‘You from Liverpool then?’ Nick was examining the tax disc in the windscreen and saw that it had been issued at Liverpool. It was up to date. He also saw there were three other men squashed into the van, along with a load of amplifiers, microphones, electric guitars and other music-making equipment.

  ‘Yeh, all the way from the Mersey to the moors.’

  ‘This is a bit out of your league, lads,’ said Nick. ‘Why come all this way for a village talent show? You boys’d be better off on Opportunity Knocks or something.’

  ‘Got our expenses paid, we did. Your local big shot, a Mr Greengrass. He sounds a real gentleman. Offered us a fat fee and free beer in the pub if we’d come and play here tonight.’

  ‘Greengrass? He’s paid for you to come all the way from Liverpool?’

  ‘Yes, so our fame is spreading, see. Now, where’s the pub? Gina works there, eh? Gina Ward.’

  ‘Down the road, the Aidensfield Arms. Yes, Gina’s there. You know her?’

  ‘Used to sing around the Liverpool clubs, did Gina. Nice lass, good voice. Well, see you later, alligator.’

  ‘In a while, crocodile!’ retorted Nick, as the man returned to the driving seat and the old van trundled off towards the pub.

  Over lunch with Kate, Nick told her about his interview with Peter Hughes. She was not very pleased. He tried to explain that he was merely doing his duty, part of which was to eliminate Hughes if he was not responsible. Kate didn’t seem convinced. Then he added that he had heard about another blue car, the one belonging to Mark Sutton who was expected to make an unwelcome appearance tonight.

  ‘Well, he sounds more likely to do a hit-and-run than Peter Hughes,’ she snapped. ‘But I just hope he doesn’t ruin the show tonight!’

  ‘I’ll be there to keep an eye on things,’ Nick said calmly. ‘I got the tip from Alf, he’ll be around too with Phil. The show will go on.’

  ‘I’m getting little bribes from anxious mummies and daddies,’ smiled Kate, her good humour gradually returning. ‘I’ve had umpteen singers in my surgery this morning, all having their throats examined, or ballet dancers having their toes tested, and the parents have given me boxes of eggs, chocolates, a bunch of flowers …’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure what to do, Nick. It’s obvious they all expect me to vote their child the winner. If I give the wrong result, they’ll never speak to me again!’

  ‘So long as you don’t start taking money from them, you’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘Besides, you’re not alone. It’s a joint decision, it’s not just your opinion that’s going to count. Now, talking of the show, what’s Greengrass up to?’

  ‘Up to? How do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s paid for a scruffy Liverpool pop group to come all this way to enter the contest. They’re friends of Gina’s, they said Claude had paid their fees. Why would they come all the way from Liverpool for a competition in Aidensfield? And, more important, why would Claude Jeremiah spend his precious money to get them here?’

  Kate looked puzzled. ‘I’ve got to go and see George at the pub, I’ll ask Gina if she knows what’s happening. ‘Anyway,’ she smiled, ‘everybody else seems to be entering the contest. How about you?’

  Nick shook his head ruefully. ‘Sutton’s expected to come and cause bother, I’ll have to work. Besides, I might have an unfair advantage, being the husband of one of the judges!’

  ‘I’ll let you know what Gina says,’ grinned Kate.

  When Kate arrived at the Aidensfield Arms, it was almost closing time and she found Gina clearing empty glasses from the bar. ‘Is George in?’ Kate asked.

  ‘He’s rehearsing,’ smiled Gina. ‘He’s going to do his W.C. Fields act. Can I help?’

  ‘You know I was in the other night, with a friend of mine, Peter Hughes?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Did he come back here last night? Just before closing time? He went out for a meal with Nick and me, to

  Elsinby. I just wondered if he’d come here for a quick drink before going home?’

  ‘Not last night, Mrs Rowan. I was serving behind the bar and would have noticed him.’

  This seemed to satisfy Kate; she’d been worried that Peter might have come here to have a drink or two to drown his sorrows at her rejection of him. She did wonder if he’d been drunk when driving back to Elsinby, but it seemed not. She was happier now she’d asked.

  “Thanks, Gina. Now, there is another thing. Your friends, the Mersey Hounds. They’re entering our talent contest, I believe?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘And I believe Claude Jeremiah’s sponsoring them.’ She leant on the bar. ‘Now, Gina, tell me, what’s he up to?’

  ‘He’s opened a book on the results, Mrs Rowan. He’s going round taking bets and he wanted to book somebody who’s sure to win, somebody who nobody knows. If everybody bets on all the local entrants, who Claude thinks will be bound to lose, then he’ll make a killing when his pop group wins, won’t he?’

  “The crafty old sod!’ Kate swore. ‘So these Mersey Hounds, are they professionals?’

  Gina grinned triumphantly. ‘No, they’re amateurs and they’re rubbish, Mrs Rowan, they’re terrible. They’ll never win, mark my words. I got them here to get my own back on them. They once played a nasty trick on me in Liverpool. They put something awful in the beer I was serving and it made loads of folks sick. They blamed me.

  So this is part of my revenge. Now, there’s no pub in Liverpool will have them. They’re tuneless. They try to sing all the Beatles songs and make a terrible hash of them. I thought I’d teach Claude a lesson as well. You’ll not tell your husband, will you? About Claude acting as a bookie?’

  ‘I think the best lesson for Claude is to lose a lot of his new-found wealth, don’t you, Gina?’ ‘Just what I thought, Mrs Rowan!’ ‘Then let’s go along with his scheme, shall we?’ ‘Sure,’ smiled Gina. ,

  That night, Nick paid an early visit to the Aidensfield Arms and noticed a blue car in the car park. Before entering the premises, he examined the vehicle and saw that it had some slight damage to the front nearside wing. In the lights of the pub, he also saw some black paint adhering to the wing and quickly he scraped a sample into his plastic envelope. He noted the registration number too, then went inside, ostensibly to check that everything was in order. Routine visits to pubs were normal for any policeman on a Saturday night so his early presence would not seem odd.

  When he went into the bar, he saw a man sitting alone in one corner with a pint of beer before him. Judging from the description given by Alf, this was Mark Sutton, but Nick decided not to confront the youth at this point. He wanted to catch him in action at the hall, if that was where he was planning to be later tonight. Some two tables away, he saw the Mersey Hounds.

  ‘Isn’t it time you lads were getting down to the hall?’ he asked. ‘The show’s due to start any minute.’

  ‘We’re last on, grand finale. We thought we’d keep our heads down till then, like.’

  Mark Sutton, sitting gloomily on his own, said nothing and refrained from making eye contact with Nick. Behind the bar there was a relief barmaid, Gloria Green from the village, who often stood in for George or Gina.

  ‘Gina not here tonight?’ asked Nick.

  ‘No,’ said Gloria. ‘She wants to go to the talent show, so I’m holding the fort. Her Uncle George is having a go.’

  ‘There’s some top-quality acts on tonight!’ smiled Nick, turning to leave, ‘I hope they raise a lot of money for the kids’ football club.’

  Nick strolled up to the village hall. Already, there were lots of cars parked outside with people milling around the entrance. He saw children dressed in tutus, scouts with trumpets and bugles, gymnasts, some handbell ringers, adults in barber-shop outfits, several youngsters dressed as the Beatles or the Rolling Stones; a whole galaxy of artistes.

  Phil was buzzing about making sure things were operating to his satisfaction, while Alf, on the stage, was testing the microphones and making sure the curtains worked. Then Nick saw Claude Jeremiah hovering in the entrance. He held a small notebook and was approaching people, asking them to place their bets on a list of names he had produced.

  Nick sidled up to him. ‘I hope you’re not loitering or frequenting a public place for the purposes of bookmaking,

  betting or agreeing to bet, or paying, receiving or settling, bets, Claude, and I hope you are not acting as a bookmaker without a bookmaker’s permit.’

  Claude spluttered. ‘Me, Mr Rowan? No, well, no, I’m just taking a few names down, listing the runners, er, contestants, for the local paper, getting names like reporters do at funerals, I am. If folks want to give me a bob or two for a good cause, well, I can’t refuse, I can’t help it if they think I’m raising money for charity, like. Always willing to help a worthwhile cause, Mr Rowan, you know me.’

  ‘If I get proof you’re running an illegal betting ring, Claude, I’ll confiscate all your money.’

  ‘You wouldn’t, Mr Rowan? I mean, I’ve got none, it’s not mine …’

  Nick left Claude to his thoughts. Soon, the contest was under way, a cacophony of awful sounds emerging from the body of the hall.

  Nick couldn’t help but feel sorry for the judges who had to tolerate the racket, especially Amanda Young whom he’d bullied into this chore. As the contestants gave of their best, Nick melted into the shadows to watch for the arrival of Mark Sutton. Sure enough, once the show was about an hour old, he saw a blue car coming along the street from the Aidensfield Arms. It parked among the others in the official car park and, from the security of the darkness, Nick saw Sutton walk quickly towards the hall.

  Inside, the children’s section had concluded with every child taking part in a grand finale of singing and dancing. They had been trained by their school and it was a stunning climax to that section. The applause was deafening. Alf then announced the adult section, beginning with Sergeant Oscar Blaketon who was going to recite a well-known verse. Nick popped into the rear of the hall and found Phil Bellamy.

  ‘Phil, Mark Sutton’s prowling around outside. I’m going to see what he’s up to. Cover me if anything goes wrong.’

  ‘Sutton? He’s a nutter! Alf reckons he broke into the Oddfellows just to spite me.’

  ‘Yes, well he’s here now, outside. I’m going out.’

  ‘If you’re not back in five minutes, I’ll join you,’ promised Phil.

  As the applause for Sergeant Blaketon died away, George began his turn and Nick found himself creeping around the exterior of the hall, ensuring he was concealed by the shadows.

  For a long time, nothing disturbed the dark night. Then Nick saw Sutton emerge from the gloom at the distant end of the hall, and run across to his car. He was tempted to follow but realised that if Sutton was going to do something stupid, it would surely be here, at the hall, and not in the car park. He waited, and within a few minutes, Sutton returned. This time he was carrying the tool box from his car.

  Sutton disappeared again around the far end of the hall. This time Nick followed, moving silently and swiftly along the wall. Inside, he could hear Alf announcing that Gina Ward would be next. As she launched into a top-ten hit the air was filled with her voice. This was good, decided Nick, that girl could sing!

  As he sidled around the corner of the hall, he saw that Sutton had prised open the external fusebox; before him was an array of electrical wires and fuses. As Nick watched, Sutton switched off one of the circuit breakers and the hall was plunged into darkness. Gina, like a true professional, continued to sing.

  Outside, Nick threw himself at Sutton and, struggling, managed to restore the power - just as Sutton turned upon him bearing a huge spanner. Rooted to the spot with horror, Nick realised he had every intention of using it. Just at that instant, Phil Bellamy appeared and seizing Sutton’s upraised arm, brought it down in a powerful lock. The man was immobilised.

  ‘Got you, Sutton,’ gasped Bellamy.

  ‘Bring him into the hall,’ said Bellamy as Nick clipped the handcuffs around Sutton’s wrists.

  ‘There’s also the matter of a hit-and-run accident last night, Sutton,’ said Nick grimly. ‘I’ve got paint samples from your car and from the bike you hit …’

  Sutton was beside himself with drunken fury. ‘He got in my way, the old buffer got in my way just like everybody else gets in my way …‘he muttered. ‘You, Bellamy, you get in my way, you get my place in the team, get my girl, you got in my way tonight. You’re all bastards, the lot of you …’

  Inside, Alf was announcing the final act.

  ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have a last-minute entry. Some young men have come all the way from Liverpool to entertain us this evening. Ladies and gentlemen, a big round of applause for the Mersey Hounds!’

  They started with ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ and it was awful, and then they launched into a medley of Beatles favourites, which was even worse. In a matter of minutes, the audience was booing them and calling for them to get off the stage. Alf did his best to cool their tempers as, taking advantage of the uproar, Claude Jeremiah tried to sneak out of the hall.

  ‘Not going anywhere, are you, Claude?’ said Nick who was standing at the door with Bellamy and their prisoner.

  ‘Er, no, Mr Rowan, not me.’

  ‘The results haven’t been declared yet, have they?’

  ‘Well, no, but I reckon those Mersey lot won’t win, eh? Not them. I sponsored them, Mr Rowan, brought ‘em all the way from Liverpool to play here, as a special act, you understand.’

  ‘I understand perfectly, Claude, but I reckon the winners will be the children. Every parent bet on their own child, I hear, and every child took part in that grand finale, so if that wins, every child has won, which means you’ll have to pay all the parents. So I should wait here if I was you, unless you want to be arrested and taken to Ashfordly Police Station with our friend Mr Sutton here. You’d be charged with welshing on your bets, illegally taking bets, acting as a bookmaker without a permit, loitering in a public place for the purpose of betting, and we might even consider false pretences …’

  ‘I’ll stay here, Mr Rowan,’ Claude said quickly, I might have a bob or two for some of these parents, money I was looking after for ‘em, you understand.’

  Nick was right. In their wisdom, the judges declared that the group of schoolchildren were the outright winners, deftly defeating any criticisms from jealous parents. They also won the children’s class, while Gina, a total outsider, won the adult section.

  Sutton was taken to Ashfordly Police Station to answer several charges, including the hit-and-run accident, while Claude Jeremiah went home to count his losses.

  In bed that evening, Nick congratulated Kate for the joint wisdom of the judges in declaring the group of children as overall winners.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, it was Alex, you know, who suggested that. He has got a lot of wisdom, hasn’t he?’

  ‘And he’s imparting some of it to you, Kate,’ said Nick. ‘So listen to him when he advises you, eh? He won’t be here for ever.’

  ‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘And there’s somebody else who won’t be here for ever, isn’t there?’

  ‘Who’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘Peter Hughes. You owe him an apology, remember? So tomorrow morning, you’d better go and say sorry to him for thinking he was a hit-and-run driver.’

  ‘Do I really have to?’ he protested.

  ‘Yes you do!’ she told him.

  page 141

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘Every time I see you with a woman, Phil, it’s a different one!’ said Nick to his friend PC Phil Bellamy in the bar of the Aidensfield Arms. ‘You’ll have to settle down a bit. Look at all the bother when you took Margaret Ellison from that idiot, Sutton. He nearly ruined the talent show and almost spoilt your football club money-raising; he caused no end of bother.’ He gave his friend a long look.

  ‘Now I’ve heard you’re knocking about with a woman who’s pally with one of our local villains. That really is asking for trouble and you know it.’

  Phil clutched his pint to him protectively. ‘Leave off, Nick, my private life’s my own, right? There’s no law says I can’t have which woman I want.’

  ‘There’s no law, true, but there is common sense! Why take up with Debbie Chapman of all people? I take it Scarman doesn’t know?’

  Phil looked at Nick in alarm. ‘Who said she was Scarman’s woman? I didn’t think anybody knew, Nick. How the hell did you find out?’

  ‘I keep my eyes and ears open, Phil, and because you’re my mate, I care what happens to you. Now I don’t know this girl, she might be OK, but all I’m saying is keep a low profile and for God’s sake don’t let Scarman find out. Anyway, how did you get involved with her?’

  ‘Through a domestic in Strensford. I went along to sort it out. Scarman had thrown Debbie out on to the street with nothing and, well, I just came along at the right time. She’d tried to make a break from him, she’d got a flat of her own, but he found her and told her to come back to him. I happened to be there to pick up the pieces.’

  ‘To the rescue like a knight in shining armour?’

  ‘More like a constable in big boots. Anyway, I was a shoulder for her to cry on, and it developed from there. She needed someone, Nick, and it happened to be me. She’s a decent woman, she’s too good for the likes of Jack Scarman.’

  Nick shook his head philosophically. ‘Well, you’re over twenty-one and should know what you’re doing. Now, another pint?’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Phil, I’m on nights in Ashfordly, I start at ten. It’s time I was making tracks.’

  Nick looked at his watch. It was nine o’clock. He decided he would go home too. It had been pleasant having an evening off duty and being able to have a drink with a pal. Phil drove away as Nick walked through Aidensfield towards his police house. He savoured the fresh moorland air, the peace of the village, the calm and quiet drama of the surrounding moors. He reckoned Kate would be home by now. She’d been speaking at the WI tonight, about her work as a doctor in a vast moorland practice, and she’d said she hoped to finish around nine. WI meetings didn’t continue late into the night!