by Bill Kitson
We had ordered coffee and were contemplating the cream cakes in the Perspex display cabinet when I spotted Jackson. I pointed, and Eve looked round in time to see Pattison’s deputy enter the café.
‘I’m sorry, I got tied up,’ Jackson explained. ‘How can I help? Is it something you prefer not to discuss in our office?’
‘Actually, it’s the other way round. I felt you’d be happier talking in private.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I wanted to ask you about Billy Quinn.’ I waited, conscious that Eve was staring at me in bewilderment.
Not so Jackson, who knew exactly what I was referring to. ‘I’m sorry; I still don’t see the need for secrecy.’
I smiled, understanding his desperate attempt to maintain the pretence of ignorance. ‘I’m talking about your relationship with Billy Quinn. I am right; you and he were lovers, weren’t you?’
The colour drained from Jackson’s face. He stared at me, plainly horror-struck by the allegation. His reaction confirmed my guess even before he spoke. When he did, there was alarm in his expression, but far more potent was the distress. ‘How did you know? How did you find out? Did someone tell you?’
‘You told me, although not in so many words.’ I pointed to his left hand. ‘That ring must be unique. I saw a photo in Pete Firth’s house, among the memorabilia he and Julie had of Northern Lights. I could see someone’s hand resting on Billy’s shoulder, in what was clearly a gesture of affection. The person was wearing that ring.’
Although the extent of my knowledge had shocked him, the knowledge of how I’d come by my deduction seemed to ease his fears. ‘I was worried that someone had talked. I know I shouldn’t be concerned after all this time, and things are different nowadays, but I would still prefer this didn’t become public knowledge. The other members of the group knew about Billy, but not about me. The photo was Billy’s idea. He thought it was a great joke that even though the photo would be used for publicity, he and I would be the only ones who knew the story behind it.’
‘We have no interest in revealing your secret. However, in the light of certain things we’ve been told as we talked to members of the group, we would like you to answer some questions about what happened back then.’
Eve saw the wary expression on Jackson’s face and spoke for the first time. ‘You can trust Adam, Harvey. He means it, and so do I. If he even thought about revealing anything you tell us, he’d have me to answer to.’
I changed the subject slightly. ‘Was Billy very upset when Crowther committed suicide?’
Jackson nodded, the distress returning to his face and his voice. ‘Billy really liked Gerry. Liked and admired him, both as a musician and a person. He was very excited about something he and Gerry were about to start work on, but of course, it never happened. He told me once that Gerry and Neville were the only decent ones in the band, and if Nev could keep it in his pants a bit more, he’d be even nicer. I won’t repeat what he said about the others, not with a lady present. Ladies,’ he added with a self-mocking smile.
‘I can guess what he said by what Neville Wade told us. Did Billy have any idea why Crowther might have killed himself?’
Again there was a long hesitation before Jackson replied. ‘Yes, he did, but I don’t know what it was. All he said was, “there’s something really wicked going on. I wish I could tell you, but it isn’t safe”. That was it.’
‘And you’ve no idea what Billy was referring to?’
‘No, all I knew is that he was extremely worried for Crowther’s safety after he vanished.’ Jackson grimaced. ‘With very good reason as things turned out.’ By the sound of that, Jackson was unaware that there might be a chance of Crowther being alive.
‘Has anyone attempted to use your relationship with Billy to extract information from you, or coerce you in any other way?’ Eve asked. Damned good question, I thought.
‘Blackmail, you mean?’ Jackson shook his head, his anger instantly apparent. ‘No they have not. Nor would I let them. I would not allow anyone to sully his memory in such a sordid way.’
The vehemence of his feelings for Billy Quinn and his protective attitude to his dead lover convinced me that if there was a mole in Pattison Music and Management, it certainly wasn’t Harvey Jackson. I hesitated before asking the next question, mindful that the memory could still be painful. ‘Can you tell us what happened the night Billy died? We’ve heard one or two stories, but it would be nice to get the record straight.’
‘You mean you’ve heard those wicked slanders about Billy going on the pull and getting raped?’ There were tears in Jackson’s eyes, but they were of anger, not sorrow. ‘That’s all they were, rumours without foundation. The worst of it was, I couldn’t contradict them, not without exposing our relationship,’ he hesitated, collecting his thoughts. ‘This is what actually happened. We went out to a nightclub. I suggested it, because I knew Billy was down in the dumps and thought it would cheer him up. I’ll never forgive myself for mentioning the idea. The place we chose was one of our favourites. They were more tolerant to people like us than most pubs and clubs. You have to remember that things were very different in those days.’
Jackson sipped his coffee. ‘Unfortunately, I’d eaten something that gave me an upset stomach. We’d only been in the club a few minutes when I needed the toilet urgently. I can’t recall how long I was gone, maybe a quarter of an hour or so, but when I went back into the bar, Billy was nowhere to be seen.’
The stress in Jackson’s face was plain, but Eve, rested her hand on his and speaking ever so gently, persuaded him to continue with the unacceptable part of his tale. ‘What happened next?’
‘I couldn’t believe that he’d walked out and left me, knowing I was poorly. I mean, it wasn’t as if we’d quarrelled or anything.’ He smiled; a sad, reminiscent expression. ‘We rarely quarrelled, to be fair. I waited and waited, and when he didn’t return, I asked the barman if he’d seen Billy leave.’
He stopped again, as each memory outdid the pain level of the previous one. ‘He told me Billy had got into conversation with a man who walked in soon after I went to the toilet, and that Billy left with him a few minutes before I came back to the bar. He told me the man had his arm around Billy’s shoulder, affectionately, and I’ve never been able to forgive myself for what I thought then. I was insanely jealous, because I thought Billy had met someone else,’ Jackson gulped for breath, but tears ran down his cheeks unheeded. ‘I thought he’d gone off, left me for someone new. I was angry, so angry, and hurt.
‘That was it. That was the last I saw of Billy. It wasn’t until late the next day that Lew got a phone call from the police. It was Lew who told me that Billy’s body had been found in an alleyway near the club. He’d been stabbed and left there amongst all the empty bottles and dustbins.’
‘Did you tell the police all this?’ Eve had taken over the questioning.
‘How could I? It wouldn’t have served any useful purpose. It wouldn’t have changed anything, certainly nothing that mattered to me. Billy was gone, and that was an end to it. I thought of killing myself, but unlike Gerry Crowther, I didn’t have the guts to go ahead with it. Telling people about Billy and me would have only caused them to snigger and say awful things. And of course I would probably have ended up in prison.’
‘Do you think the man Billy left with was the one who killed him?’
‘I suppose he must have been, but I’ve no proof.’
‘Did that barman give you a description?’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t worth anything. He told me he was white, mid-twenties, medium height and build. That description could have fitted millions of men.’
We left soon after that, having assured him again of our absolute discretion. He remained seated, his half-drunk coffee unnoticed in front of him. The expression of sadness and heartbreak in Harvey Jackson’s face will remain with me for a long, long time.
Chapter Fourteen
Following our lar
gely unproductive visit to Pattison’s offices, we felt it was time to pool our meagre store of knowledge. We had learned nothing important there, certainly nothing pertinent to our enquiry. And although we were no nearer a solution, advertising our presence might have set alarm bells ringing. We had achieved nothing – little did we know we still had to reap the whirlwind of our actions.
That evening, Lew and Alice hosted another dinner party, but this time the social atmosphere ended with the dessert. From then on, it was strictly business. We decided to hold what Eve jokingly referred to as a council of war. I pointed out that it would be tricky trying to plan a battle strategy when we’d no idea who the enemy was. The humour in my remark seemed to go right over her head.
‘I’ll leave you to explain what we’re trying to achieve,’ I told her.
Eve eyed me suspiciously. She’s good at that. ‘Why me, when you’re supposed to be the expert? I thought you used to talk for a living?’
‘That was only because my producers hadn’t met you.’
Eve also does a very good line in hostile glares. The one I received was of medium calibre.
She opened the discussion, to which even Trudi and Charlie were included. As chance would have it, this was a good decision.
‘We’re convinced the violent incidents that preceded Gerry’s disappearance stem from someone in, or closely connected to, Northern Lights. If that seems like stating the obvious, what we’re trying to establish is who wanted Gerry dead, and is now desperately trying to cover their tracks by eliminating people who know too much. We think the murders of Mitchell and Thompson were an attempt to prevent them talking to us.’
‘A highly successful attempt, I’d say,’ Alice commented.
‘We thought it would help if Gerry and Lew told us all they can about the people involved in the group. I know we have the notes Lew sent us, but we need more than the factual information. We need the in-depth personal knowledge. Their characters, likes, dislikes, addictions, even seemingly trivial things that might be without apparent relevance.’
‘And we’re talking about the victims as well as the survivors,’ I added. ‘Their personal traits could be equally important, by holding a clue we could have missed elsewhere.’
‘Let’s begin with the line-up as it was when you left, Gerry,’ Eve said. ‘If we take them one by one, what can you tell us about each of them?’
‘Start with Neville Wade,’ I prompted Crowther.
‘Nev was a competent drummer. Not world class, but certainly above average, and definitely good enough for us. Off-stage he was and is a staunch friend, who knew the trouble I was in and did everything he could to help me, then and now. He’s dependable, discreet, and loyal. If he had a fault it was one shared by a lot of pop musicians, in that his favourite form of exercise was chasing girls.’
I looked across at Pattison. ‘Anything to add, Lew?’
‘No, I’d say Gerry summed Nev Wade up pretty well.’
‘OK, what about Billy Quinn?’
‘There is only one word to describe Billy’s playing, and that word is genius,’ Crowther said. ‘Billy could stand comparison with the very best. Had he lived, whatever happened to Northern Lights, I believe Billy Quinn would have gone on to become a legend. Off-stage, Billy loved a joke. He was a happy, well-adjusted, rounded personality.’
Crowther looked across at Pattison.
Lew asked, ‘Do they know about Billy?’
‘Of course they do. You can’t hide much from these two.’
Lew continued, ‘Billy never made a secret of the fact that he was a homosexual, but he didn’t flaunt it either. Whether his orientation had anything to do with why he was murdered, I wouldn’t like to say.’
‘Well we would,’ I said, cutting in just before Eve. ‘We know for a fact that it had nothing to do with why he was killed. Our theory is that he saw or heard something, possibly to do with one of the attempts on Gerry’s life, and started asking questions. His knowledge represented a danger, so he was eliminated.’ It sounded bleak the way I said it. But then it was bleak.
Taking advantage of the silence, I asked Crowther, ‘Was there anything you could think of that Billy might have witnessed that would give a clue as to why he was killed?’
Gerry thought about this for a while, and when I saw his expression change, I knew he had recalled something. What followed was worth the price of admission on its own. ‘All I can think of is that on the night of the Newcastle gig, Billy was the only other member of the group in the theatre when Carl appeared. Like me, Billy wanted to give the best possible show, so he’d come early to rehearse. I know for a fact that he saw me talking to Carl.’ Crowther shrugged, ‘I don’t suppose it means anything, but it’s all I can think of.’
‘I think it could mean an awful lot. If Billy saw you talking to Carl Long, and then you disappeared, he might have put two and two together. If he mentioned what he’d seen to the wrong people; that could have sealed his fate. What I would like to know is if that body was recovered from the Tyne before Quinn’s murder, or later.’
‘Is that important?’ Pattison asked.
‘It might be. If Quinn suspected that there had been foul play that night in Newcastle, the discovery of Gerry’s jacket would have come as a huge shock to him, and he might have started asking questions – questions that led to someone deciding he had to be silenced.’
‘I said there was nothing you could hide from these two,’ Crowther told Pattison.
Eve smiled at the backhanded compliment. ‘What about Pete Firth?’
‘Pete was a good guitarist. Nowhere near Billy’s class but more than competent for the sound I wanted to achieve. As for his personality, I’m afraid Pete is a bit on the weak side. He’s likeable, but couldn’t resist a pretty face, or a drink or drugs.’
‘That’s true,’ Pattison agreed, ‘I had to deal with a couple of near scandals because of Pete’s behaviour following a close encounter with LSD.’
Eve hesitated before prompting their memories further. ‘The next bit could be tricky, but what can you tell us about Steve Thompson?’
‘Professionally, I had nothing but admiration for Steve’s ability,’ Crowther told us. ‘He was a highly talented saxophonist with a superb feel for the emotion in any piece of music, plus a better than average singing voice.’ He paused, obviously reluctant to say more.
‘Go on, Gerry, you’ll have to tell them. Either you will, or I shall.’
Crowther grimaced at Pattison’s comment. ‘We had a great deal of trouble with both Steve and Jimmy Mitchell,’ Crowther said eventually. ‘I think it would be better if Lew explained this bit, because he was more closely involved than me. I only got the outline. Lew can tell you the unexpurgated version.’
‘Not all of it, Gerry,’ Pattison told him, with a meaningful glance towards the end of the table, where Trudi and Charlie were listening intently. ‘What I have to say isn’t very pleasant, I’m afraid. One night, following a gig in the Midlands, Steve and Jimmy took a couple of girls back to their hotel room and apparently wouldn’t take no for an answer. Of course, we only had the word of the fans for what actually happened, but rather than risk the scandal and the police involvement, I paid out a considerable sum of money. I’m not defending my actions in any way, but both Mitchell and Thompson maintained throughout that the girls were both up for it, and actually initiated the intimacy.’
‘There were other instances,’ Crowther added, ‘even worse, if you understand me,’ he said, pointedly.
‘We had heard something to that effect,’ I agreed. ‘All that might seem damaging, but to be fair, I don’t think we’ve heard anything so far that would suggest a reason for anyone wanting to pursue a vendetta against Gerry.’
‘It would have been lunacy,’ Pattison said. ‘They must surely have known that if any harm had come to Gerry, Northern Lights would have been finished. Without him, they would have folded, or returned to obscurity. And that would mean all the money, the glamo
ur, the high life, the girls, the booze, the drugs, all of it would be over.’
‘In that case, perhaps we’d be better looking at those for whom it had already ended,’ Eve suggested. ‘I mean the members of the original line up who were replaced when Gerry joined.’
‘I think you’d be better talking to Lew about them, rather than me,’ Crowther pointed out. ‘Apart from their musical abilities, I know much less about them than I think Lew does.’
‘You knew Carl Long,’ I suggested, ‘tell us about him.’ Even though Eve and I had formed our own opinion of him I wanted to hear their version of events.
‘Carl had ambitions to be a great drummer, but to be honest he was barely average. I’m not saying Nev was the greatest, but he was streets ahead of Carl. The problem was, Carl couldn’t accept that his talent was limited. Off-stage, from what little I knew of him, I’d say he was likeable, but weak and easily led, with a liking for money and a rooted objection to working for it.’
‘If he was all that bad a drummer,’ Eve objected, ‘doesn’t that cast doubt on his story about being offered session work in America?’
Crowther looked stunned by Eve’s suggestion. ‘I suppose it does,’ he agreed. ‘Do you know, I’ve never even thought about that, but now you’ve said it, there’s no way he would have got that sort of work. There were far too many better drummers around.’
‘Did you know anything about his background, his family, that sort of thing?’
Crowther shook his head. ‘We were never that close.’
‘Lew’s notes suggested he came from a wealthy family, yet on the night he came to see you, he claimed to be penniless and having to resort to sleeping rough,’ Eve told him.
‘That’s rubbish,’ Pattison interjected. ‘Sorry, but there’s no way that can be right. Carl’s mother and father pestered the life out of me for news of him, using my contacts in the music industry. I happen to know they spent a small fortune trying to trace him. They didn’t give up until his father died a few years later.’