paul, standing alone in the space he’d made for himself, looked bewildered by what had just happened.
The entire group called out for Roddy. Their shouts were met only by silence.
‘Roddy!’ Paul cried out. ‘Come on, mate. I didn’t mean it.’ He looked in desperation at the others. ‘It was an accident. I didn’t mean to… he just let go of me.’
Skip ran off to fetch help. Those who remained by the quayside gazed forlornly into darkness. As the minutes slipped by, it became clear that Roddy was not going to make it out of the river.
Fifteen minutes felt like an age before a car braked to a halt and Tony and Skip got out. There was nothing to be seen but the look of helplessness on the faces of all who stood by the edge of the quay.
‘He’s gone, Tony,’ said Eddie. ‘Can’t even see his body.’
‘What do we do, Tony?’ Jimmy asked.
‘We’ll have to call the police,’ he replied.
Paul looked pleadingly at the band’s manager, tears and snot covered his face.
‘I didn’t mean it, Tony, I swear. I just pushed him away from me and he fell.’
‘It’s all right, Paul,’ said Tony. ‘I’ll take care of it. Nobody needs to know what happened.’
Tony looked at the others for signs of protest. No one said a word in opposition. Eddie and Paul, tempers cooled, could only stare at each other in disbelief. Molly and Eleanor sobbing in each other’s arms were comforted by Jimmy.
‘We should get the hell out of here,’ said Tony, already weary of gazing into the river.
‘I didn’t mean it,’ Paul continued to say, looking at the others for understanding.
‘It was an accident, Paul,’ said Eddie. ‘Roddy was stoned. Nobody’s fault.’
‘Remember,’ said Tony, ‘not a word. He just fell in, OK? I’ll take care of everything.’
Paul reached out for Eleanor and she fell into his arms. Tony suggested that Paul and Eleanor travel in the car with him. As the car sped away, the others walked briskly from the quayside.
In the light of the morning, Tony Walker reported to police that Roddy was missing. A few hours later, the body was sighted by the crew on the Mersey ferry. Roddy Craig was dead and so, too, was the life of The Moondreams.
Also featuring Detective Tara Grogan
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A tough young Detective Inspector tackles a case that rakes up a past she’d rather forget.
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THE DARING NIGHT Page 23