by Bill Kitson
He thought for a moment and then looked at me. ‘I think we can do this with a three-part article, make it a bit like a serial. We start with a scene setter to grab their attention, promising startling revelations in part two. Then we go for the meat of the story in the second section and finally the big revelations once all the facts are out there. That means Gerry’s name and Trudi’s parentage. It can be written as a bit of a tearjerker too, the father’s missing years, that sort of thing. Then, if we can do it, we can name names, and make accusations. Do you think that will do the trick, Adam?’
I saw the look of mild distaste on Sheila’s face. ‘It sounds a lot worse than it will read,’ I assured her. ‘Paul is only expressing it the way any reporter would in-house.’
‘Besides which,’ Faulkner pointed out, ‘if there’s anything you don’t like or feel uncomfortable with, you can veto it. Adam’s made sure there are safeguards in place.’
‘Before we begin, wouldn’t it be sensible to obtain clearance from Lew Pattison and get his involvement,’ Eve suggested. ‘Not only might he have ideas about what he wants revealing and what he doesn’t want to become public knowledge, but he’s also bound to be able to provide more in the way of background.’
‘Does he know about the copyright theft?’ Faulkner asked.
‘Yes, he was out of the country when we discovered it, but we brought him up to speed last week.’
‘Adam means when he discovered it,’ Crowther pointed out. ‘He seems to have a flair for unearthing obscure facts.’
‘You don’t have to tell me that. He’s like a pig rooting for truffles. It was a sad loss to the industry when he retired.’
Faulkner suggested his best plan would be to return to London, interview Pattison and obtain tacit approval from his editor for the articles before we proceeded further. ‘And our lawyers,’ – he grimaced – ‘that will be the really hard bit.’
When we got back to Eden House later that evening, as we sat drinking a coffee before going to bed, I said to Crowther, ‘If you’re going to talk to Lew about Faulkner, would you ask him to try and find out about the other version of that Mystery Minstrel tune?’
‘What other version is that?’ Crowther asked. ‘How many people have copied my tunes?’
‘The version I heard on the radio is the only one I’m aware of. It definitely wasn’t the same as that record.’
‘How would you know?’ Eve challenged me. ‘You’ve said yourself more than once that you’re hopeless where music’s concerned.’
‘Hopeless I may be, but not that dim that I can’t tell the difference between the two different renditions of the same tune.’
‘OK, clever clogs, what was the difference?’
I could tell that the four non-combatants in this scrap were enjoying the verbal encounter, and also that none of them thought much of my protestations. It was time for me to prove myself. ‘Very well,’ I told them, ‘I’ll set the record straight, if you’ll stop needling me.’
I waited until the groans of protest at my dreadful puns died away before continuing. ‘The difference couldn’t be more marked. It was what attracted me to listen to the track on the radio. Not because of the keyboard playing, which was nothing special; not a patch on Gerry’s. It was the guitar solo in the middle that grabbed my attention. I’m no expert, but I thought it was superb, truly outstanding.’
I was looking at Eve as I spoke, but out of the corner of my eye, saw Crowther, who had been lounging back in his chair, sit bolt upright. ‘What did you say?’ he demanded.
‘I was talking about the guitar solo on the track I heard on the radio. Why, is it important?’
Crowther, whose natural complexion reflected his outdoor life, looked deathly pale. He stared at me in silence. For some reason, what I’d said had shocked him to the core. Sheila shook his arm gently, ‘Gerry, Adam asked you a question.’
‘You heard that tune played on a keyboard with a guitar riff in the middle?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Then I’d love to know where it came from. When I wrote the original, I had it planned for a guitar riff, and I wanted Billy to play it. However, as you know, everything went pear-shaped and we never recorded it. In fact, Billy and I only played it through once, and we were on our own at the time. So, yes, please ask Lew to trace it, because I’d like to know who made the record, and where they got the music for it.’
‘I was thinking earlier, when we were talking to Faulkner, that we haven’t spoken to the other former members of Northern Lights. We talked to those we could around here, but no more than that. Nor any of the musicians Gerry took out of the line-up,’ Eve added.
‘It didn’t help that two of them got murdered before we had chance to ask them pertinent questions,’ I pointed out, ‘and how can we be sure that wouldn’t happen to the others if we approached them?’
‘In that case perhaps it would be better to ask Faulkner to speak to them. He has no obvious connection to us, or to Gerry, or to Northern Lights. Besides which, as far as we know they’re all based in or around London, which would be far more convenient for him than for us to have to trail back there again.’
I thought over Eve’s idea, and developed it a little further. ‘Perhaps if he visited Lew at his offices and chatted to members of his staff, like we did, possibly hinting at why he was there, and then made similar obscure remarks to the musicians, he might get lucky and provoke a reaction.’
I may have mentioned before that I seem to possess the knack of prophecy, but not always with the result I had in mind. Little did I know that I’d done it again.
I was up before eight o’clock the following morning, but Charlie beat me to it. When I went downstairs he was in the study, looking very much at home behind my new desk, which had been delivered the day before. He was reading what appeared to be the replacement files Harvey Jackson had sent us.
As I greeted Charlie, I heard footsteps on the stairs behind me, and turned to see Crowther was also an early riser. ‘What are you studying?’ I asked Charlie.
‘You forgot somebody,’ Charlie told me, rather obscurely. ‘When you were talking about people who had it in for Mr Crowther, you forgot the woman who wrote those horrid reviews about Northern Lights.’
‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten all about her.’ I turned to Crowther. ‘Among the stuff that Lew sent us there were some really vicious reviews of your gigs. The writer singled you out for the fiercest criticism. Do you remember them?’
Crowther shook his head. ‘I never used to read reviews, and I certainly didn’t move in the same circles as journalists. I tended to leave anything like that to Lew.’
‘And of course he wouldn’t show you any that were as unpleasant as those Charlie’s looking for.’
‘Certainly not, it would have been bad for morale.’
‘Have you found them yet?’ I asked Charlie, who was still turning documents over.
‘No, not yet. I’ll keep looking.’
‘Do that, Charlie. When your aunt eventually manages to stagger out of her pit will you tell her I’ve taken Gerry over to Allerscar and that we’ll be back for breakfast? We’ll bring some eggs, so hopefully if she’s up in time, perhaps she might condescend to cook for us.’
‘No way am I passing her that message, Adam. I don’t want to die young. You’d better write her a note. Alternatively, I’ll just tell her where you’ve gone.’
It was almost ten o’clock when we returned, having called at the village shop in Allerscar for Gerry to drop some produce off. Eve was on the phone, and I could tell by her conversation she was taking to Lew Pattison, explaining Faulkner’s involvement, and our plans for the reporter to conduct a series of interviews supposedly into the deaths of Mitchell and Thompson.
When she’d finished, she reported that Pattison was happy with the arrangement. ‘We can brief Paul when we take him to catch his train,’ I suggested. ‘Lew can give him addresses and so forth.’
We walked through
to the kitchen, where Crowther was chatting to Sheila and Charlie. ‘Did you find those reviews?’ I asked our junior detective.
‘Yes, the woman’s name is Diane Little. I told Aunt Evie, and she was going to ask Mr Pattison about her.’
‘Oh yes, I almost forgot. Apparently, she still writes reviews, plus a showbiz gossip and scandal page. According to what Lew said, she seems to be able to access information and pick up bits of gossip other journalists can’t get, and she’s always spot-on. Lew said she has to be, otherwise she and the magazine would have been sued for millions before now. I don’t know whether it’s coincidence or not, but Diane Little now writes exclusively for Music Magic. And she still remains a mystery woman. Nobody knows the first thing about her.’
‘Except that she’s a fan of Dion,’ Crowther interrupted.
We looked at him in surprise. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘I suppose it’s entirely possible that Diane Little is her real name, but if she’s gone to a lot of trouble to hide her true identity, what better way than assuming a false name?’
‘You mean like you did,’ Sheila suggested.
‘Exactly like that.’
‘Why did you say she might be a fan of Dion?’ Eve asked.
‘Dion recorded a single in the early sixties, Little Diane.’
We stared at Crowther for a moment before Eve spoke again. ‘The fact that the name might be an assumed one could actually mean that the reviewer isn’t a woman at all. Which would explain how the columnist got hold of all that gossip and inside information. I think Gerry has just given us a huge clue as to the journalist’s identity.’
‘You do? In that case you’d better share it with us,’ I told her, ‘because I for one am totally in the dark.’
Eve turned to Crowther as Trudi entered the room. ‘When you used to record an album, I suppose you spent a fair amount of time between tracks waiting for the technicians to get things ready for you.’
‘We did,’ Crowther agreed, ‘but of course things might have changed a lot since my day.’
‘They haven’t, Dad,’ Trudi told him. ‘Mr Pattison and Mr Jackson get a bit upset by the delays and complain how much it costs them to have musicians sitting around swilling coffee and filling in their football pools coupons.’
I saw the look that passed between Sheila and Crowther as Trudi called her father ‘Dad’ for the first time.
Eve continued, ‘And I suppose they also exchange bits of gossip, which a session musician could easily pick up on, especially if he was listening out for them. A session musician who is known to be a fan of Dion’s music. One moreover who hated Gerry Crowther. A man such as Wayne Barnett.’
‘Evie, that is sheer deductive genius. What’s more, it tallies with what Charlie said about Barnett. Those reviews would have been read by thousands of music lovers. There was nothing secretive about the way he criticised Gerry, which fits with Barnett’s other actions.’
Our next task was to brief Paul Faulkner and get his agreement to our plans. ‘One thing we ought to try is to get Pattison to drop a titbit of tasty but false information into Wayne Barnett’s lap and see if it appears in Diane Little’s column,’ I suggested.
Eve shook her head in mock sorrow. ‘You have an extremely devious mind, Adam.’
I smiled. ‘It’s most gratifying to be praised by an expert.’
‘What sort of information were you thinking of?’ Sheila interrupted hastily.
‘I have to confess I’ve not thought that far ahead,’ I admitted. ‘Any morsel of juicy showbiz gossip would do, as long as we know it to be inaccurate. It doesn’t even have to be scandalous; in fact it would probably be better if it wasn’t, as it’s being made up.’
‘How about a planned American tour for Trudi?’ Eve suggested. ‘That would keep it in-house, so to speak.’
I thought this was a great idea, but one look at the expression of dismay on Trudi’s face, mirrored by that of her mother, told me they didn’t share my enthusiasm.
‘Did you say something?’ Sheila asked Trudi.
‘No, Mum, I thought you must have told them.’
‘I take it that’s a touchy subject.’ My insight is keen at times.
‘It is, a bit. I’m afraid we can’t use that. Lew Pattison is negotiating with promoters in the United States, so we dare not say anything until those discussions are concluded.’
‘So there is going to be an American tour?’ Eve asked.
‘We hope so, but we won’t know for a while. It will be sometime next year, all being well.’
‘That’s obviously out of the question then, but I’m sure Lew can come up with something else convincing.’
We’d been so absorbed in the events surrounding Crowther’s reappearance that it came as a shock when Eve’s sister Harriet rang from America, and I realized it had been over three weeks since we had heard from her. She began by apologizing for the delay in calling and asked how her son was.
‘Charlie’s fine,’ I reassured her.
‘Has he been behaving himself? I knew he must be tons better because of that practical joke he played on his sisters. Who did he get to impersonate a famous pop singer? Whoever it was, she certainly had Sammy fooled.’
‘He didn’t get anyone to impersonate her, Harriet. That actually was Trudi Bell on the phone to Sammy. She’s staying here along with her mother and father.’
‘Come off it, Adam, you can drop the pretence with me.’
‘It isn’t a pretence. I promise you, Harriet. It’s far too long a story for a very expensive transatlantic phone call. We’ll explain when you get back. I’ll get Charlie for you.’
Harriet’s conversation with her son took some time, leaving me to wonder how much her husband Tony would have to fork out for the call. When Charlie emerged from the study, he had a slightly anxious expression on his face.
‘Something wrong?’ I asked. See, insight again.
‘Not really, at least I hope not. Would it be OK for me to stay a bit longer than planned? Dad’s been given chance to bring the family back on the QE2, and that means they won’t be home when we thought.’
‘You didn’t think that would be a problem, surely? Did you imagine we’d say no, you’ll have to pack your bags and go back to the castle and spend the rest of your holiday on your own? Of course you can stay, Charlie, stay as long as you want.’
Charlie’s frown vanished, to be replaced by a warm smile. I was surprised that my words had such a positive effect, until I realized that Trudi had appeared from the lounge and was standing behind me. I told them both about Harriet’s disbelief, and her theory that Charlie had been playing an elaborate practical joke. ‘She even accused me of being party to the deception.’
‘That’s going to make it even funnier when Trudi comes to visit us at the castle,’ Charlie said smugly. ‘I’ve invited her to come and look around. She’s never been in a castle before. Trudi said she especially wants to see all the ancient bits, and I told her that my grandmother isn’t really that old.’
‘Don’t believe him, he’s making it all up. What I actually said was that I’d love to see the old chapel, and I was disappointed that the dungeons were blocked off. I’d have loved to have gone in there.’
I shuddered at the memory. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d spent any time down there,’ I told her.
When Faulkner arrived at Eden House early that afternoon, he told us that he had been in touch with his editor, who had given cautious approval for our plan to expose the villains, but with one huge reservation. ‘Everything will have to be run past our lawyers before publication. That’s standard procedure, but they’re very tough at the moment. We had to pay a huge amount out in damages last year after a story appeared that hadn’t been properly vetted, so now they’re insisting on belt and braces for everything.’
We explained our idea for him to conduct the interviews, and he saw the sense of the suggestion. ‘I’m happy to go along with that; it will help give me a
feel for the story. The other end of it, if you like. It’s one thing talking to Gerry and Sheila about what happened in the past, but I need to get to grips with what’s going on now.’
‘Be careful, though, Paul,’ I warned him. ‘Whoever is behind this is both desperate and dangerous. Everyone here can vouch for that.’
Next morning, I drove Faulkner to the station. ‘I can see why you’re so content up here,’ he told me again. ‘And I’m glad things have worked out for you. A lot of people couldn’t understand why you chucked your job in and buried yourself away, but in view of what happened it seemed a logical thing to me.’
As he got out of the car, Paul said, ‘I’ll phone you with updates when I’ve spoken to everyone on that list. I reckon the guy Roberts will be hardest to catch if he’s only a ninety-day resident in the UK, and I can’t see the paper paying for me to go to the Bahamas or wherever. Still, you never know, I might get lucky.’
I was surprised when Faulkner rang next morning; even more surprised by his opening question. ‘How good are you at Roman place names?’
For a moment I wondered if he’d been drinking, but that was totally unlike him. ‘Not very good,’ I admitted. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, we gave up speaking Latin round here a few years back.’
‘Very droll, Adam. I was looking through my notes on the train yesterday and I suddenly remembered that the Roman name for Chester is Deva. Wasn’t it in Chester that Crowther’s sheet music as stolen?’
‘Yes, it was, and the supposed writers of the stolen tunes called themselves Deva.’
‘Exactly, not that it gets us any further forward towards identifying them. Anyway, I’ve spoken to Pattison like you said and I’m due to visit his offices tomorrow. After that I’ve to try and locate the other members and see about talking to them. I’ll call you again once I’ve done that.’