Vanishing Act Read online

  ‘The police won’t get involved. As far as they’re concerned, Crowther’s dead. Even if he didn’t come to any harm and simply vanished of his own volition, they won’t be interested. It isn’t illegal to disappear. As for private investigators, I’ve very little confidence in their ability. There are other reasons for asking you as well.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Back then, I got a firm of private detectives involved and details of Gerry’s disappearance appeared in the press within a couple of days. At that point we were trying to keep it under wraps. The leak must have come either from my office or the enquiry agent. I’m still not sure which.’

  ‘What are the other reasons?’

  Pattison spoke slowly, choosing his words with great care. ‘There are aspects to this case that I wouldn’t want to entrust to them. Like I said, there was a lot of strife within Northern Lights. Crowther only had two allies within the band: Neville Wade, the drummer, and Billy Quinn, the lead guitarist. After Gerry disappeared, Quinn’s behaviour changed. He became introverted, morose, with hardly a word for anyone. Soon after Crowther’s body was recovered from the river, Billy was killed in London. At the time, I thought he’d simply made a bad mistake, but now I’m not sure. So, I thought that the best chance of finding Gerry without anyone getting wind of what’s going on would be to involve a complete outsider, and someone who had no previous connection either with me or Northern Lights.’

  ‘So you picked us because you want to avoid anyone learning that Crowther’s potentially alive? That’s the only reason?’

  ‘Not quite. For one thing, Crowther was born in this area. Well, West Yorkshire to be exact. I particularly remembered because the place name was so unusual that I’d to ask him how to spell it. It was Mytholmroyd.’

  I smiled and corrected Pattison’s pronunciation. ‘If everyone believed the suicide story, they must have thought Crowther had a reason. Do you know what that might have been?’

  Pattison was silent for a moment before answering.

  ‘Musicians are an odd bunch. A few are normal, level-headed individuals. I’d have put Crowther in that bracket, but towards the end he became more … difficult, shall we say. About a month or two before he vanished his behaviour changed abruptly. I got reports back that Crowther had started drinking. He certainly wasn’t a teetotaller, none of them were, but I’d never seen him drink much.’

  ‘And you’ve no idea what caused the change?’

  ‘No. I thought his death was the culmination of his downward spiral, and assumed that drink, drugs, or depression, or a combination of all three, had finally got the better of him.’ Pattison smiled rather sadly. ‘The three Ds that are the bane of performers everywhere. Now, I’m not sure what to think. If Crowther is still alive, then the mystery of why he vanished is greater than ever. Apart from that,’ he continued, ‘I have a piece of evidence to show you.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Eve asked.

  He produced a large registered envelope from his briefcase. ‘This is the envelope that the music came in.’ He pointed to the top right-hand corner. ‘When Alice saw that, she convinced me to drive up from London to visit you. She said it was too good an opportunity to miss.’

  The envelope bore the postmark of the village of Allerscar, no more than fifteen miles away from where we were.

  Before Pattison left, we’d come to a compromise. Although we’d agreed to try and locate Gerry Crowther, as Eve pointed out, we couldn’t consider starting to make enquiries for some months. ‘You’ve asked at a very bad moment,’ she told him. ‘The builder starts work straight after New Year and Adam is working to a deadline. We’ll have to refuse if you need something doing in the immediate future.’

  ‘That’s not a problem,’ Pattison smiled. ‘It isn’t as if I need the music for Trudi to record next week. She has several more potential songs lined up, just not as good as that one. How does this sound: if you agree to take the case, I’ll gather all the background material I can find together and when you give me the go-ahead, I’ll send it up to you via registered mail. You can start by having a look through it all, and let me know if there’s anything else you need. Then you’ll be au fait with the facts. It’ll take me quite a while to get all the info down on paper anyway.’

  As we watched him drive away, Eve said, ‘Lew’s comment about “taking the case” makes us sound like real private detectives.’

  ‘That’s true, and I hope all the villagers saw Pattison’s car outside our house. It’ll do wonders for our reputation.’

  ‘They’ll probably charge us double for the work we want doing on the house.’

  I looked at my intended with interest. ‘Are you certain you weren’t born in Yorkshire?’

  ‘Now that we’ve decided to play detective, have you an idea where to start?’

  ‘There isn’t much we can do until Pattison supplies that background material. I have had one idea, though.’

  ‘Only one? Adam, you’re losing your touch.’ Eve has a great talent for insulting me. What’s more worrying is that I’m starting to enjoy it.

  ‘I think a trip to Mytholmroyd sometime in the future might pay dividends.’

  ‘Mytholmroyd? Why there?’

  ‘That was where Crowther was born. He might have returned there after the supposed suicide. Alternatively, we might find someone who could give us a clue as to where he is now, and what he’s been doing for the past sixteen years.’

  Eve shook her head sadly. ‘Your thinking might be good but your arithmetic is lousy. I counted three ideas, not one.’

  ‘OK then, here’s another idea for you. Your friend Pattison was a little less truthful in a couple of respects.’ I closed the door and followed Eve into the study.

  ‘In what way was he untruthful?’

  ‘He said the police wouldn’t be interested because no crime had been committed. That isn’t really right. If Crowther didn’t commit suicide that night, what did become of him? And if someone else’s body was washed up later wearing Crowther’s clothing, might that not make police suspect that Crowther might have been responsible for the unknown’s death?’

  ‘You think Crowther might have vanished because he’d murdered someone, and dressed the corpse in his jacket to make it appear as if it was him who had died?’

  ‘It’s a possibility, and I reckon that’s the real reason Pattison doesn’t want the police involved. The other reason might be connected to Quinn’s death. Pattison merely said he was “killed”. He didn’t elaborate, which I found a bit suspicious.’

  Chapter Two

  Work on the extension went better than we could have hoped, helped by an unusually mild winter and spring. The end of May saw the new part of the building ready for occupation.

  Our home was no longer small; the extension had changed the cottage into a house. It was with great ceremony that the plaque bearing the name Eden House was installed, replacing the previous Dene Cottage. I held Eve close as we gazed at the sign. ‘Well, my little builder’s foreman, you’ve certainly proved your organisational skills.’ I smiled at her. ‘Perhaps the next thing you can organise could be a wedding?’

  ‘That’ll have to wait a bit longer. You’ve another book to finish first, and there’s that job we promised to do for Lew. Besides, who mentioned marriage? I happen to like collecting jewellery,’ she said, staring at my mother’s engagement ring on her left hand.

  ‘If you’re that keen on rings, then I’ll buy you a gold one to go with it.’

  It was early July before I had time to spare. Eve then phoned Lew Pattison to ask if he still wanted us to try and find the missing musician. He seemed pleased that we were ready to make a start and would get the paperwork sent through as soon as possible.

  We had finished our evening meal when our phone rang. Eve answered it, and her greeting of ‘Hi, sis,’ told me it was her older sister Harriet who was calling; or Lady Rowe, to give her correct title.

  Harriet was doing most of the talking, because al
l I heard from Eve were several monosyllables, followed by an, ‘Oh dear, that’s terrible. How is he?’ She ended the call by saying, ‘I don’t know. I’ll tell Adam, and see if he’s got any bright ideas. It’s unlikely, but you never know.’

  ‘Problem?’ I asked as she put the phone down. I can be very perceptive at times.

  ‘And how! You know they’re all supposed to be jetting off to the States?’

  I nodded, and Eve continued, ‘It looks as if the whole trip will have to be cancelled. Tony might have to go to that conference in New York on his own.’

  Eve’s brother-in-law, Sir Anthony Rowe, was scheduled to attend an international business symposium in New York, and that had been the planned springboard for a six-week holiday for the whole family, including Lady Charlotte, Tony’s mother.

  ‘Why, what’s gone wrong?’

  ‘Charlie has been sent home from school after spending two days in the sanatorium. He’s gone down with a severe case of tonsillitis. He’s got a high temperature and there’s no way the doctor will allow him near an aeroplane until he’s better. That means Harriet, the twins, and Lady Charlotte will all have to stay at home.’

  Charles Rowe, Tony and Harriet’s son, now fifteen years old, was a great favourite of ours. The solution seemed obvious.

  ‘Tell Harriet we’ll go across to Mulgrave Castle tomorrow, bring Charlie back here, and take care of him. That way the rest of the family don’t miss out.’

  ‘That’s brilliant. But that would mean he has to stay here for over six weeks. Are you sure?’

  I raised my eyebrows, shook my head, and sighed. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t think of it.’

  Eve’s response was an extremely rude gesture. She rang Harriet back, then told me, ‘The rest of them are thrilled, and Harriet says even Charlie has cheered up a bit. He’d been very down at the thought that he might be responsible for everyone missing such a huge treat.’

  Next day, we arrived at Mulgrave Castle to find the Rowe family in the throes of last-minute packing. This was postponed as they greeted us, then Eve and I went to collect our patient.

  Charlie had developed from an energetic, cheerful, slightly impudent child into an intelligent, athletic, and humorous teenager, with none of the behavioural problems normally associated with that age group. When we first met, I had been impressed by his ability to judge people; since then I’d realized that he was extremely mature for one so young. This, together with him being tall for his age, tended to make people treat him as an adult rather than a teenager.

  Although he had every right to be depressed at missing out on his holiday, he seemed to be taking the disappointment stoically. Or perhaps he was simply too poorly to care. One glance as his flushed face and the lacklustre expression in his eyes told us he was far from his normal self, even before he attempted to speak. The result of that was a barely audible croak. With Eve talking to the patient, I bent to pick up the cases Harriet had finished packing. As I did so, I glanced at the poster on Charlie’s bedroom wall. I blinked with surprise and straightened up. ‘I didn’t know you were a fan, Charlie.’

  He nodded, which it seemed was easier than talking. Eve looked at the poster. ‘That’s Trudi Bell, isn’t it?’

  The young pop star was certainly a very attractive girl, and there was no doubt that Charlie was smitten. ‘What a strange coincidence,’ Eve told him. ‘Adam and I were only talking about her yesterday. Her manager is a friend of ours. Perhaps we might be able to arrange for you to go to one of her concerts.’

  Having wished the Rowe clan a safe journey and promised to take good care of the heir to the baronetcy, we returned to Eden House with our guest. It was indicative of how poorly he was that after ordering him to bed, Eve went up to give him a dose of the medicine prescribed by their doctor, only to find Charlie fast asleep.

  ‘What shall I do?’ she asked me.

  ‘Leave him be. Sleep and plenty of fluids will do him as much good as the medicine.’

  Charlie’s condition had improved only marginally a couple of days later, when we took delivery of a large and extremely heavy parcel. Bored with staring at the wallpaper in the spare bedroom, Charlie spent his waking hours watching cricket on TV in the lounge.

  ‘There seems little to choose between the two,’ Eve commented.

  ‘At least the TV picture keeps changing.’ Charlie’s reply was the first sign that he might be on the mend, even though it came out as somewhere between a growl and a squawk.

  As an antidote to boredom, I explained what the parcel contained. ‘I think Pattison’s sent every file from their office, judging by the size and weight of it.’

  ‘Can I help?’ Charlie enquired.

  Eve looked as though she was about to veto the idea, but I thought it would do Charlie good; and bravely told her so. ‘Why not let him, Evie, there’s plenty of work there for three of us.’

  As I explained later, ‘Charlie has a keen and enquiring mind. Moreover he loves mysteries. I could tell when he was listening to the story of Crowther’s disappearance that he was intrigued, and when I mentioned Trudi Bell he could barely contain his excitement. It will take his mind off his illness, and prevent him moping.’

  ‘OK, I take your point, Adam; I just don’t want him to make himself worse.’

  ‘I don’t see that sitting in the study reading files is that much different from sitting in the lounge staring at the telly. If Boycott’s batting it’ll certainly be more exciting.’

  ‘I’ll take his temperature before I make my mind up. If that hasn’t dropped, I’m not allowing it.’

  Although Charlie’s temperature wasn’t back to normal, it had reduced sufficiently to satisfy Eve. ‘OK, Charlie, you’re in, but the minute you begin to feel tired you stop, got it?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Evie,’ he muttered. He waited until her back was turned and then winked at me, mouthing the word ‘fusspot’ at the same time.

  I turned away so that Eve couldn’t see my grin.

  Having unpacked the parcel, we surveyed the young mountain of paperwork it had contained. ‘Where the heck do we start with this lot?’ I wondered.

  ‘I thought we could begin by looking through the ones about the band line-up as it was when Crowther vanished, plus the others who were there that night.’ Eve said.

  ‘That sounds logical, but what do you mean by “the others”?’

  ‘The tour manager, the roadies, hangers-on, fans, groupies even, and pressmen.’

  ‘It would help if Pattison had supplied an index. I don’t suppose you’ve come across one, have you?’

  I looked up to see Eve brandishing a sheet of paper. ‘Oh, good; let’s get cracking then.’

  We spent the rest of the day going through the files. By the time we gave up, we had barely got halfway through the stack, but by then we all agreed that our brains couldn’t absorb any further information.

  We resumed the following morning.

  ‘I think we should each take a third of those folders and

  read the contents. Then if we find anything interesting, we can bring it to the attention of the others.’

  The file I found most interesting in the stack I went through was the one referring to a former band member, one of those ousted by Crowther’s insistence on a change of style. His name was Wayne Barnett. I read some of the details out before passing the file to Eve.

  ‘It doesn’t sound as if Barnett went quietly,’ she said.

  ‘What does Mr Pattison say about him?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Apparently Barnett tried to sue the group collectively and the members individually, plus Pattison’s management company, claiming breach of contract. The actions failed, but Barnett wasn’t prepared to let the matter rest at that. His resentment and bitterness boiled over into violence following a Northern Lights appearance in Stoke-on-Trent in the latter part of 1964. He took a sledgehammer to the group’s bus and broke the jaw of one of the roadies who tried to stop him. He then got past the security guards and burst
into the dressing room. Before the guards pulled him away he had Crowther pinned up against the wall and was trying to throttle him. Crowther escaped with nothing worse than a black eye and a sore throat.’

  Eve paused. ‘Now this is interesting. Apparently, Crowther refused to press charges for the assault and paid off the roadie who was injured. He also shelled out for the repairs to the bus. Why do that, I wonder?’

  ‘Probably because he felt guilty that Barnett had lost what he must have seen as a golden opportunity for stardom. Nevertheless, it’s intriguing. I bet Barnett didn’t appreciate the gesture though.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Human nature, I suppose. If you hurt someone and they forgive you, it can make you hate them even more.’

  Eve and Charlie went on to relate what Pattison had written about some of the other group members, both those that had left and those still playing when Crowther disappeared.

  ‘There’s not much info about a couple of them,’ Charlie said. ‘There’s a note saying both these blokes were sacked, as well as someone called Tony Kendall, but there’s nothing in the file on him apart from an address in Newcastle and a phone number. There’s even less information about Carl Long. All it says is “whereabouts unknown”, which isn’t much use. All the stuff about Long and Kendall dates back to the sixties. I’m surprised it isn’t written in Latin, it’s that old.’

  ‘Don’t be so cheeky,’ Eve told him. ‘Adam swears that a lot of people had started using English by then.’

  ‘Oi, you two, show some respect for your elders and betters,’ I told them. ‘The one Lew seems to know most about is Robbie Roberts. Apparently he’s become very rich and successful. He started a magazine, then went into property. His portfolio is handled by a property management company, because Roberts is no longer a UK resident. Lew says he’s a tax exile.’

  Charlie looked up. ‘What’s one of those?’

  ‘I’m not sure of the precise details,’ Eve told him, ‘but I think anyone who isn’t resident in this country for more than ninety days a year doesn’t have to pay tax here. Those who want to keep hold of their ill-gotten gains move to tax havens, which means they only pay a very low rate of tax there.’