Blood Bath

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BLOOD BATH by

MICHEL RUSSELL

SYNOPSIS Bradley (Braydie) Neilson, a thirty-five-year-old gay man, works for a charity in the beautiful Georgian city of Bath, on the river Avon. He belongs to a group of seven known as the ‘CC circle’ headed by seventy-five-year-old Clarence Collier, a Bathonian, who is a rather eccentric but loveable old man who entertains in a rather lavish house full of antiques. CC’s main vice is that he tends to cruise the parks at night and picks up many waifs and strays, who invariably end up back at his house for the night. Unfortunately on the fifth of November he is found dead - murdered - in the garden of his home, dressed as Guy Fawkes. Five more deaths follow all in bizarre and gruesome details and “Braydie” and his new boyfriend, Joe, a British actor and USA TV advert star, try with the help of Inspector Jameson to find the killer before he finds him.

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Set in the present day, the novel, although down to earth with explicit detail, is a tale that is funny at times and serious with the present unsettling climate of today. It’s a “scream a minute” in more ways than one! This is not a conventional murder mystery or a whodunnit, but a series of events that arise from the vendetta of a family member in one country against a group of innocent people in another. The author has crafted a tale of love, murder and intrigue in a city that is steeped in history, beauty and dark shadows!

‘Never Deny, Never Explain, Say Nothing and Become a Legend’. [Jeanne Eagels]

By the same author - ‘Cry Destiny’ ‘Ghostly Gay Trilogy’ ‘Spirit of Eternity’

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ONE The July rain had been falling steadily most of the day as Bradley (Braydie) Neilson surveyed his wardrobe with apprehension. He sighed aloud and shouted, “Did Beau Nash ever have this trouble?” Pushing the suits and jackets from one side of the rail to the other, he stopped, blinked and suddenly smiled. “What the hell am I worried about? It’s only another theatre party on a midweek night before a troupe opening at the Theatre Royal in a day’s time!” Bradley grabbed a black cashmere round-neck sweater, a pair of cream slacks and a grey sports jacket and flung them down on a chair. He glanced from his bedroom window up and down Chatham Row, noticing the rainwater running at speed down the road to a nearby gutter. Why does Bath have so much rain? Bradley thought to himself. Is it those Cotswold Hills that surround the city? Or is it those Atlantic depressions? He went back to the wardrobe and opened it, this time staring at the full-length mirror on the inside of the door. Rubbing his chin with his right hand, he wondered whether he had reached his peak yet. His hair was thick and sandy with just an occasional fleck of grey. The deep-set brown eyes with thick lashes at times suggested an eastern origin, with thick almost ruby-coloured lips and an even jaw. Patting his almost flat stomach, he smiled - but then it turned to a frown as he wondered whether his biological clock had started ticking. He had read recently -4-

that there was such as thing in men when, at around the age of thirty-five, the sperm count decreases and it all seems downhill from then on. A light reflected from the window and, slightly turning, he realised it had almost stopped raining and the dark clouds had dispersed. Bradley dismissed the clothes he had picked and decided on a black suit and a pink T-shirt. Ah, what the heck! he thought, raising his eyebrows. It’s a showbiz party after all! He slammed the wardrobe door and dressed in haste. On the way to the Garrick’s Head pub, Bradley hoped he was going to the right venue. He had been to so many functions since Easter that he wondered whether he should slow down and politely decline some of the invitations. Working for a charity, in a senior position, it was usually assumed that you attended everything that was on offer so that you could “spread the word” at functions in the hope of gleaning press, publicity and donations. Think clearly, the two words came to mind. Is it The Peter Hall Company that opens tomorrow at The Theatre Royal? Is it their 5th or 6th season? How long are they here? Two months? Bradley’s thoughts diminished as he turned into the area of Saw Close and the majestic 1805 theatre loomed up ahead. He was glad he lived centrally and of the fact that the journey from his house to the Georgian theatre only took about ten minutes. He stopped outside the theatre and his mind once again wandered to the Welshman, Beau Nash whom, he vividly remembered being told, actually lived -5-

where the theatre now stood. Bradley glanced down at his clothes and wondered what Richard Nash would have been wearing on a Wednesday evening centuries ago. It had stopped raining and a slight warm wind blurred his senses and made him feel more happy and content. “Hello, Braydie. Penny for them,” a voice echoed. He turned slightly and the upright figure of a tall elderly gentleman was smiling nearby. “It’s more mind over matter really, CC,” he answered, also now smiling. Bradley smiled even more when he saw that Clarence Collier was wearing the exact replica of what had first entered his mind to wear for tonight’s function. Even the colours were exactly the same, except that only Bradley’s rollneck was in cashmere, but CC’s entire outfit was of goat’s hair. But this was July not midwinter, so but perhaps, at seventy-five, the old boy was getting his seasons mixed up. Bradley gulped, knowing that he was going to wear the very same apparel and he was thirty-five - not seventy-five - years of age! Before Bradley had a chance to say anything else, he was shuffled around the corner into St John’s place and into the Garrick’s Head pub. The medium sized room was fairly full and the duo headed straight to the bar where they ordered almost identical drinks - wine. Red for the elder and white for the younger. Each took their drink from the handsome, smiling barman and turned and surveyed the occupants of the room. -6-

Bradley recognised almost immediately familiar faces connected to the theatre, from the top brass who make it tick down to the manager and various patrons who seemed to be part of the original structure. Whether the usual welcoming speech had already been delivered or the wellknown stars of the company had been and gone, Bradley found the atmosphere did not seem as lively and enthusiastic as in previous times. Of course, this was only his third official visit so he was hardly a judge, but he felt as though something was missing. Perhaps a striptease, he thought, might help to liven up the place up! But then he cringed when he thought that if he did, his would be the quickest exit in the pub’s history. Still, I’m sure, he thought with a grin as he surveyed the landscape, there must be a couple of other younger guys that might easily fit the bill! But he pinched himself, remembering that he was not here mainly to enjoy himself but to make the charity more widely known and drum up business, although he was often told that the words “drum up business” were not what the charity was all about despite this being the 21st century. He saw CC near a group of committee members, businessmen and dignitaries some of whom he had met before, so he headed in that direction, grabbing a mini salmon sandwich from a passing waiter. As the evening progressed, more people arrived and it was almost packed by the time he had finished his round of “prospective supporters”. Thinking he had -7-

seen the Mayor of Bath, he tried to push his way in that direction, when unfortunately he collided with someone and knocked the glass from their hand. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Do forgive me. Can I get you another one?” A doe-eyed, good-looking, smiling, coloured guy slightly shook his head like a lost schoolboy in a crowd. “No, I think it was just as much my fault - in that split second I turned to get a refill, as my glass was empty.” Bradley looked at the young man who was smiling and then both stared at the floor. “That was a bit of luck!” someone said, handing the glass back to him. “It bounced off my shoe and luckily didn’t break!” “I’m sure we could both do with a drink after that,” the guy said and Bradley agreed as they both edged back towards the bar. “I hope I’m not keeping you from someone or somewhere - you seemed to be in a hurry?” “No. I thought I saw someone I knew,” Bradley replied, sipping his drink. “I’m Joe by the way. Joe Walsh,” the friendly good-looking young guy said, holding out his hand. “I’m Bradley Neilson. But everyone calls me Braydie,” he replied, squeezing the brown hand with warmth and confidence. “Sounds American.” “What does?” -8-

“Braydie,” Joe replied. “It’s a long story but, yes, I was born in the USA, but that’s as much American as I am. I left when I was three years old with my parents, who are English. I mean were English,” Braydie replied. “Do you live in Bath?” Joe asked, taking a sip from his glass. “Yes, I moved here just over two years ago.” “It’s a great city with charm, character and a river that runs through it,” Joe said, smiling. “Are you an actor and here with the company?” Braydie asked. He nodded his answer. Just then, pushing through the crowd, a familiar voice, mannerisms and an occasional euphemism thrown in identified unmistakeably the old doyen of the theatre. “Why if it isn’t Joe! I believe?” “Why, yes and you are?” “Clarence Collier dear boy. I met you six years ago when you came down for the first time,” he said, holding out his hand. A few people laughed and then he realised what he had said in the second sentence. “Whoops, sorry, darling. I mean when you came down to Bath with the company for the first time. I met you at a similar gathering - then as now.”

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Joe shook his hand but raised his eyebrows without a hint of recognition, thinking he was a clone of Quentin Crisp. “I never forget a pretty face, especially one I sit down on,” he continued in mock defiance. More ripples of laughter - but Braydie and Joe did not join in with the smutty mirth. Then, Braydie studied the Asian actor with his dark short shaggy hair, which somehow did not seem untidy, green eyes, short nose and full mouth. The physique in a plain white, tight T-shirt, black, even tighter, leather trousers added up to a young, fit and handsome guy. “How long are you at Theatre Royal?” asked Braydie, turning and facing Joe. “Two months, give or take a day or two,” came the reply. “That’s great,” remarked Clarence, “because you and Braydie can come to me for lunch on Sunday and you can tell me all about the opening night and any mishaps!” “Thank you, although I’m not sure whether I can make it. I may be looking for digs,” Joe answered, also staring at Braydie. “Why, where are you staying now?” asked Clarence. “At Mary Murphy’s.” Braydie sighed, “I’ve heard good and bad things about that place.” “Of course, I realised the price would be increased after six years, but it seems that it’s quite a lot more than I was told and the food portions are smaller than - 10 -

before and not as ‘home cooked’. It wasn’t as clean as last time either,” Joe said, looking forlorn. “Well, I’ve got plenty of room and so’s Braydie, so we’ll talk about it over lunch on Sunday and I wish you every success while you’re in our beautiful city. I must fly away. Now where did I leave that broom! Bye, kiddies. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, which gives you a load of scope!” “Now don’t go cruising CC - and go home and straight to bed.” “Hopefully, not alone,” he quipped and despite the large crowd he was gone. “Surely, he doesn’t really go cruising does he? At his age?” asked Joe, taking a large gulp from his drink. Braydie nodded. “Seventy-five and still going strong. Despite the dangers of the year 2008 the old queen still does the parks, especially Sydney Gardens, and at night. I know I’ve warned him so many times but he once said it was thrill of the danger that attracts him to do it. I’ve lost count of all the times he’s been robbed, in parks and at his home.” Joe shook his head. Just then a tall middle-aged man tapped Braydie’s shoulder. “Sorry to bother you but do you have a moment to discuss the advertising campaign regarding our joint charities?” “Sure. I hope you don’t mind?” he replied, looking at Joe.

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“No, of course not. I must be off as I’m feeling a bit tired. Perhaps I might see you again if you’re in here at lunchtime tomorrow?” Joe asked, finishing off his drink. “Yes, that will be fine. Sorry again about this.” Joe nodded, pulled up his trousers and gave a big smile and then he too was gone.

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TWO Despite the workload, Braydie managed to get to the Garrick’s Head pub in time for lunch, but unfortunately after he had waited more than an hour Joe still had not shown up. Back at work, he wondered whether 1 to 2pm had been the time they had agreed! He had assumed that this was the traditional lunch hour, although some people where he worked went at noon and even some at 2pm, but he then realised that he was inventing excuses and came to the conclusion that the guy simply did not want to meet him. Throughout the next couple of days and evenings Braydie immersed himself in work and managed not to have a backlog waiting for him on Monday. CC had telephoned him about lunch on Sunday and although reluctant at first, he agreed and knew that although he was not always keen on the banter, the food would be delicious and, anyway, Clarence (CC) Collier really was a true friend. Braydie had not moved to Bath long when he first met Clarence at a fundraising event with his blue-tinged white hair, extra thick make-up to show no lines and features that were a cross between those of Quentin Crisp and Frankie Howerd. Despite the hair and make-up his dress sense was somewhat less severe and consisted mainly of expensive handmade tailored suits, jackets, slacks and loafers.

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He saw him at various events throughout the city and then bumped into him at a farmers’ market on a Saturday at Green Park Station. From then on they met mostly for chats and coffee and Bradley was eventually invited to CC’s seventyfourth birthday party at his magnificent house near Queens Square and Gay Street, which seemed very appropriate for someone as outrageous as Clarence Collier. He later passed the initiation test to become part of the “circle”. One day, over lunch at Seafoods, CC told Braydie his life story, which was fascinating in the sense that he had left school at fourteen and gone to work in an auctioneers and estate agents, which he said was an opportunity to learn a lot about antiques. A sailor in the Royal Navy, he met the love of his life, an American called Grant Fuller while he was on duty in the USA. Then, after Grant died, CC was devastated and joined a monastery at Caldey Abbey, where he remained for a few years. When he learned of his parents’ death, he got permission to attend the funeral and decided to remain at their house, which was now his, and devote his time to restoring the place to its former glory. He did some charity work, joined the boards of The Royal and the same charity as Braydie and tried to get tryouts in Bath and on the fringe for American musicals (his biggest love in the theatre) that were unknown in England. He kept many scrapbooks and a chronological book on shows, composers, lyricists, scores, choreographers, stars, directors and theatres, dating back to the 1800s.

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Clarence Collier was listed in Who’s Who and had been contacted many times by impresarios, directors, stars and theatre managers from around the country consulting him on the accuracy and authenticity or otherwise of their information on musicals. He had a small circle of true and trusted friends, whom he encouraged to call him CC - the name that Grant Fuller always called him. This small group of six people included straights, gays, a bisexual and a lesbian. - - -oo0oo- - The Chronicle gave The Portrait of a Lady a good review and Joe Walsh’s name was mentioned as “a part well played and convincing”, which told Braydie that at least nothing had happened to him when he had not shown up for the lunchtime drink. He checked the thermometer and noticed the temperature was 69.8F, which he remembered was the same as last year, making July and August the warmest months, while knowing that January was the coldest. Braydie could hear church bells in the distance and decided that he must soon get ready to go to meet CC for lunch and headed for the bathroom to wash and shave. Later, as he walked along Walcot Street and George Street, the city had a cool air of tranquillity about it rather than a Saturday-night-Sunday-morning bash aftermath. It seemed serene also and Braydie knew that he had made the right move nearly two and a half years ago. He had been on a month’s course, in his - 15 -

work, and he had fallen in love with the Roman and Georgian architecture, the 18th century dandy, Beau Nash, and everything else, including the Grey Lady ghost at The Theatre Royal. Once smitten by the city, he had never looked back or regretted his decision. And anyway the aching backs of his legs were finally getting used to walking uphill forever round the city. It was little discomfort to suffer for a city so rich in history and yet which retained a dignified modern outlook on life itself, in all shapes and forms. Braydie was wearing a pale blue short-sleeve button collared shirt and mustard slacks and carrying a grey cotton cardigan in case the weather suddenly changed, which often happened. Most of the people that he saw or passed by seemed to be, like him, on a mission, which, in his case, was to be camp conversation and a delicious lunch. Most were too late for church - he noticed a large clock’s hands poised at 12:45 pm and it was obvious that the majority had places to see or people to visit or both. An occasional tourist or two, armed with cameras, peered at maps over their sunglasses as the cool air was dispersing and the sun’s warmth was beginning to penetrate and make an impression. Shops with sale stickers, end of season buys and new stock arriving were everywhere as Braydie coolly and calmly made his way to the loveable old queen’s summer palace. On arrival, he was ready to laugh when he rang the doorbell. Nowadays, most have chimes but CC had to be different! A couple of minutes later the door opened. “Emma Peel, I presume?” Braydie asked. - 16 -

“You must be John Steed?” came the reply. They both laughed as the strains of the old TV series, The Avengers faded in the distance. “You look like a blaze of glory, CC,” Braydie said, staring at a vivid red shirt and matching trousers. “And you’re so demure. Like Jane Austen revisited,” CC answered and they both grinned. “That’s a lovely smell. Is it from all the flowers that deck the hall or are you wearing something new?” Braydie asked. “Why, you’re an exquisite bee, just like nosey Busy Bea. Two questions in one. The smell’s from the flowers and they’re called phlox and they’re throughout the house in white, red and purple.” “It’s like a house of flowers.” “House of Flowers. That was also the name of a Broadway musical back in 1954 starring Pearl Bailey, Diahann Carroll and Ray Walston. Composed by Harold Arlen. Do you want to know anything more about it?” CC enquired. Braydie cringed - CC probably would know how many were in the audience on the first night so he shook his head and again stared at his ensemble. If seeing a bright red outfit was a shock for Braydie’s eyes, what was seated on one of the two sofas was an even bigger one. “Why Joe, what on earth are you doing here?” exclaimed Braydie, his eyes almost about to explode. - 17 -

“I believe I was invited to lunch,” Joe said, looking younger in the daylight hours in a denim jacket and jeans as he stood up. “Now before Joe tells you the story I must put on my pinny and go and check the lunch. Now, there’s a choice. First do you want home-made tomato soup or liver paté?” “Soup.” “Liver paté.” “The main course is a turkey roast or ham and egg salad.” “Turkey roast.” “Ham and egg salad.” “For afters it’s either me or Braydie.” They both stopped staring at one another and turned and looked at CC without any smiles or expression. “Just a joke, folks. It’s either lemon meringue or home-made trifle.” “Lemon meringue.” “Trifle.” “Well, versatility’s the name of the game in the house of flowers. Have fun while I’m away - and no religion or politics,” he said and left the room quickly. “I’m sorry I didn’t turn up for our lunchtime drink - it was because a catastrophe happened in the lodging house. Four of us are staying there and one, Keith Gerard, started having stomach pains. It got worse and worse and he was in such pain that finally I telephoned for an ambulance because Mary Murphy - 18 -

wouldn’t do it. She kept rambling that he’d get better and told him to drink a lot of water. Anyway the ambulance came and I went with him to the hospital. After what seemed a long wait he was examined and was diagnosed with food poisoning. I saw him settled into a ward and returned to tell Peter because it was the first night and Keith had a good part in the play. Well, he did some quick recasting and gave me the part that Keith had. I had to learn the part, which was several pages, and he insisted that we have a rehearsal of the scenes that I was in. To cut a long story short, I had no time to let you or anyone else know - and anyway I had no idea where you lived. The press was not informed of the mishap and, well, the reviews were quite good but since then I’ve been really shaking and keep pinching myself to make sure all this has really happened!” “Gosh! I am sorry. But then how did you manage to get here today?” “Just a short while ago I was at the newsagents to try and find a local paper to see if I could get some digs anywhere, because as you can imagine I don’t want to remain at that poisonous place for two months, and who should be there but Clarence - and here I am!” “But how do you know that Keith got the food poisoning at Mary Murphy’s because you’re all right aren’t you?” Braydie asked. “I believe I told you that I found the place different from six years ago and, quite honestly, I kept feeling hungry, so I went to the YMCA where you can get - 19 -

a very good meal and quite reasonably priced. I also enquired about a room, to no avail.” Braydie smiled and nodded. “Clarence said I could stay here and have meals - plus the fact it’s quite close to the theatre… But I don’t want charity, excuse me using that word, and I want to earn my keep,” Joe said. “How did you know about me and charity?” Braydie asked. “In the pub - when we were interrupted by that guy who wanted to speak to you.” Braydie smiled and nodded. “Before you make up your mind, after lunch we’ll go to my house, which is also fairly close to the theatre, as I think I might have the ideal solution.” The door burst open. “Food and anything you want or fancy as a side dish is now available. Come, my little ones. I believe in having everything - and I mean everything - piping hot!” After lunch CC did the inevitable by showing Joe all over the lavish house and the two bedrooms knocked into one where he had all his antiques. Also the colour catalogue, which listed everything from age, country and in some cases who the item was made for. This was especially helpful to dealers, who either came to bargain from all over the country or wanted to know about a certain item. The catalogue was so helpful to the police after he once brought back - 20 -

someone from a park cruise and found they had gone early and stolen one or two items. The insurance premium on the whole of the house was quite enormous and CC had always believed in saving and buying shares since he had been young. In fact he had opened his first bank account while at school with the money he earned from doing paper rounds and helping out in shops at weekends. The garden, with its prize flowers and vegetables, was CC’s pride and joy and the innuendoes alluding to the cucumbers and carrots came fast and furious! CC also talked about his favourite songbird, the robin, with its brown back and orange-red breast, that flitted around the garden and somehow seemed to follow and know him, although it was very wary of a siamese cat, Poo-Poo, which stalked the the next property’s garden wall. Braydie thought it was time to leave when CC started moaning about mobile phones being a curse to society, about privatisation causing thousands of deaths at hospitals, the utilities and the high-priced railways. He and Joe left, thanking their host for a lovely welcome and a marvellous meal with a tour of the house and garden and a chance to see a collection of paintings he had just bought from the Hampshire artist, Alan Cracknell, whose work he greatly admired. The streets now were well and truly aired and as they walked through the city, its streets thronged with many more people visiting the abbey or queuing for the Roman Baths tour.

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In no time at all they were at Chatham Row and Braydie pointed to the house where he lived. Once inside, Braydie asked Joe if he wanted a drink, hot or cold, and after Joe declined asked him to accompany him down to the basement via the hall stairs. The air was static and the first impression to Joe was that the place seemed larger than he assumed a basement flat would be, although he was not sure why. Braydie had told him on the way that when he bought the house it was originally three self-contained flats. Although they had used the entrance from the hall, it had its own one from the street, thanks to the last owner. At the top of the house was a kitchenette, shower room and toilet, one bedroom and lounge and this was connected via a door at the bottom of the first floor. Since he bought the place, on a mortgage, Braydie had removed that door. He went on to tell Joe that in two and a half years he had bought furniture from time to time, mostly in sales, which still had all its plastic wrappings covering it. The idea was to use the basement as a separate flat - the rent would certainly help pay the mortgage! “Now, you did say that you are used to painting and decorating?” Braydie asked. “Yes,” answered Joe. “I was born and bred in East Ham, London and my father was a painter and decorator, or to be precise still is, and I used to help him at weekends, so I know quite a bit about it.”

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“I bought several tins of paint, rollers and trays, which I’ve placed in the various rooms to denote what colours go where. Hopefully, they’re OK. I bought them in a closing down sale, so I haven’t a clue whether they’re for outside or inside, although there’s also a small yard at the back if each tin’s mainly for outdoors.” “The outside of the flat, which I noticed from street level, could also do with a spruce up,” Joe said, smiling. “Do you think you’ll have time in between matinees and evening performances to do the whole lot in two months?” Braydie said. “Definitely,” came the firm and confident reply. “I have parts of the day free as well.” “So you have the choice of whether you wish to remain down here all the time, because I can supply bedding and you’ll find a new microwave, also unpacked in the kitchen along with a mattress or two. Or if you prefer, I have a couple of spare bedrooms upstairs so you could use those and share meals, when I’m at home, with me,” Braydie said, hoping he would choose the latter. “Reminds me of the choices I also had earlier today,” he answered, again smiling. Braydie shifted awkwardly. “Surely, I ought to pay you something though,” he stuttered. “Shouldn’t I?” “No, if I can stay here free and do the work and you provide meals when convenient, that’s just fine with me and - let’s face it - isn’t that what friends are for?” he said, making Braydie blush. - 23 -

“Fine,” Braydie said, trying not to feel embarrassed. “I must go up and get a summer duvet and sheet from the airing cupboard for you.” “Do I not get a pillow too or do I share one?” Braydie blinked and stayed silent. “I’d rather stay upstairs, if I may, when it comes to sleeping arrangements in regards to my choice,” Joe said, raising his eyebrows with a smirk that followed. Braydie moved towards the door at the same time as Joe. “Now it’s my turn to apologise for bumping into you!” he said, looking directly at Braydie. “Touché!” “I think I’d better go and get my things, if that’s all right with you,” Joe said as they reached the stairs. “Yes, of course. Move in when you want.” “I just hope that leaving so soon that I’m not charged a full week,” Joe said, following behind him. “If Molly Murphy tries that, just casually mention that your friend, Clarence Collier, knows the editor of the evening paper and someone at the Tourist Board - and especially that he knows about the food poisoning. That’ll frighten her.” When they reached the top of the staircase and stepped into the hall, Braydie turned to bolt the door.

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“I suppose it would be best if this is left unlocked at all times as you’ll be up and down the stairs a lot.” “Yes, I think so,” Joe replied. “Actually, eventually when the flat’s fully furnished and up and running I wonder whether it would be best for these stairs to be filled in, or both doors bolted. I mean I don’t want to think that a tenant can pop upstairs to the rest of the house at night or when I’m not here, or vice versa. But there again, there’s the fire escape issue, and probably something to do with Health & Safety or whatever, and about having free access because there is no other escape route at the back.” “I’m sure your solicitor will be able to advise you - you’ll probably need to have a signed contract… And the council will be able to fill you in about fire precautions,” Joe said. “I must get a key for you as well - because you might want to pop out while I’m at work for something or other and you won’t be able to get back in otherwise,” Braydie said. “It’s nice to be trusted,” Joe said, taking a deep breath. “Especially by a stranger.” “I’m sure Peter Hall can vouch for you - and bumping into you like that gave me the strangest feeling that somehow I’d known you for years,” Braydie said. “Funny, but I had that feeling too,” came the reassuring reply. The two parted, both feeling content and happy.

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THREE What followed during the rest of July and the whole of August can only be described as the perfect summer in the eyes of two men, one twenty-eight years old and an actor, and the other thirty-five years young and a charity official. It was a perfect time, perfect place and perfect harmony! The changing season of heat, winds, rain and occasional chilly nights, had no effect whatsoever on the intimate life of two completely different men. Born and bred in Castle Street, East Ham, adjacent to the West Ham United Football Club, Joe Walsh had visions of being a footballer. His father Joseph worked on a Saturday when the team played at home at various outlets that the supporters throng in from Green Street to the stands and terraces. Joe had football training as a junior but a school visit to the Young Vic Theatre changed his mind completely and he did not try for university but instead trained locally and eventually got into RADA at his first audition. After graduation, he got an agent and by this time had taken numerous minor TV roles and a couple of movie parts. At that point his career had not taken off to the point of stardom, but by joining a well-known company and touring the provinces he was gaining the worthwhile experience that would eventually help him to become a star. - 26 -

Bradley (Braydie) Neilson, on the other hand, had a much more liberal upbringing. He was born while his parents were on their way to a wedding in Wichita, Kansas.

His father was a diplomat and they had been in Washington for a couple of years when the invitation to what was called a “society wedding”, was interrupted when the mother-to-be was taken ill and was rushed to the nearest hospital. Bradley was either the name of the doctor, part name of a hospital or the chauffeur that drove her at speed to the hospital - Braydie could never quite remember exactly how his name had come to fruition! With his father’s posting back to London, Braydie went to a private school and eventually to university where he read history. Undecided on a career and vacillating between becoming a social worker and training to be a missionary, he settled on a teaching post in Africa, where he remained for a couple of years before coming back to England and entering a charity organisation. Despite both being deliriously happy, the inevitable happened, first in the case of Braydie giving up any volunteer overtime and increasing his heavy workload even more. In the case of Joe, he was fluffing his lines on several occasions, made the wrong entrance and tried to blame it on seeing the ghost of the Grey Lady in the wings.

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Word got out to their respective peers that they were burning the midnight oil in a way that was affecting their work and professionalism - and that had to be toned down or else! Joe continued with the painting and found to his surprise that Braydie had got exactly the right type of paints for inside and outside and the colours were a blend of pastels and warm tones that fitted each room perfectly. They also had time on a Sunday to visit the Roman Baths by Torchlight tour. They were not sure whether to hire a toga or just use a couple of sheets knotted in the right places - they did the latter, as had many others in the gathering. It was fun and they made the most of it because the time was approaching when it would all end. Braydie wanted to show Joe as much as he could of the beautiful city, especially on foot, which he thought was the best and only way even though he had been there before years ago. On foot, they could uncover hidden gems of lanes, cobbled alleys, squares and names such as Slippery Lane, Boat Stall Lane and the lovely chapel, St Michael-Within-the-Walls and the old city walls. “Have you ever had sex with a coloured guy before?” Joe asked, resting his chin on his upright elbows on top of the bed. “Why do you ask?” Braydie replied with a frown, lying full-length on his back. “I just wondered whether you think I’m any good in bed, performance wise, as a top or a bottom.” “You mean compared with other coloured men?” Braydie enquired. - 28 -

Joe nodded. “The only other time I’ve ever had sex with a coloured guy was when I working in Africa. I’d rate you as 101% in both positions!” “What about the other guy?” Joe said. “50-50!” “So it’s nice to know that a Western Asian guy’s good in bed,” Joe said. Braydie wondered, after just having sex, why the question was brought up unless he did not measure up, but dismissed it as perhaps the final fling! “What will you do when you finish here?” Braydie asked Joe, who turned over on his back and lightly fingered Braydie’s nipple. “See my agent first, then a tube to Upton Park to see the folks, then call on my many lovers to see who can keep me in luxury while I’m resting.” “What!” exclaimed Braydie as he sat upright immediately and looked down at the smiling naked body. “I’m only joking. Don’t take things so seriously - surely you know me better by now!” Joe answered, grabbing him by the back of the neck with his hand and pulling him downwards. “I wish you could stay longer,” Braydie said, his head now resting on a pillow. “In fact I wish you could stay until the end of time.” “What if I said, so do I?” Joe said, now looking directly at him.

- 29 -

Braydie put one hand up to the side of Joe’s face and slowly brought it down to his lips. Joe opened his mouth and the hand caressed his lips until a finger, then another, slowly moved inside. Joe took the hand and slowly glided it from his mouth down to his chest, stomach and warm brown cock. “I didn’t mean to do that,” Braydie said, as he felt it move. “I meant to do this,” Joe replied as he immediately started to kiss Braydie’s cock and lick its head. While both cocks were pulsating at full length, the scenario went into what was usually known as a sixty-nine, with both men devouring each other’s cock at the same time to their full potential, making sure that the throbbing flesh of each was covered in saliva. The musk, as before, had an effect on Braydie that seemed to penetrate from Joe’s warm rigid earthy body direct to his senses, like some alter ego’s drug induced paranoia. It was an effect that Braydie had never ever witnessed or felt before with any other man. This sex, like the top and bottom ones earlier, gave him a dominant role that he had not encountered before. He had, as always, been versatile with every partner but Joe was different in every aspect. It was like both were living life not only to the full but more so, like there was no tomorrow or this was the end and life would never, ever be the same again. They both sucked with such wild abandonment, in a condom-free zone, fast and forceful, that when they both reached their climax it was a release of such force and magnitude that they almost collapsed from sheer exhaustion. Braydie withdrew from the sperm as it hit his throat while Joe’s mouth stayed tight - 30 -

around the base of his partner’s pubic hair as the bitter taste hit all sides of his throat until the last remaining seed had ceased to flow. Both lay still for a few minutes, eyes closed and the heat from their bodies slowly subsiding as they returned to a normal breathing pattern. Eventually Braydie opened his eyes. “You’re something Joe, did you know that? Really something. I’ve never ever met a man like you before, or made love like that.” “What marks do I get then for oral?” Joe asked, also opening his eyes and sitting up and propping himself up against one of the pillows. “I don’t know - the thermometer burst within me. Probably 101% with honours!” Braydie said, grinning. “Well it’s nice to know that I pleased you,” Joe said, also grinning. “Happiness with a capital H,” came the reply.

- 31 -

FOUR Braydie felt embarrassed. He had just realised that not only had he missed the Olympic Games in Beijing, China, on TV but that Great Britain did absolutely marvellously by coming fourth in the medals table. He realised that his mind had been on other things, but surely as all the events were over a period from the 8th to the 24th of August, he could have made a special effort and watched something! Missing out on forty-seven medals! Hopefully, the same thing wouldn’t happen in 2012 in London! - - -oo0oo- - The sixth season of The Peter Hall Company ended on the 30th August at The Theatre Royal and with CC’s knowledge and influence, Braydie managed to get a ticket for the last performance. From a packed house, he watched Joe’s performance and was thrilled at how he managed to convey his character in a way that was so convincing that Braydie felt as though he and only he was on the stage. After a lie-in with sex, the happy couple decided on a visit to the Thermae Bath Spa with a good soak in the open-air rooftop pool before Sunday lunch at CC’s, who was sporting a black eye. The grand-dame said it was from a fall - and for once it sounded convincing!

- 32 -

Later in the evening, a tearful farewell at Bath Spa railway station, making Braydie remark, “Who’s acting like a drama queen now! Plus the fact that we’re not in Kansas anymore!” The days that followed made Braydie feel alone, so desperately alone that he felt melancholy and did not want to move outside the house. He went to work, did all that was expected of him and left to come back to a lonely existence. His movements from different rooms conveyed a sadness he had never experienced before and at times he felt sick, really sick. Braydie would spend a lot of time down in the basement flat, now fully furnished and ready for immediate occupation, but he could not bring himself either to advertise personally in a newsagents, put an ad’ in the local paper or even an estate agents. Somehow he did not want a stranger to spoil what seemed a perfect environment - but at least it would end his own ache of emptiness. He would stare at the freshly painted walls, wander from room to room and feel the smell of musk that still lingered throughout the place. Flecks of a dying sunset echoed around the rooms, rebounded from all shapes and colours and brought a tinge of a shadow that had passed through the flat like a will o’ the wisp of a distant past. In the kitchen, he noticed the washing machine door ajar and went to close it. Noticing something inside, and thinking it was a label of some sort, he pulled out some material. It turned out to be a T-shirt that had various splashes of paint on it: Joe’s multicoloured work shirt. - 33 -

Braydie wondered if Joe had left it deliberately for him to find or had just carelessly forgotten it was there. Either way, he was glad because this was a part of Joe. He squeezed the garment, held it over his face and sniffed at the paint and for once felt happy. Joe was here with him in mind and in spirit and somehow he felt warm and comfortable. Just then he heard a sound and, shaking his head, his thoughts back to reality as he looked around. The noise became loader again down the steps from the street and this time it came from upstairs so he opened the front door of the flat, stepped outside and looked up towards the main door. “Why if it isn’t CC! Whatever are you doing here?” The tall impeccably dressed figure stared down to meet his gaze. “You, dear boy, who else! Now stay there and I’ll come down to see you.” “But are you sure it wouldn’t be better if I come up to you?” Braydie answered. “No, I’m not yet a dotty old frump, so make way for Bath’s Heritage Queen!” he said and slowly with a hand on the rail made his way down the stairs. The straw trilby, a blazer with gold buttons, a printed T-shirt, white flannels, feather-print sunglasses and quilted thong sandals added up to elegance at its best and he knew it. “Come, dear boy, let’s get out of the sun before I wilt!” Inside the flat, CC flopped on the nearest armchair.

- 34 -

“Can I get you a drink or something? I can nip upstairs and it won’t take a minute.” “No. I’ll be fine as soon as I cool down.” “Now why do I have this unexpected pleasure of a visit,” Braydie asked, also sitting down on a chair opposite. “Well, to be honest, pet, I’ve not heard from you for a while. No replies to my emails or to my answerphone maessages. So I’ve come to find out what’s wrong. It’s as simple as that,” CC replied, stretching his legs out full and the hot perspiration on his face subsiding. “I’m also fine, it’s just that I’ve got a bit behind with my work and decided that I’d better concentrate and catch up. I do apologise,” Braydie said, looking down on the newly laid Wilton carpet. “I realise I’ve only known you a couple of years and a bit but I’ve never seen you like this before. You can’t fool Mother Clarence one bit. You’re in love!” Braydie blushed immediately. “Really? Who with?” “The rugby player, birdbrain, who else!” came the reply with a deadpan expression and a raising of the eyebrows. “If you think it’s Joe, I can assure you I get along without him very well,” Braydie replied. “Hoagy Carmichael, composer - featured in the film The Las Vegas Story with Jane Russell and Victor Mature. - 35 -

“What was?” “The song, I get along without you very well, CC replied, contentedly. “So why the secrecy?” CC continued. “I know it sounds silly and stupid but I feel like some awkward novice just out of school. One who can’t eat or sleep, having to work harder at work just to keep up with elementary stuff I can usually do in my sleep. My resistance is low…” “My resistance is low is also by Hoagy Carmichael and in the same film, The Las Vegas Story and yes, Braydie, I do remember the time. It may have been a long time ago but I can recall everything as though it was yesterday. Now I do understand all too well.” “I’m sorry again. I should have told you but thought you’d think that someone of my age was a bit old in the tooth for puppy love.” “It can happen to anyone, dear heart. Age is of no importance. Where is Joe anyway? I assume that’s who you’re referring to?” “He’s in the USA. Since he went back to London they’d been phoning constantly and his agent told him that they wanted him for a TV series - well at least if he passed the audition - and so off he went. He did the test and will hear the result tomorrow. So keep your fingers crossed,” Braydie answered. “I certainly will and it’s nice to see you so happy,” CC said, smiling and lifting his head up high and looking around the room. “It’s all due to Joe.”

- 36 -

“That’s funny. You mentioned happy and you do look radiant. It reminds me of a song from a musical: Happiness is just a thing called Joe. It’s from a 1940 allblack Broadway musical, Cabin in the Sky, which was made into a film three years later starring Ethel Waters, Eddie (Rochester) Anderson and Lena Horne. Music by Harold Arlen.” “Pity about the word ‘thing’, though,” Braydie said. “What do you mean?” “Being about a human being I think if I’d been the lyricist I’d have written the word ‘guy’ instead. A destiny of happiness!” he replied. “Happiness is just a guy called Joe,” CC said. “Yes. I like it and know exactly what you mean!”

- 37 -

FIVE As the weeks and months progressed into Autumn, with rising food and utilities bills, what was originally planned for two guys did not materialise. Joe had left for the USA in the hope of landing a part in a new TV thriller series. He did not get the part. But, as sometimes happens, Dame Fortune cast a magic spell and he landed on something quite, quite different! While doing his failed audition, he was noticed by someone who was looking for just one more person for a TV commercial. Joe chatted with the producer and got in touch with his agent, who agreed, knowing this would pay for the trip and hotel expenses at least. As it was only going to be a one-off advert, he inadvertently signed on the wrong dotted line in haste for the union minimum fee - for any repeats he would get a percentage. The commercial was for a new orange juice that an unknown company in Louisiana was promoting, based on some old “dear old granny’s recipe”, which had been found at the bottom of a “wishing well”! As the producer said to Joe, “If you believe that you’ll believe anything!” How the recipe had got there was never ever explained - and in fact it only came to light when a developer was about to demolish the well. A local drinks firm took up the idea of trying it out and made up a batch to give to local people to try out in various places throughout the state. It appeared that the majority liked it so the company made a lot more and sold it to various - 38 -

supermarkets and other outlets until it was time to do a commercial with the aim of increasing sales. The advert was filmed on a back lot of an old TV firm that still had the original scenery of a well-known series called Jumpin’ Jipes, which was based loosely on a combination of Lil Abner and The Beverly Hillbillies. Joe was cast as an Englishman whose car breaks down and, tired and frustrated, asks one of the locals where he can get a drink. She just happens to have a carton in her basket and tells him that “the sunshine will melt your heart when you take a sip from Ollie’s Oranges.” “Gee, Ma’am,” he replies. “That sounds like health, goodness and love all rolled up into one. I’m mighty grateful. Perhaps I should stay around a while and have another sip,” he smiles. End of commercial. For some unexplained reason, the advert took off and Joe was asked to go on the local TV station, which led to other companies also asking him to appear. He was described as a cockney Shakespearean actor who, after flunking his audition for a new TV series, thought he would stay around and see what was on offer. The ad’ came up and rather than be “resting” took the part and everything was now coming up roses. What Joe did not mention on any of the TV interviews was that the repeats of the adverts now going nationwide were making him a great deal of money. Furthermore, the name Joe Walsh was getting a lot of recognition.

- 39 -

Needless to say, more adverts were filmed in different locations with quaint oldfashioned dialogue, funny and bizarre situations that at times made Joe almost spew up - after all, this stuff was supposed to be simple and original. In fact in one commercial, he deliberately decided to ad-lib. Although he apologised for going off-script, when the producers saw the rushes they decided to leave it in. Soon afterwards a newspaper review raved about how good the advertisement and Joe had been! The orange juice sales soared and so did the TV ads in ratings and sponsorship. He was nicknamed Happy Joe and radio, TV chat shows, personal appearances and even an invitation to open a new supermarket followed. It was only when he realised that fruit, like some Americans call gays, was taking over his life, that he asked for and then demanded a week off and literally caught the next plane back to England, and then on to Bath. Joe wanted peace, quiet and sex - in that order!

- 40 -

SIX Although Autumn was Braydie’s favourite season, he was sad that he only had Joe for a week and going by the constant phone calls and emails from the USA, he did not think Joe would be able to stay any longer. Joe so wanted to give up the commercials work. Although it paid him well thanks to the constant repeats of the ads and other lucrative endorsements, plus now shares of the company, he wanted to be recognised as an actor and not as a TV funny man. The city of Bath at this time of the year had a warm glow about it, the nights getting darker and the shops filled with everything from Guy Fawkes paraphernalia to pre-Christmas goodies. It was cooler now and the winds at times threatened almost to blow you into the River Avon from sheer gusto, before the onset of winter. Everywhere people seemed at ease with themselves, not upset by the passing of summer or and the change of colour from a vast expanse of vivid blue skies to autumnal browns, reds and yellows. Braydie was hoping at least that Joe would be here for the Guy Fawkes party held at CC’s place. He had been before and the event was more than just a party with a fireworks display in the garden, when many people arrive all dressed up and not necessarily as Guy Fawkes!

- 41 -

The trouble was that, the 5th being midweek, it was almost impossible to get time off again so soon after a week away from the fast pace of the American TV circuit. - - -oo0oo- - “Take a ten-minute break!” came a shout from the director. Joe, dressed as some sort of spaceman, left the set with a helmet under his arm. He avoided his trailer and headed straight to the table, which contained all types of drinks, sandwiches and bagels. He grabbed a coke and a corned beef on rye sandwich and saw an empty seat near the area where the public were allowed to stand and watch the filming of the TV commercial. “You looked bushwhacked!” a voice said. Joe hoped it wasn’t a member of the public who had managed to get away from the security people and the taped-off area on the set. “I am,” Joe replied and noticed it was coming from a tall guy aged around forty with an average build and looks in a navy uniform. Joe assumed he either was an extra or one of the maintenance crew. “Why are you here when you have your own trailer?” the man asked in a deep, strong southern accent. “It can be lonely at times, despite everyone being around and a trailer’s all right if you’re making some sort of epic and you’re a big movie star but not just for a commercial, it’s all so superficial!” Joe said, biting into his sandwich.

- 42 -

“Still, you’re the star because of the sales the orange ad’ is making, so I suppose you have to live with it!” Joe just shrugged his shoulders. “What’s your name by the way?” he enquired. “Just call me Fuller,” came the reply. “I’m trying to get a few more days off to go back to England when we celebrate the 5th November, as I’ve been invited to a rave-up in the city of Bath, where my lover lives,” Joe said, taking a sip from the coke. “I remember that name from my schooldays,” Grant said. “Isn’t it a Roman city - or is it Georgian?” “A mixture of both. My, you certainly do have a good memory!” “Is this bash on the 5th November an open air event complete with fireworks?” Grant asked. “No. At a private house belonging to an eccentric loveable old queen by the name of Clarence Collier,” Joe replied. Before Joe could ask any more questions there was an announcement over the loud speaker: “Everyone back on the set.” “It looks as though I, or perhaps we, are wanted,” Joe said and looked around to find the man had gone. Joe blinked, sighed, turned around more and beyond, but the mysterious stranger had vanished.

- 43 -

SEVEN Joe did manage to get a couple of days off from his busy schedule and headed straight for England on the eve of the Guy Fawkes shindig. He was told, in plain language, that these days off, first a week, and now three more had to stop and he must honour his contract or be suspended. Joe just smiled and stayed silent. He knew his agent was checking up on rumours that either The Odd Couple or Boys in the Band was due for revival. Anyway, he was still wanted on many shows as a guest - from soaps to live phone-ins. But he’d hoped the classic Ghostly Gay Trilogy novel would be in the offing as there was a part in it that he knew was made for him! There was a cold, biting wind as he got off the train at Bath Spa station and he was glad when he saw Braydie hurrying towards him. They hugged and soon scrambled down the subway to a waiting taxi rather than face a brisk ten-minute walk. The next day Braydie unfortunately had to go to work and he was not in the best frame of mind having to leave a comfortable bed with Joe naked in it and still wanting more! But after the trouble he had caused before, he was not going to upset his boss, or conveniently get given a transfer - probably to the highlands. He was settled here for good. Late, yes. Given the boot, no! It was a slight wind, that seemed much cooler of late, and he heard a couple mention that, “It was the end of the Indian Summer”, although Braydie was not aware that they had ever had one! Despite the hectic work in the office, the - 44 -

morning went slowly and the afternoon dragged and after everyone had gone home, he also decided enough was enough. By the time he left, the wind was sharper and colder. He had told Joe on the phone not to cook anything as there was usually a large buffet at the “bangers party”. The two of them, both dressed in black polo-neck sweaters and white jeans, plus a couple bottles of cider, left at 7.30 pm. The smoky atmosphere of the streets, the sky laden with bright shooting stars and an array of noises from bangs to exploding rockets greeted them at every corner on their journey. It was when they arrived at the house that things did not seem quite right. First, the light in the lantern outside was flickering, swinging to and fro. It was windy but it seemed as though it was at an angle and hanging partly out of the brickwork. Secondly, there was a large headed notice on the door placed under the doorknocker. SORRY LUVVIES, BUT I’VE BEEN CALLED AWAY URGENTLY. PLEASE HELP YOURSELVES TO THE BUFFET AND I’LL TRY TO BE BACK IN TIME FOR THE FIREWORKS DISPLAY AT 8:00 pm WHICH IS AUTOMATIC ANYWAY. SEE YOU SOON, DARLINGS. Braydie pushed what seemed to be an open front door - and it was! Once inside, Braydie immediately saw the other five of CC’s close circle: Alder King, a married man, Haddon James, a bisexual, Lee Darke and Tommy Niven, both gay and Jackie Juniper, a lesbian. All had either drinks or food in their

- 45 -

hands and were laughing, apparently unconcerned by the notice on the front door. “Hi Braydie. Want a drink?” shouted one. “Who’s your friend?” shouted another. “Aren’t you all surprised about the notice outside on the door? It’s just not CC, Braydie replied. “Oh come on, dear, you’re new to the bunch. We know CC of old. He’s just literally had to go somewhere. What’s the fuss?” Jackie said, gulping a large swig of her drink down. It looked like it was one of many. Joe smiled to everyone but they seemed more concerned with their own selves than meeting a newcomer. “I just think it’s very odd,” Braydie said to Joe as they walked past the group and into the kitchen and out through the back door. As Braydie had seen twice before, the garden was littered with various types of apparatus, all shapes, sizes and colours, with numerous types of fireworks attached to them. At the far end of the garden was a bonfire and attached to a pole was erected a Guy Fawkes, complete with mask, scarf and hat. It was swaying in the wind, which had increased and was lit only by the fireworks that littered the sky from all directions. Joe glanced at his watch and noticed it was 7:55 pm and at that precise time the other five, who had ignored him in the hall, came into the garden still laughing, prancing about and each carrying a glass of some substance or other. - 46 -

Braydie seemed anxious as he went back into the house and went straight to the front door, which he opened and scanned the street. Something’s not right, he thought, as he saw a couple of children run around one of the parked cars. When they saw him they each poked their tongues out and ran off in another direction. The wind was now really gusty and he went back into the house and heard the hall clock chime eight o’clock. Braydie hurried out into the garden and saw Joe staring at what seemed like a spark issuing from one of the stands. Everyone stood back from the lawn where it stood and watched as the rest of the machinery seemed to act in a similar way. One by one they ignited and started a display that had everyone in awe as it seemed even bigger and brighter than last year. The whole garden was ablaze with colour and a firework with a low level display, unlike the others that zoomed out and upwards towards the black starry night, shot right into the bonfire. A flame immediately appeared and the wind quickly made it spread fast and furious and within no time the bottom half of the bonfire was blazing. The fireworks continued to go off at timed intervals, making the spectacle fast and furious, illuminating the whole garden and beyond for what seemed like a long time. It was almost when the air was being overburdened by the smell and the bonfire was now halfway up towards Guy Fawkes that a sharp crack was heard.

- 47 -

Everyone seemed to stare at one another and then back at the house when a sudden gust of wind started to make the pole sway even more. Another crack was heard when all of a sudden the pole holding Guy Fawkes started to move even faster and suddenly it came crashing down almost at the feet of the onlookers. The hat came flying off, then the mask and finally a terrific scream from Jackie pierced the air. She held her hands up to her face, terrified. “It’s CC!” she screamed again, hysterically, and everyone looked down at what must inevitably be the dead body of Clarence Collier. Later, near his body, was also found a dead bird: a robin!

- 48 -

EIGHT Despite Barack Obama becoming the first black man to become President of the United States, the news of the murder of Clarence Collier predominated over the next few days. It not only made the local paper and TV news, but also the nationals. Inspector Dudley Jameson of the Avon & Somerset Constabulary, Manvers Street Police Station, was in charge of the case and he interviewed all who had been present at the gathering. At present it was not robbery and there seemed to be no motive for the crime. First to be interviewed was Joe, who asked specifically if he could return to the USA due to his urgent commitments. “Take a seat. Mr Walsh isn’t it?” the man said as he stood up from behind his desk when Joe came into the room and was pointed to a seat. “Thank you.” “I’m Inspector Jameson. Now, how long did you know the late Clarence Collier?” “Not long. I met him what I thought was the first time back at the beginning of July, but he said ‘hello’ first and said that he remembered me from six years ago. I don’t remember that but you meet so many people in my profession, and then I met him again at the beginning of July last.” “Oh yes. You’re one of that theatre crowd that prances about on the stage at the Royal, I believe?” the Inspector said, raising his eyebrows. - 49 -

“Well, er, I suppose that depends what show you’re in at the time. I’d have thought that ‘prancing about’ would be more in line with pantomime, which I’ve yet to experience,” Joe replied, also raising his head. “That’s another thing I’ve found with theatre people. They seem to know very little but try to act as though they do,” he replied, straightening his back against the chair. Joe gulped and looked at the floor. “Now, I understand that you want to leave the country today, or is that tomorrow?” the Inspector said, looking quickly through a file on his desk. “It can be either really because of the five hour difference in times between each country,” Joe said, now turning his stare back on the enquirer. “You’re a clever dick aren’t you, remembering that,” he replied with a sneer. Joe shrugged his shoulders. “Do you live in the States permanently, Mr Walsh?” he asked, perusing the file again. “No, only while I’m working there.” “New York, is it?” the Inspector asked, still studying the file. “Yes.” “Whereabouts?” “Queens.” “That figures,” came the smiling reply from the Inspector as if he had scored a point at last. - 50 -

“Why do you say that, Inspection Jameson?” Joe asked. “Showbiz and all that - you know. It seems to have more than its fair share of gays, don’t you think?” “I should imagine they’re in all professions,” came the quick reply. The Inspector almost slammed down the file. “Did you know that Clarence Collier was gay?” “Not really. I just assumed that he was,” Joe said. “Why was that?” the Inspector asked. “A combination of his manner, clothes, walk, effeminate voice, words, things, house, that kind of thing,” Joe said. “Are you gay, Mr Walsh?” the Inspector said, looking straight at Joe in a stern manner. “May I ask why you wish to know?” Joe replied, looking at him without a hint of a smile. “In my experience when people avoid the question they must be hiding something,” he said. “I didn’t avoid the question, Inspector, I merely asked why the murder of Clarence Collier has anything to do with me being gay.” “Well, Mr Walsh, with all the people Mr Collier’s picked up over the years that I’ve known him in regards to assaults and robberies, I reckon the murderer has to be gay.” “May I ask how he died?” Joe asked, now feeling tired and wanting to leave. - 51 -

“Would you believe it if I told you that the pole he was attached to was actually found rammed right up his rectum?” Joe closed his eyes for a split second and gulped again, this time shaking his head. “No gay person would have done that, Inspector, I can assure you,” Joe said, almost shivering and feeling sick. “Then that answers my question on whether you’re gay or not!” the Inspector said almost with a satisfied smile. “One last question. Were you part of CC’s camp circle?” He shook his sad head. “You’re free to leave, Mr Walsh - and enjoy your flight.”

- 52 -

NINE The days that followed into October were sad for Braydie, not only because Joe was back in the States, but because recently a dear, lovely, kind old friend, CC, had been taken away by a sick anti-gay butcher. An ill wind blew when the funeral was held at the Haycombe Crematorium, organised by the executors according to the instructions that Clarence Collier had given them years ago. They also dealt with the will and its explicit details of everything to be sold including the antiques, a valuation list and a list of people who would be interested. When everything was completed, the entire proceeds of his estate were to be given to The Terrence Higgins Trust, an AIDS charity. Everything was eventually sold for nearly 10½ million pounds. The cash in his bank account was divided between relatives apart from a substantial donation to LACS (League Against Cruel Sports) and to his former housekeeper of thirty-five years, whose stay at a nursing home nearer to her family was to be paid for until her demise. It was also the nursing home that the police visited to check if she had any keys to the house as, to date, only one set had been found. Unfortunately she had Alzheimer’s disease so could not remember! Later, the solicitors also found a box bearing the words, Christmas presents for the CC club, and their names and addresses printed on labels affixed to the neatly wrapped seasonal paper. Braydie received a DVD of the movie Cabin in - 53 -

the Sky, which included the song Happiness is a Thing Called Joe. He smiled and then later cried. Perhaps he should have waited until Christmas before opening it! No clues to CC’s death had materialised. There had been no robbery or breakin, although there were two reports of a young man loitering outside the house at about 6pm on the 5th November and another of a middle-aged man scurrying from the house on a bike around about the same time that day wearing a baseball cap bearing the initials GF. But despite exhaustive enquiries by the police nothing came of them. On reflection, Braydie had often wondered whether there was anything he or anyone could have done to prevent this tragedy. It had seemed when he was interviewed by the police that it was an open and shut case; that the culprit was someone CC had picked up in or around the toilets of one of the parks - a basket case who had taken out his anger on him. Braydie disregarded this opinion - one could not just assume that the killer was male - and anyway, why on Earth would CC want to go cruising on the afternoon of the Guy Fawkes party. He would have had so much to do with preparing not only the fireworks assembly in the garden but also the drinks and refreshments. Another theory was perhaps that someone that he had picked out from a police parade of ages ago - someone who had hospitalised CC - had come back to seek revenge - 54 -

TEN Jackie Juniper felt very uncomfortable when she was interviewed by Inspector Jameson at the police station. She originally asked if he could visit her at her house in Lansdown but this was refused due to pressure of work. Jackie complained that she had to leave her sick bulldog behind, which was not a good thing, although she was promised that the talk would not take long, so eventually she agreed. She arrived by taxi and felt embarrassed when the cab driver mentioned on the way that she reminded him of one of those actresses in the film The Killing of Sister George. When she asked if it was Susanna York, he replied no, that it was Beryl Reid. Needless to say that when she got out from the cab and was told the fare charge, she gave him exactly that amount and commented that she had no further change for a tip, with an acid smile! Once she was inside Inspector Jameson’s office, he eyed her while fiddling with a filing cabinet: a tallish woman the wrong side of fifty, with short dark grey hair, no make-up, a shirt and tie, a blazer, brown cords and brogue shoes. “How long have you known Clarence Collier?” he asked, slamming the cabinet door and putting a file on his desk before sitting down. “How long did I know Clarence Collier?” came the reply. Inspector Jameson stared at a pair of man-hating eyes and grunted, “How long?” “About twenty-five years or so,” she replied, spreading her legs. - 55 -

“So I assume you were part of CC’s camp circle?” he asked. “Actually I don’t know where the word ‘camp’ came from. As far as I know it was always known as CC’s circle, unless Bradley Neilson coined that phrase, since he was the last one to join,” she answered, tapping the side of her knee. “Do I detect that you do not like ‘Braydie’ as I believe he’s usually called?” “No, Inspector that’s your interpretation not mine. I’m just stating a fact,” she said with a glare. “Actually I was the one who put the word ‘camp’ into the title, as I believe all of the circle knows the word and its meaning.” “If you’re assuming that the group, circle or whatever you want to define us with are all presumably gay then the answer’s probably. Or at least I don’t know about that one called Joe, I think that’s his name… He came with Braydie.” “Would you know if Clarence Collier had any enemies?” he said, opening the file on his desk. “That’s a big question, Inspector,” she replied, sitting well back into the seat and stretching her legs out further. “CC had trouble with his pickups over the years, in and out of court, hospital and so on - but there again he might have had some ruthless antique dealers as enemies. He certainly knew his stuff and I believe the prices he got didn’t always go down well in the trade.” “Did you know any of them?” She shook her head.

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“How did you know then if CC may not have been in favour with some other dealers?” he asked. “I said he might have been - not that I knew. I mean antiques and bargaining is always a risky business, don’t you think, Inspector? Mind you, CC was a member of the local Antique Dealers’ Association. But then again, the catalogue of everything he owned was found at the house and nothing was missing - so there was no robbery involved.” He blinked and wondered whether she knew more than she was actually saying. “This was a very calculated, horrendous murder, the like of which I’ve never come across before and hope I never ever will again. It shook me up, I can tell you. It seems to be a gay hate serial killer.” “It’s affected us all very badly and I don’t know whether we’ll ever be a group again. None of the other five has mentioned meeting anywhere and I think we’re all still in shock and mourning. Perhaps its the end of an era,” she said, her eyes widening and looking decidedly sad. “Well, thank you, Miss Juniper, for coming. I don’t know if I’ll want to see you again unless something comes up in our investigations. Would you like a car to take you home?” She nodded without smiling. “Before leaving, I’ll take up your point again about enemies, Inspector. You asked if CC had any. Well, all gays have enemies! There’s the anti-brigade, the

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zealots that want to rid mankind of us and the TV comedians that poke fun at us. We all have a cross to bear, Inspector, but some more than others. “Finally, we mustn’t forget those that promulgate little hate campaigns by writing to local and national newspapers, whispering and always mentioning gays in conversations. Now, to me, it seems they’ve got something to hide and they’re the worst of the lot. If you add the hate mail that homosexuals and lesbians can also get, it all starts before we even leave the front door.” She quickly turned and headed for the door. On her way back to Lansdown, she saw a placard outside a newsagent’s shop saying that snow had fallen in London and Jackie’s mind wandered for a brief moment to where she was born and brought up in Fishponds, a suburb of Bristol. Why then and now was a mystery, as thoughts of the past usually come when you are on your own, not in a car leaving a police station. As shops and buildings flashed by so did her thoughts of growing up, being a tomboy, teased at school over her name, and of all things being seduced when she was fourteen by a woman of twenty. Whose fault was it? Or perhaps it really was an act of love, just waiting for the right time, place and person. Jackie never saw the seducer again but felt it was her turn to make the running and this she did and was surprised by how many girls were ready to be deflowered. At times her life was happy, but when she saw lesbians together she had often wondered whether she would have been really complete if she had a partner. - 58 -

Life can be isolated and lonely when you are on your own, but perhaps she should have made more of an effort when younger to bring it all to fruition. “You’re home, Miss,” was heard coming from the driver. Jackie blinked and came down to Earth as she thanked him and went quickly from the car to her home and up to her room, forgetting to check on Winston, her ailing bulldog. She lay down on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to come to terms with why she was thinking about her childhood and events leading up to when her family moved to Bath. Just then she heard a noise, which brought her mind back to reality and she sat up and for no reason was thinking of when she found the front door of CC’s house open on that terrible night. The bedroom door slowly opened. “All right, Winston, I’m coming to feed you,” she sighed.

With milk bottles piling up outside the house and newspapers on the doormat, a neighbour finally decided to ring the police and later it transpired that the body of a single woman had been found. She had been murdered. Unfortunately, if Inspector Jameson had been hoping not to find another gruesome murder like Clarence Collier’s, he was to be disappointed. Jackie Juniper was found gagged and bound to her bed. A thick two-foot long dildo was inserted completely into her cunt. - 59 -

ELEVEN The shock-horror that reverberated around the quiet, sedate area of Lansdown was far worse than the global financial crisis and the furore about the offensive telephone calls made to the actor, Andrew Sachs, on his answerphone by Russell Brand and Jonathan Ross from the BBC Radio 2 show, which resulted in over 30,000 complaints.

A respectable single fifty-year-old woman had been bludgeoned to death by what a local paper described as “a psycho sex-fiend” and the hideous crime seemed to have a similar pattern to the recent murder of Clarence Collier. Also, as in CC’s case, nothing had been stolen or damaged - nor had a break-in been committed. It was worrying, not only for Inspector Jameson but also for the other members of the CC circle, which was why he called the five remaining “members” to his office urgently. Their files in front of him, behind his desk, he looked at each one individually as though time was of no importance to him or to them: Alder King: married with no children, classified - according to file - as almost straight. Tall, ginger haired, uninteresting face with spectacles. Aged 45. Architect. Haddon James: single, bisexual. Fat, dark haired, green eyes, sallow complexion, scar on nose. Aged 43. Court Usher. Lee Darke: single, gay. Medium height, blond/brown haired, grey eyes, redfaced and cleft chin. Aged 39. Civil Servant.

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Tommy Niven: gay and living with partner. Short, redhead, blue eyes and round face. Aged 37. Both barmen in a gay club. Bradley (Braydie) Neilson: single, gay. Tall, sandy haired, brown eyes, ruby lips and even jaw. Handsome (according to file). Aged 35. Asst. Director for a Charity. “Gentlemen,” the Inspector began, “it’s been a terrible ordeal with Clarence Collier and now Jackie Juniper. The unmitigated horror of their deaths has naturally caused shock waves not only throughout the city but also here in the Manvers Street station. Is there anyone or anything that you think of that can possibly link these horrendous deaths? Does anyone know if either CC or Jackie had enemies capable of committing such atrocities?” The five men shifted uneasily, one coughing and two looking at each other and then around the room. “Think very carefully, gentlemen,” the Inspector continued. “In pubs, clubs, venues, even at work, has there been anything during the last few weeks or even months that has made you suspicious of something different, or someone acting strangely?” “Well,” Tommy Niven said, sitting upright in his chair. “At the club where I work, someone was recently asking whether anyone knew of CC. I must admit I only overheard it in the middle of serving a customer with many others waiting, so I didn’t get a chance to look at the guy closely.” “At least it was a man then?” the Inspector said.

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Tommy nodded. “Did your partner, who I believe also works at the club, or in fact anyone else behind the bar notice this man?” “No, afraid not. Bryan, my partner, was down in the cellar and the other barmen were rushed off their feet like me. Of course, it’s been the topic of conversation there since it happened and we’ve all been trying frantically to figure out who the guy was. But it was a Saturday night and the club was jam-packed with regulars, foreigners and pick-ups, all sorts…” Tommy replied, shrugging. “No matter. I’ll get someone to check the Bath Tap, the Dark Horse, the Green Room and the King’s Arms in case he called there.” “May I ask, Inspector,” said Braydie, “were there any other fingerprints in CC’s house or on the notice on the front door. Also, who wrote the notice?” he said raising his head that was before staring gloomily at the floor. “Good questions. But no, unfortunately nothing but the late Mr Collier’s in regards to fingerprints - and a writing expert has so far come up with nothing on who wrote the sign.” “What about the little black book?” Alder King asked, adjusting his spectacles. The Inspector turned away with a cautious look and then faced the enquirer. “What little black book?” “I remember on numerous occasions over the years CC used to say that he would have to look him up in his ‘little black book’. It was either after a pickup

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or someone he met by chance in a pub, club or the theatre after he had told the story,” Alder said, fiddling with his tie. “Yes, I remember that too,” Lee Darke said. “I mean the little black book.” The Inspector shook his head. “Another thing that’s important and why I called you all here today is the forthcoming Christmas. As you can gather at that time of the year everyone’s on a high, whether because of the season itself, present giving, parties, drinks, people or the host of other activities that everyone indulges in too much and there are many hangovers and upsets at the end of it all… We all eat too much, drink too much and spend too much. But for you, gentlemen, this time it will be different. Because of the shortage of manpower I will not be able to assist you all as I would have wished and that would have been a twenty-four-hour surveillance on each of you. So you’ll have to double your efforts to be careful and cautious because as the murderer is still on the loose his next target might, and I don’t want to alarm you, but just might be one of you!” “My wife and I are going away this year as we always do. In-laws and all that,” Alder remarked, blinking and looking worried. “So am I, going away,” repeated Haddon and Lee simultaneously. “I may be going abroad,” Braydie also remarked. “Bryan and I will be working,” said Tommy, almost shaking. “I’ll ask you to give me your addresses and telephone numbers sometime, not necessarily now, leading up to the season. As for you, Mr Niven, and your

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partner I expect there’ll be a check up on your club anyway over that period as we’ve had some disturbances from that place in the past and I don’t expect Christmas 2008 will be any different,” the Inspector said. “May I ask, Inspector, if we’d not been gay would we have had a twenty-fourhour watch on each of us,” Braydie asked, again raising his head and looking directly at the man behind the desk. “But I’m not gay!” shouted Alder before the Inspector could answer. “Being gay, straight or bisexual has nothing to do with it. Like I said, it’s all to do with manpower and we’re short at the best of times, but Christmas is the worst because more people act foolishly and break the law and we have to clean up the mess. No, I can assure you gentlemen that sexual preference or gender’s not an issue here at all,” the Inspector replied just as the telephone rang. He spoke to the caller. “I’m sorry but I do have to go to an important meeting now. If there’s anything more you wish to know I’ll send a colleague in and you can discuss it. Thank you for your time and trouble and I’m sure we’ll catch the madman before Christmas.” The five left feeling more despondent than when they had arrived.

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TWELVE Leading up to Christmas was not easy for the five remaining “targets” because the killer who had butchered their friends Clarence Collier and Jackie Juniper was still at large. Each of them was forever looking over their shoulder, doublechecking wherever they went either at work or at play. But having no identikit of what to look for it seemed an almost impossible task. Braydie found for certain that he would be going to the States for Christmas as Joe had literally been given only Christmas Day off because he was filming several more episodes to catch the Christmas and New Year spirit. It was written in very tiny print on his contract and there was no way he could get out of it. It was decided, therefore, that Braydie would go to New York on Christmas Eve and he booked a first-class ticket to make sure of the flight. He was trying to get a complete week off or more as with the Christmas Bank Holiday and the New Year’s one it might be a bonus! In fact later he was told that he could have just over a week but he would have to return on Friday 2nd January 2009 to open up. Braydie tried to get that weekend as well, making about ten days in all but the “powers that be” refused. The city itself began to “lighten up” with decorated Christmas trees everywhere from squares to shops and homes. For some reason, Braydie thought the Georgian city had a touch of the Dickensian about it as in A Christmas Carol,

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with quaintly decorated shops down cobbled alleys and lanes away from the garish, brightly lit mainstream. He wondered what to buy Joe for a present knowing that the weight limit on his airline baggage would restrict his choice. Last time of considering it, he had decided on a cashmere sweater and wondered whether there were any pre-sales in the city. Or perhaps he might shock him with a transparent bodysuit? In the end, though, he settled on a vicuna waistcoat. Despite the hectic workload to get everything up to date before Christmas Eve, Braydie still managed to visit the Christmas Market next to the abbey and Carols by Candlelight in The Pump Room. A week before Christmas, two news items on the local TV channel and radio mentioned that there might be snow due to a sudden cold spell on Christmas Day. A local weekly newspaper mentioned that the will of the late Jackie Juniper, who had been brutally murdered in her house in Lansdown recently, left her entire estate to the Battersea Dogs’ Home. It went on to say that the neighbour, who had reported her disappearance to the police and had taken over looking after her bulldog, Winston, stated also that the pet had died of a broken heart. The four men of the late CC circle, who had been asked by Inspector Jameson for their addresses and telephone numbers while they were away for Christmas, handed them all in on Christmas Eve and left for their holidays. The remaining

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one, Tommy Niven, was staying and working with his partner at the Toucan Club right up until Christmas Day. The gay club, owned by a former drag queen, Foxy Carlisle, from Blackpool, was in Southgate, almost within spitting distance of the Manvers Street Police Station and with its extended licence it was staying open until midnight. The police were aware of this and also that it would be extra vigilant in regards to the extension time. Tommy Niven’s partner had not been well for several days with bad stomach pains and while moving a large beer barrel in the cellar gave out an almighty scream and was doubled-up in acute pain. An ambulance was called and he ended up in hospital with a ruptured spleen. With Tommy and his partner being behind in rent arrears, there was talk of their being evicted from their flat in the new year, so Tommy had no choice but to work the shift for the money and would visit Bryan in hospital the following day. The owner of the club decided to give the three barmen a Christmas present each in the shape of a pair of tight leather shorts and matching bow tie, and asked them to wear them, bare-chested, that night for the Christmas crowd. With Bryan in hospital, Tommy was not exactly in a seasonal mood and when Foxy Carlisle arrived in a fur coat, due to the below zero temperatures outside, and walking with a real fox with a diamond-type collar and lead, he almost felt sick! - 67 -

Despite the weather and the usual quota of people flying off to the sun for Christmas, the club was almost three-quarters full, which made the owner glad that he had extended the licence but hoping there were no troublemakers or drunks. Tommy and the other barmen were getting the usual send-ups and jokes about their just wearing the leather shorts and bow ties - together with requests that they put on a floorshow or striptease during the evening. “No! The fox will give you a blow job!” shouted Tommy, to the consternation of the owner, who shot him a look of disapproval. At around 11pm with a couple of men getting a bit frisky, using foul language and trying to climb over the bar and fondle one of the barmen’s nipples, the owner nodded to a bouncer who literally booted them out. From then on the clientele got fewer and fewer and by half past eleven there were only two customers left in the bar. Foxy asked Tommy if he would mind locking up when they had gone and said he should keep the keys until they opened again on Boxing Day. At almost midnight after everyone had gone, Tommy was about to switch off the last light, when he heard a sound. At first he thought it sounded like a scratching coming from the cellar and he wondered whether it was a rat or perhaps mice. The noise was heard again and persisted for a while until Tommy felt that it would be better to leave rather than investigate.

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Just then he heard a voice, again from the cellar, and for some reason wondered whether a customer had gone or fallen down there. It had happened before over the time he had worked there because the convenience was right next to the cellar door. Both doors were painted black and looked identical. Actually they were both clearly marked Gents and Cellar but it was a dark area and if you had had a few drinks the confusion was understandable. Tommy opened the cellar door and switched on the light immediately to his right. It flickered once or twice but stayed on, wrapped in cobwebs. “Is there anybody down there?” he shouted from the top of the stairs, noticing that the light had a spider’s web around it and that the ceiling and stairs themselves were filthy. He heard again a sound, this time it seemed like a moan. I just hope nobody’s fallen down and I don’t have to get another ambulance sent here today! he thought. Another moan followed and this time Tommy ventured slowly down the stairs, trying to push the cobwebs away as he trod. At the bottom, he looked around and could see the outline of a coat in the corner of the room near a huge beer barrel, a chair and a lot of crates and went to see what it was. He pulled back what he could now see was canvas and to his surprise saw a machine, which suddenly made a clicking sound. “What on Earth?” he exclaimed as he realised that under the covering was a tape recorder and that a tape was turning rapidly. Tommy knew that this was the - 69 -

end and the noises that he heard above were actually coming from a recording. He switched it off. He heard some bells ringing nearby and knew at once that it had turned midnight. It was Christmas Day. “Happy Christmas,” he said to himself, wondering what on earth he was doing in a cellar on Christmas day and musing that perhaps he and Bryan should never have left Hull! Another noise… but this time not from the machine. It seemed to be coming from behind. Later, a policeman called around to the Toucan Club after noticing that there was a light on inside the premises and, on entering the unlocked doors, found someone’s clothes and keys on the bar counter. Venturing further, he found to his horror a body seated on a chair downstairs in the cellar. The body was wearing a latex mask over its entire face except for an opening around the mouth. Through this an eighteen-inch electric vibrator was inserted down the body’s throat. It was connected to an electric power unit, which was still running. The body was wearing a rubber bow tie around its neck, a pair of leather briefs and nothing else apart from a pair of shoes. The dead body was identified much later that same day as Tommy Niven.

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THIRTEEN A very cold northerly wind greeted the New Year for a few people who had returned from their Christmas holiday only to learn either from the TV, radio or newspapers that another member of the ‘CC circle’ had been murdered. They had all felt that the city and all its glory had been somehow tainted and privacy was no more. There seemed to be a thick black cloud over the valley that filled it with dark, haunting shadows. But with the New Year holiday and only a skeleton staff at the police station, Inspector Jameson and his assistant away, the news of what happened at the Toucan Club - now closed for a week due to the investigation - was released much later than ordinarily to the press.

No one had telephoned the four who had given their addresses and telephone numbers to the Manvers Street Police Station. On one hand, perhaps it was a blessing not to know for a while - but on the other they were only told much later about Tommy Niven and his partner, who was in hospital and who had a relapse on hearing the news and was now in intensive care. A national newspaper’s heading: Blood Bath hits Avon was considered in poor taste but it was a rag that was definitely anti-gay, something they had always denied, but the gay scene knew better!

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Braydie had just over a week in the states and what he thought was going to be a relaxing time turned out to be more hectic than he ever imagined. Not only was Joe insatiable in his lovemaking, but some of the positions he achieved were also almost impossible and almost gave Braydie a heart attack. There were visits to the set where Joe was making the next commercial, lunches and dinners at gay restaurants, drinks at bars and clubs and the number of people who spoke to Joe was unbelievable. It was as though he were some major motion picture star. Joe was seven years younger than Braydie and as he handled the public, his work, colleagues and the mass media, he was clearly a star in the making - and one that could easily transfer from TV to mainstream. Bath in all its beautiful glory somehow lost its sparkle at the start of 2009, the New Year seemed somehow lacklustre and what had happened in the last few months to three people was a sad reflection of life as a whole in the 21st century. Inspector Jameson finally telephoned each of the other four and apologised for not letting them know about Tommy Niven and warned them that the killer was still on the loose. They all assumed that the “butcher” was just in hiding and waiting for the next one. A letter appeared in the local Chronicle, which started a spate of correspondence from readers. It stated that the killer was one of the last three people in the Toucan Club on the night Tommy Niven was murdered and went - 72 -

on to say that surely it should have been the owner’s responsibility to see that his own premises were secure, pointing out that Foxy Carlisle had left with his fox on a lead, giving one of his employees the job of locking up. Otherwise perhaps he would have been murdered rather than the victim, it suggested. There had never been anything published about the ‘CC circle’ or who belonged to it and only the police and the original six had been aware that their lives were in danger. Other letters followed stating that surely a pet fox should not have been allowed in licensed premises. Another asked whether any of the Health & Safety Act regulations were adhered to at all. One stated that Tommy Niven had only worked the late shift into Christmas day because he and his partner, who was in hospital due to an accident at the same place, were going to be forced out on the street owing to rent arrears. The editor and the owners of the paper were delighted that the readership had increased by more than 50% and they kept the For and Against page in the weekly for well over a month. During this time, the bar owner, Foxy Carlisle, offered to pay for the funeral of Tommy Niven and for him to be buried in his home town of Hull. The paper also set up a fund to help his partner, Bryan, who was still in hospital due to a hospital bug, to help with the rent arrears. When the fund closed the amount was enough to “wipe the slate clean” of the arrears and leave Bryan just over £100 to “start his life” again. The owners topped up the

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fund to make it £250 and Bryan later sent a letter to the Chronicle thanking everyone for their contributions and their good wishes.

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FOURTEEN With the winter sales in full force, the city finally admitted that it had a serial killer in its midst and the pressure was on Inspector Jameson to find him quickly, for it was now assumed from the modus operandi of the previous killings that the perpetrator had to be a deranged male. Inspector Jameson wondered at times whether he should have retired before the Clarence Collier murder - he had been contemplating doing so by Christmas but thought that this crime was a one-off that he could solve quickly before leaving in a blaze of glory. There was also talk of experts in this field from London that might be transferred to Bath, but he managed to convince his superiors that he could handle it, and with the same manpower. He meticulously went over each of the two murder files to see if there was any set pattern. Each one was different and he tried to remember of all the times in the force whether there were any similar murders, especially when he worked in London, that had a motive, theme or equal brutality. Obviously at this point it seemed that it must be an anti-gay guy, but of the two murdered men nothing remotely suggested vengeance, enemies or unrequited love. He sent out for checks on bars, clubs, cafés, hotels and restaurants, building sites and youth clubs in regards to casual labour and also Bristol airport and docks for any new arrivals for short stays or longer in case there was a foreign

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element. Inspector Jameson also wanted checks on drug trafficking that might have infiltrated the city and beyond. While showering and shaving one morning before work, he pondered in the mirror on his hairstyle, pleased that at sixty he still did not have a grey hair anywhere. Having a wife who was once a top stylist in a beauty and hairdressing salon had its advantages, but he wondered again whether he was getting like those TV newscasters who reach forty and are frightened of getting the push and are addicted to bouffant hair and heavy make-up. Come to think of it, football managers are just as bad! he smiled, except for Keegan! - - -oo0oo- - Braydie stepped back and looked at the curtains. He was glad he had just bought them in the sale - they finished off the ground floor flat to perfection. Although he had bought some other curtains previously for that part of the house, it was well before Joe had painted the entire flat and somehow they did not blend in. Stepping from left to right and viewing them at every angle, he heard a sound and at first he wondered if it was from the main front doorbell upstairs, but on second thoughts it was loud and more distinctive, so it must have been coming from down here. It was the first time that he had opened the front door of the basement flat since it had been completed. Who was slightly standing back from the doorstep almost took his breath away. It was Jake Andrews, the rugby player.

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“Hi Braydie, I expect you’re wondering what I’m doing here after such a long time!” he said, looking every inch and ounce the epitome of physical perfection. The short blond hair, bright blue eyes and ruddy complexion showed off his handsome features in a way that made you sigh again and again and again. Of course, he was aware of this and he breathed in deeply, showing off the muscular chest in the white, tight sleeveless T-shirt and very tight light blue jeans. Jake knew Braydie was putty in his hands at once but he also knew he could be cagey so he was prepared not to be that confident. Braydie slightly shook his head and tried to conceal his reddening face. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’ve just been putting up a lot of curtains and it’s hard work, which makes me feel hot and bothered,” he replied, not sure whether Jake would believe the white lie. Jake smiled in a mischievous way that showed that he did not. “I was wondering as I was passing by, if I might have a quick word, providing of course, it’s convenient?” “Might be a bit difficult in a cul-de-sac don’t you think?” Braydie answered. Jake smiled again. “How do you mean?” he asked and flexed his muscles. “Passing by, you know, in a cul-de-sac,” Braydie repeated slowly, smiling. Braydie was waiting for an answer to his question, but as it did not materialise and he was getting hotter, he stepped aside and beckoned Jake in. - 77 -

Jake strode in slowly, stopped as he was parallel with Braydie and licked the top of his lip and grinned before proceeding into the flat. “Wow!” Braydie said under his breath and quickly tried to fan his red face with his left hand. Once inside, Jake looked around. “I’ve always liked this Georgian house you know,” he said. Getting his breath back, Braydie smiled. “But you’ve never been down here before because it’s always been shut off,” he replied, moving away from him and standing by the back of a chair. “That’s why I’m here now - or did you mean your trousers,” Jake said, sneering. “I’ve heard through the grapevine that this flat’s available to rent,” he said, moving closer to Braydie. “I’m sorry, do sit down,” he answered. “I don’t know what grapevine that would be as you always tended to shun the gay grapes, just in case someone saw you,” Braydie answered and watched him sit down on one of the chairs with a disapproving frown. “Ah! But to be discreet is more mysterious and you’d be surprised what and who comes out of the dark and into the light.” “Perhaps. But I prefer to be in the light all the time and if anyone doesn’t like it then they can just crawl back under a stone and stay there,” Braydie replied.

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“My, my,” Jake said, pouting. “You always did have your ‘out in the open views’ and at times you sound almost like the late Clarence Collier - and look what happened to him!” “Yes, murdered by a madman,” Braydie said, raising his voice. “An evil deranged psycho that I can’t wait to be caught and hopefully castrated!” Jake shrugged his shoulders. “I never could understand though why I was never accepted into the ‘circle’.” “I’d have thought that was obvious, especially when you came for the initiation test, when the ‘full committee’ was there at CC’s house. You didn’t exactly answer the questions to your best advantage,” Braydie said, deciding to sit down. “Like what?” Jake asked. “For instance, if I remember correctly, you were asked if you had the chance to date either Graham Norton, Julian Clary, Colin McAllister or Justin Ryan which one would you chose. You said none of them because they were all over the top and had no talent. Was that correct?” “Yes.” Braydie wanted to “LOL” (laugh-out-loud) at this, a phrase that he had learnt from Joe in the USA. “Another question was, if you were passing by a mansion that was on fire and you saw two people in there screaming for help and you could only rescue one,

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who would it be. Your mother or your lover? Did you not say the family jewels?” Jake doubled up laughing. “Isn’t that just a gas?” he replied, grinning from ear to ear. “The committee found it immoral.” “All right perhaps I did blow my top a bit, but I don’t know why I really wanted to join the circle in the first place. I mean I was twenty-eight at the time, the youngest and the best-looking, so really you should have welcomed me with open arms with all my talent.” Braydie gulped. “You’re so modest! Anyway, I think we’d better end this talk now. I’ve a lot to do and as for hearing about this flat to rent then you better look at that grapevine again and realise this will be only given to one that has tender vines, not one that’s sour and hidden from the sunshine,” he said and got up from his chair. “That’s a pity,” Jake said, also getting up from his chair. “We could have carried on like we did before - when you couldn’t get enough of my bubble butt and me of your ‘below the stairs’ equipment, which is appropriate at this point in time don’t you think?” he leered and started to move towards the door, grabbing hold of Braydie’s trousers with one big hand and squeezing his groin with the other. Braydie winced and wondered why everyone thought that all rugby players were so butch! - 80 -

“See you around, oldie. If you change your mind, and I know you will, I’ll either be found in The Olive Tree or The Blue Room.” “Or someone’s bed,” Braydie thought out loud and almost stating a fact. “Always remember, Queenie, I’ve got an ass to die for and a fuck to live for,” Jake sneered and laughed himself out of the room. When he was gone, Braydie stood up straight and lay back against the basement’s front door. “Phew!” he sighed and knew that the Greek sex god who had just left was not going to set him aflame again like the last time, even though he wore mascara in bed.

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FIFTEEN Alder King decided to pay a visit for the last time to Clarence Collier’s house. He knew it had been sold, but he had worked on it when CC had asked him about an extension at the back. He pushed back the glasses that were forever falling down on his nose and stepped back further into the filtered sunshine that was trying to break through the heavy clouds. In a strange way he smiled and wondered if there would eventually be a pink plaque outside on the wall of the house with the inscription: ‘Clarence (C.C.) Collier, Queen of Bath, 1933-2008 lived here. Digging his hands down into his dated duffel coat’s pockets, he noticed that there was someone at one of the first floor windows peering down at him. Blinking and having a heart murmur for a split second, he breathed heavily and thought it was CC! Alder suddenly thought he had better not stay around in case the new owner, if that were who it was, might have thought he was some sort of ghoul that was coming back to ogle at the “house of horror”, that had been mentioned in the press; one of the forever morbidly curious sightseers that loved to gawk. He looked at the wall by the front gate and could see a decaying of the stone, and probed it with his fingers, which resulted in some of the cement dropping on to the floor. It obviously needed re-pointing, he thought and wondered

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whether he ought to tell the new owner, but on second thoughts, he was sure that the surveyor would have included this in his report. Just then, the front door opened and a tall, dark-haired, middle-aged man appeared. He was about to speak but Alder smiled and quickly spoke first. “I’m sorry if you think I’m prying, but I’m an architect and I did some work on the house years ago for the previous owner. It was just a whim that made me want to look again at the house, not morbid curiosity.” “No apology needed,” the man said. “Would you like to come in for a while? I don’t know much about the place, I’m afraid, because I bought the house on the Internet. I only moved in yesterday and I’m still waiting for the furniture to arrive. My wife and children are coming at the end of the week so I’m hoping to get the house in some sort of order by then.” “Are you sure it wouldn’t inconvenience you at all?” Alder asked. “No - as a matter of fact I might be able to use your services as well. I’m not sure about the top room in the house. We call it a loft back home but I believe you call it an attic here, or did I read that in a magazine a long time ago?” Alder smiled and went with the man into the house. “I went right to the top yesterday and found a long stick with a brass hook on its end in a niche by a wall. I looked at it and found in the ceiling what looked like an opening with a ring attached to it. Anyway I held the stick up to the ring and hooked it around, pushed it upwards and found it released some sort of trap door. A steel contraption seemed to fold out, so I slowly pulled down each - 83 -

section to make a complete ladder that all clicked into place. I climbed the steps and found to my surprise a large room up there and wondered whether it could be turned into some sort of living quarters with a fire escape for one of the kids.” Alder blinked. “I’ve been here many times but I didn’t know there was an attic or loft up there. I and other friends tended to use the rooms downstairs and also the garden,” he said. “Perhaps you’d like to follow me and I’ll show you what I have in mind,” the stranger said to Alder.

Later, when Alder King did not appear at work, someone telephoned his wife and she stated that he had left at the same time as always and had no idea why he did not show up. She was concerned due to the medications he took for blood pressure and a heart problem, then informed the police of his disappearance. The Bath couple that bought the late Clarence Collier’s house decided that it needed a complete renovation because it seemed stuck in the last century. So they got a firm to completely renovate the kitchen and bathroom and decorate the rest of the house. It was while the firm’s painters were decorating the bedrooms that they came across a smell. At first they thought it was to do with the work being done in the bathroom, but when that was finished, the smell persisted. - 84 -

It seemed to be coming from further up inside the roof and when they opened up the loft hatch, which the new owners were not aware of, they found a male body hanging by its feet in the middle of the room, a pair of spectacles crushed and lying on the floor. His hands were tied behind his back and there was a butt plug in his mouth, covered by an elastic bandage to keep it in place. Later it was found that the dead body was that of Alder King.

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SIXTEEN As the city woke up from the winter hibernation, it settled once more into a routine, hoping that the doom and gloom had passed and that spring was on its way. Braydie felt a bit apprehensive when he was told at work that the wage increase for April would be pegged back to 2% and that his mortgage had gone up another £100 a month. He realised that perhaps that letting the basement, or garden flat that estate agents loved to quote, was now more of a possibility than leaving it until Joe’s return. He deliberately stopped attending the Saturday rugby matches and going to the restaurant or bar that Jake had mentioned, just to prove that he did not want to start an affair again even though, like Joe, he did have a vast sexual appetite. Other than that, however, they were as different as chalk and cheese! Joe tended to like having sex in every position under the sun and even invent a couple, while Jake was more of the traditional laid-back type, preferring to work slowly up to his favourite one, which was more on an even keel. It was when he was leaving Jolly’s department store that he bumped into Beatrix Fairfax, a lesbian in her fifties known as Busy Bea, and smirked when he thought that he had prayed for rain but got a drip!

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She had told him that she had heard of his new affair with Joe. Then she remarked with a smirk that she had seen on an Asian website that he was dating the singer Flanagan and that there was also a photo of the two guys hugging. For a moment Braydie remembered that she too had come to the committee to join the “CC circle”, stating that one of her interests was to revive the Bloomsbury Group, because she was a descendent of one of them. When asked who that was, she remarked that she could not exactly remember whether it was Vita Sackville-West or Virginia Woolf. On hearing that she had not been accepted, she wrote to CC to complain and he replied by saying that “many hopefuls try but only the gayest succeed”. She then muttered something about the latest government fiasco involving another stolen tape and that it was all a set-up by the opposition, when Braydie made an excuse to leave the frumpishly old-fashioned, bitter dyke - but not before she said that she hoped that he, Lee Darke or Haddon James would not be next on the butcher’s knife - if Braydie’s looks could kill that would have been the end of a virgin queen! When Joe telephoned that evening Braydie mentioned meeting Busy Bea and what she had said and he stated that she had been right about what had happened, but it was on a gay TV channel, so it was actually merely platonic. But Joe added that he could not understand how she could have seen it because the gay TV channel in question was only available in the US, unless the clip had been sold to another channel. - 87 -

Braydie mentioned in the conversation that he felt that owing to his small pay rise and more expensive outgoings that it might be a good idea to let the flat, which after all had been the sole purpose of Joe decorating it in the first place. Joe ended the telephone call saying that his adverts have now got to a status, where a lot big stars want to make guest appearances in any of the silly stories and even old stars wanted to come out of retirement to do the same. That evening Braydie felt he was suffering from winter “blues” and wanted either to go and camp himself up in a gay club or treat himself to an expensive meal at a restaurant, but either money or feeling sorry for himself prevailed and he did neither. Although what did happen that evening, or rather in the early hours of the morning, was something that even Braydie found interesting enough to say very much later the same day, “Why me?” A sound wakened the dreamy senses of Braydie as with one eye open he glanced at his bedroom cabinet’s clock to note that it was 1.15am. He felt stunned with sleep and when the sound echoed again he knew it was the doorbell. He got out of bed and opened the window. “Who is it?” he said, hoping his voice pitch was not too high or loud in the silent air. “Open this door you randy old bitch,” the voice shouted. He leant even further out of the window and noticed a light next door appear in one of the windows. - 88 -

“Shit,” he said quietly. “Open the door, queenie,” came a further shout with a more persistent ringing of the bell. Braydie put on his dressing gown and slippers and hurried downstairs, making sure that all the lights were on. The figure pressed up against the glass part of the door gave an indication to Braydie immediately who the troublemaker was. He opened the front door quickly and the handsome caller almost fell into his arms. “Sorry, Charity Queen. I was nearby and felt horny.” The intoxicating breath and smell hit Braydie right between the eyes and, before he could steady the drunk, his weight was too much to hold and they both went crashing to the floor. Within seconds Jake Andrews was lying flat out in the hall and snoring. Braydie got up and stared down at the sleeping beauty in a tracksuit, which even then fitted in all the right places. He grabbed Jake by his feet and pulled him down the hall into the lounge. He put a cushion under his head and went upstairs to get a duvet. Later around 7.30am, he got up, went downstairs, put a coffee pot on the stove, and went into the lounge. To his surprise Jake was not there. He still had his private telephone number at work and he would check later from a pay phone. When he got home in the evening amongst the scattered post on the floor was a large envelope with nothing on the outside. Inside was a tube of KY and a note: - 89 -

Perhaps when I call again I’ll be more sober and you can use the whole tube on my luscious butt!” signed Randy Jake, the best fuck and professional whore in rugby. In the meantime, I enclose a spunk-ridden jockstrap, which you can sniff at your leisure! “How gross,” he said aloud. Smiling later, he realised perhaps he should have checked his Homoscope (Mystic Merlin) after all!

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SEVENTEEN Lee Darke, could not believe that tomorrow would be his fortieth birthday: middle-aged and now on the downward trend to retirement. He was on leave for a few days, and this was primarily so that his civil service colleagues would not arrange something embarrassing like they did last year (They were having drinks in a nearby pub and a male “kissagram” turned up). He felt happy, despite what had happened to some of his friends over the last few months, and just felt that tomorrow would be a new beginning and everything would be back to normal - normal in the sense of things in general! Although he was gay and fancy free at the moment, he had finished with his last boyfriend on amicable terms, he was hoping someone would bring him a present for his birthday party the next day in the shape of a big surprise. Lee had already received a stainless steel bracelet from club owner Foxy Carlisle, who had asked him on a few occasions whether he would like to do a striptease at his club. He had done one or two at private parties for fun and obviously the word had got around to Foxy, but so far Lee had declined all his offers. He told a friend that he thought that Foxy fancied him and obviously the striptease offer was just the start and the next would be a “private one”. His friend said he ought to be flattered by the offer at his age, as there were many

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younger hunks on the circuit, but Lee liked to keep fit and sometimes could afford a yearly membership at a health club. Another thing in the post before time was a balloon flight voucher for a ride on a hot air balloon from the Royal Victoria Park with a message merely saying: “From an admirer - Up, Up and Away!”, which was dated for the following day (weather permitting). It was intriguing, Lee thought, and at least it would be in the morning and not interfere with his party in the evening. What was headline news the next day was more than someone blowing “hot air” but at first it was feared that a hot air balloon had crashed in field a few miles from Bath. Later on investigation, it was found by the Civil Aviation Authority, who had recently inspected it. It had also been maintained by them and it was in perfect working order. Neither the passenger nor the pilot were found despite the fact that the balloon itself had landed in perfect weather conditions. Only much later was a body discovered a few miles away from the field in, of all places, a cemetery and a report had circulated that from a perfect landing a man in a baseball cap was seen leaving the balloon, picking up a bicycle nearby and cycling off down towards a main road. Later, the man in the cemetery was identified as Lee Darke. It appeared that Life Begins at 40 on his birthday was in his case Life Ends at 40. The address of the missing commercial pilot, who had only joined the company a week before, was - 92 -

given as the YMCA in Broad Street Place, but later it was found that he had checked out the day before. It was also stated that for the body to be in the cemetery it would have had to fall, or be pushed, out of the balloon at a certain height, according to how it was travelling for wind, air current etc., and that only a professional pilot would have known this so it seemed logical that Lee Darke was murdered.

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EIGHTEEN As February arrived so did the snow and, as usual with forecasts, no one took the weathermen seriously. As in the past, the country was almost brought to a standstill. It was also disclosed that it was the worst snowfall in almost two decades. The weather was the least of Inspector Jameson’s worries what with Chinese New Year celebrations to consider and the fact that a couple of Scotland Yard detectives had been assigned to help with the hunt for the serial killer who was still on the loose in the city of Bath.

He felt that he was a failure, even though his force was understaffed, because he could not seem to find a way of predicting what the killer was going to do next. Admittedly he could now narrow the numbers from the original seven likely victims to just two, but perhaps he should have given them all twenty-four-hour protection in the first place. But then, undeniably there would have been protests from prominent citizens, who would have claimed that he was protecting gays rather than the rest of the population. But that was untrue because the only heterosexual among them, Alder King, had also been killed. Inspector Jameson was assigned to find the killer and, to date, this he had not done. - 94 -

The two detectives, who seemed to be always arguing with one another, each had their own way to catch the psycho. The short fat one visited the scene of all the crimes and the theatre, clubs and restaurants that had a bearing on the case. The tall thin one went to parks, toilets, pubs, the Toucan Club (which had now reopened) and also to the late victims’ homes. Both interviewed many people and would also see Haddon James and Braydie in due course. They both found that due to winter sickness with viruses the balloon company had been short of staff. When John Doe had applied for a position, his pilot’s licence had seemed genuine and, given their urgent need of staff, they decided to check his references in due course. They gave the applicant a “crash course” because had not “flown” for a while and his performance convinced them that he knew his stuff and they hired him straight away. The information on when the balloon landed perfectly was provided by a hiker who was resting on a field gate at the time and witnessed it. The pilot apparently secured the balloon and went over to a hedge where he pulled out a bicycle and headed for the gate. The hiker moved away nearer to a tree so that the pilot could not see him and, by the time he glanced again, the pilot was cycling down towards the main road, so he did not see his face at all - just the back of his baseball cap. Braydie found the separate interviews by the detectives a bit wearying. Each one wanted to know everything about him and those who had died. He kept repeating that he did not know much about any of them as he himself had only

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lived in Bath for the past two and a half years. He had met them, of course, when he had passed their new recruits’ “initiation” test - a word they seemed to find amusing and were surprised that it referred to verbal actions rather than physical. In addition to this test, CC would generally invite all of the “circle” over for dinners or out for trips to the theatre and sometimes drinks to discuss future candidates. Irritatingly, the policemen kept using the name CC - another thing the remaining “circle” members did not like because that was their own private name for their friend. They asked for him always to be referred to more respectfully as Clarence Collier. One detective seemed to find it highly amusing when Braydie was asked if he had worked anywhere apart for the charity that currently employed him. He mentioned that at college he also considered becoming an Egyptologist, and the fat detective laughed when he said that he obviously would have visited the Valley of the Queens. Braydie’s disdainfully icy stare in return made the detective feel uncomfortable, which was what he deserved! Much later, the two detectives found the bisexual, Haddon James, much more easy to chat to and with many years of living in Bath and because he had known the others longer, he could give them a lot more useful information to work with.

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NINETEEN Haddon James noticed in the local weekly paper that Braydie’s garden flat was advertised for rent. He would certainly have loved to have it but the job of Usher in the County Court hardly provided the finance needed. He had just lost out on a promotion at work, which would have solved a lot of debts and problems. At forty-three, surely it was time that he was not living in a bed-sit but settled down either with either a wife or a partner. Perhaps a part-time job in the evenings or at weekends would help, but those were the times that he usually went cruising. Haddon was often told he looked a lot younger than his years and once in a bar a tourist asked him back to his hotel and later said he thought he was under thirty-five and certainly had the stamina and sex drive for it. In fact that bar, one of two in a hotel near the railway station, was a place that he had been lucky on numerous occasions, especially recently when he ended up with a man and wife as a threesome at the same hotel - and later got a breakfast thrown in! This particular evening he was not sure whether to go to The Toucan or try the two bars at the hotel near the station as all had possibilities. It was beginning to rain and a cold northerly wind was also apparent, but on a Saturday night there would still be a lot of people about, even tourists on the Jane Austen hunt (he had often wondered why they made such a lot of fuss about her, considering he - 97 -

once read that she did not particularly like the city). Anyway he was out for juicy morsels not dead ones! The more popular of the two bars was certainly busy and he recognised a couple of people that he knew and smiled and nodded, walked to the bar after managing to find a place, ordered and looked around in all directions. Haddon noticed four people laughing and one of them was the rugby player, Jake Andrews, whom he heard from Busy Bea was once a lover of Braydie Neilson. Surely she was mistaken - if not, why was he here with another guy and two women unless to fool the public. What was more, why was he in a bar that was not exactly in vogue for professionals in an area far from the bright lights of the heart of the city and very near to the darker ones of The Toucan. Haddon got his drink, shrugged his shoulders and turned towards a man at the end of the bar who was tall, good-looking and was either wearing shades or tinted lenses. At first he thought the man was just getting acquainted with the atmosphere of the place and what the public was like in general. But on second thoughts, he might be staring at him! Haddon once again glanced over at the noisy four and back again and found that the man with the shades had gone. He went to the toilet thinking perhaps he might have gone there, but this was not so, and going back to the bar found the man once again in the same seat. By this time, Haddon had thought of leaving but edged nearer to the man and, when he saw that his glass was almost finished, smiled and was greeted by one in return. - 98 -

“Bit crowded tonight,” Haddon said. “Especially with the weather on the cold side.” “Yes, but I’m sure there are other ways of warming oneself up don’t you agree?” the reply came, sounding either Canadian or perhaps American. “Can I buy you a drink?” Haddon asked. “How about a drink in my room instead since I’m staying here?” the man in the shades replied. Better than I imagined! Haddon thought, smiling and nodding an acceptance. The next day, while room thirteen was being cleaned, a scream was heard almost all over the hotel as a man was found in a bath full of blood with his wrists slashed. He was face down in the bath with his hands tied around the taps with a flex. He was later identified as Haddon James.

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TWENTY Inspector Jameson was saddened that another of the “circle” had been found and murdered but in a strange way he was glad that the London detectives had not so far solved it. Now with only one left of that special group it, a final murder was destined to happen unless he made extra special efforts to find the madman so he posted a twenty-four-hour watch outside the home of Bradley Neilson, regardless of any complaints about lack of manpower. It transpired on checking the hotel for clues and information, that room thirteen was booked around 9pm that Saturday evening by a Mr John Doe, who said he was a commercial traveller and would be leaving early before breakfast for a trip to Scotland. He paid for the room there and then. This was apparently not unusual for this type of hotel, which sometimes had bookings just for a night or two from someone in one of the bars - either because they had drunk too much to drive or because of a change of travel plans. Obviously the dead man was not really called John Doe! It was quite clear to Inspector Jameson that, like the other six murders, this had been carefully planned by the killer - who had deliberately booked the room late in the evening to be sure of catching his victim. Clearly, when the killer found out that Haddon James lived in a bedsit where he would be hard to ensnare, he

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had decided that a quick hotel booking was the best solution to carry out this evil killing. - - -oo0oo- - Braydie was glad that Joe had finally finished with the American commercials by fulfilling his contract with ”Ollie’s Oranges” - one that he did not intend to renew. Joe was offered almost double the contract fee again that he had received on the last two renewals but he had had enough and wanted to concentrate on stage work. Plus, the fact that he was worried about Braydie and what had happened to all the others and with the policeman outside his front gate twentyfour-hours a day, he knew that this was the right thing for him to do. Braydie had kept Joe informed of the progress in the rental of the garden flat and so far none of the applicants that applied was interesting enough to become a suitable tenant, as Braydie really wanted gay guys. He was just keeping his fingers crossed and hoping that Jake did not come back, either about the flat, or for a one-night stand! It was also arranged that whenever someone was coming to view the flat their name would be given to the policeman who was on duty outside and he would check that name and then, if correct, would send the person downstairs to the flat, where either Braydie or Joe would be waiting. Braydie, being the last of the “circle”, was feeling so uncleansed that he was attending the abbey more and saying prayers. He felt like a hypocrite using the power of God to protect him from harm and, of course, his sins. But there were - 101 -

the others that had died and, of course, CC, who did not deserve the horrendous farewell that was being given to him. Braydie was a churchgoer but not a regular one and he assumed that saying prayers religiously every night, which he definitely did, was also being a Christian!

Joe was back for a few days, aiming to see his agent and hoping to apologise for the row that they had had over the phone, when the agent had asked him not to stop doing the TV commercials but to sign another contract. Joe had retaliated by saying that not only was he sick and tired of oranges, and never wanted to see another one, but that perhaps he (the agent) only cared about losing his commission on the deal. Finally, he had slammed down the telephone. Anyway a break would give him a chance to see more of the city. Joe at times felt like a tourist. He loved to have a coffee on Pulteney Bridge and watch the weir and the river below as it glided majestically through the city from North Somerset as though in no hurry to meet the Kennet & Avon Canal. Hopefully, in the spring Joe and Braydie would have a chance of a boat trip up the river Avon to Bathampton weir. Joe also got a chance to see Braydie at work and meet a few of his colleagues he had not realised just how busy a charity is with so much work to do, what with telephone enquirers and endless callers.

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They also had a chance to dine out a few times for lunch and dinner at the many contemporary restaurants including one in the oldest house, Sally Lunn, just around the corner from the abbey and invariably a visit to the theatre.

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TWENTY ONE This was a time too when Joe had realised just why Braydie had decided to live in Bath. It was not only the history of the place, the buildings and the atmosphere, but it was as though the surrounding hills kept you immersed in a time capsule that changed with the seasons. It was during this time, when Joe was feeling that if only life would remain the same forever he could be content, that he received a telephone call from his agent. He wanted to see him as soon as possible because things had transpired since he returned from the US that would be to his advantage. Joe found the call pleasant though, needless to say, it lacked the usual happy-go-lucky banter between the two. The agent also had news about a couple of interviews and an audition that Joe had done before he left the US. He thanked him and said he would call at his office in Shaftesbury Avenue sometime the following day. That night Braydie and Joe made love in a fashion they could only describe as doing the Karma Sutra backwards - and neither had ever experienced this before with anyone. The next morning, as Joe was getting ready to go to London, he answered the telephone to someone who wanted to view the flat at lunchtime, so he took the name and told the policeman upstairs as he got a taxi to the station. He also told Braydie by mobile while he was on the train. Braydie wished he had more notice due to his workload. - 104 -

Braydie bought a sandwich at one of the delis and headed straight for home. He picked up the mail and raced downstairs to the flat and was about to put on the kettle for a drink, including one for the policeman outside, when the doorbell rang. Braydie glanced at his watch and realised that if this was the guy about the flat he was early. He opened the door to an almost middle-aged, grinning guy wearing a reversed baseball cap and a tracksuit. Dark-haired and slightly receding, he had a very ordinary-looking sallow face. “I’m sorry I’m a bit early, but the traffic at lunchtime’s sometimes worse than the evening rush hour!” the near middle-aged man said. “That’s OK. Did you park your car outside, Mr Fuller?” “Actually it’s a bike and I left it chained to the railings. I hope that’s alright?” Braydie nodded, wondering what the accent was or whether he should ask. “Let’s go into the lounge and then I can show you around,” Braydie said and on walking ahead he heard a noise. Turning back to the man, who seemed to be further way than Braydie imagined, he seemed slightly flushed. “Are you alright?” Braydie asked. “I thought I heard a noise.” The man just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “That’s funny, it sounded either like someone moaning or some lock turning,” Braydie continued and raised his eyebrows. It was while he was showing the man around the flat that at one point he turned - 105 -

round, and from the man’s back, he could see the peak of his green cap, with the initials GF in gold. Those initials! Braydie thought he had heard or read them somewhere before on a similar cap. Back in the lounge, Braydie had a strange feeling that there was something wrong and asked the man if he would like a drink, but again he shook his head. Just for a second, Braydie glanced out of the window - he could not see the policeman standing in his usual position. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I want to check up on something,” he said and went back out of the lounge to the front door. He turned the handle but it would not budge and then he noticed that it was locked. “If you’re looking for the key, I have it here,” the stranger said. Braydie went back into the lounge and found the man standing right by the door leading to the hall. “What’s the meaning of this?” Braydie asked, looking concerned. “Oh, come now Mr Neilson, surely you must know by now that I’m Grant Fuller Jnr,” he said and turned the cap back to its rightful position. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Braydie asked, feeling slightly agitated. “Did you not know surely from one of those detectives or the Inspector from the local police station that I’m the person they’re looking for?” he said. - 106 -

It was only then that Braydie remembered that two people had seen a man once on a bike wearing a baseball cap with the initials GF leave the scene of the crime on the 5th of November, and that a hiker had seen the same thing when the balloon landed in the field. But no one had told him to watch out for this, nor had either the detectives or the Inspector thought the sightings of those two separate incidents worth further investigation. Braydie shook his head. “I thought the cops in the States were sometimes slow but never here in dear old England,” he remarked, smirking. “Where’s the policeman who was outside?” Braydie asked. “Even with the cap turned round the wrong way he noticed the initials, and asked if I knew anything about the deaths of Clarence Collier and Lee Darke. I said I was the one who bumped them off and he said I was under arrest and as he went to get out the handcuffs I got there first and stabbed him in the stomach.” “Oh my God!” shouted Braydie, thinking of that moan he thought he heard. “Don’t worry, I made sure he was finished by pushing him down the steps, so probably he would have had a broken neck as well.” “You mean he’s outside the door?” Braydie exclaimed with fear. “Yes. I wonder why you didn’t notice him when you opened the door to me, even though I kicked him to one side.”

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Braydie cringed and felt sick and tried to think of a way of getting to a telephone, but with a madman in the flat, it was something that would need more than just strategy. “Let’s go into the lounge and sit down while I think of a way of disposing of you,” Fuller said, almost pushing Braydie away as he strode forward. Once seated, Braydie tried desperately to think of something to distract his attention so he could try to make a run for it - or maybe he could make a noise so the next-door neighbour might hear him. “May I ask you,” Braydie said, looking straight at the man, “what have I and all the others done to deserve this?” “It’s a long story but I suppose I could grant you this last request,” he replied, still standing by the door in an effortless and calm manner. “As I said, my name’s Grant Fuller Jnr. You’ve probably guessed from the way I speak that I’m not from around here. No, I’m from the States and I was born in New Orleans. My father had a brother who was a pilot, and he had his own company and from there I learnt about hot air balloons and eventually got my licence, three years later. As a child I didn’t like my grandmother and she didn’t like me - and once when she called me ‘a bad seed’, I saw her go into the garden shed and I locked the door and set fire to it. After that I had a mental breakdown.

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I’ve been in institutions on and off throughout my life and, when I was released once, I came home early and Mother had already gone to meet me at the bus depot. I heard someone upstairs and I crept up to see who it was and peeped through the keyhole and I could see the bed creaking and moving up and down. I then heard voices and to my surprise someone came out of the bedroom. I hid in my bedroom and could see from there that a man went down the stairs, followed by my father. Later when my mother returned home and realised that I had been released earlier, she said that my father was home on leave from the navy and another sailor was staying for a while. Eventually, my mother had a divorce and she was devastated because she loved my father very much. It turned out that he was gay and he was going to live in England with his lover. My mother eventually died of a broken heart and I was determined to get that man who did this and pay him back in some way. It has taken a long time but I’ve finally done it.” “Who was this man?” Braydie asked. “Clarence Collier.” Braydie almost bit his lip. “But did he really need to be killed and in such a way? Your father wouldn’t have come here if he hadn’t wanted to - takes two to tango.” “They both had to be killed because of what they did to my mother.” - 109 -

“How did your father die?” Braydie asked, shifting in his chair. “He came back several years ago to the States for his brother’s funeral. Having once worked part-time in a garage, I could easily fix the brakes of the car, which resulted in a crash…” “But why us?” Braydie gulped “You’re all part of the ‘CC circle’ which I feel is part of him and therefore has to be destroyed”. “How did you know about the circle and all of us?” Braydie replied, shaking his head. “Ha ha!” he laughed. “The famous black book found in his house with everything and everyone in it from names, addresses, D.o.Bs and likes and dislikes. That was invaluable and I give credit to CC for providing me with all the information I wanted,” he said, smiling. “Plus, of course, a spare set of keys, which enabled me to use the house and dispose of another one of the queer group more easily.” “They should have put a twenty-four-hour guard on the old queen’s house rather than here and it would’ve been more difficult for me to have got inside,” he continued, turning his smile into a laugh. “How did you know that Bath was the city to come to?” Braydie asked. “I met your lover, Joe, on a film set when he was filming one of those terrible TV orange commercials and in conversation he told me about this place and that he was going to a Guy Fawkes party at a house owned by Clarence Collier. - 110 -

That was what I needed and, of course, once here it was simple to find out where the old faggot lived.” “That seems a remarkable coincidence that you met Joe like that on the set of the commercial,” Braydie enquired. “Not really. It was all planned. I’d seen him a couple of times on chat shows and learned a bit about his life in the theatre and the various people he had met. He was raving about this old guy of seventy-five and a house full of antiques, which Americans love to know about anyway, and that rang a bell in my muddled mind to know more because I already knew bits and pieces about him in fact I kept a record over the years. Joe Walsh then said where he was filming the next commercial so I went there and managed to get on the set dressed as a workman and the rest is history.” “But CC didn’t deserve to die like that - nor did any of the others,” Braydie said knowing that his life would soon be ending. “Ah! But if you read their autopsies you will find that they all either died of a heart attack or fright, so you see I didn’t really kill any of them,” he replied feeling smug and content. “Are you a doctor now as well as a pilot and a mechanic? Does that clear your conscience? And then why did you add those horrific, gruesome acts? They were beyond belief!” “Don’t get smart with me, faggot face. Just to make sure that they were dead as sometimes people can recover from heart attacks and frights.” - 111 -

Braydie wondered, staring at him, if any of the times that he was in these institutions he ever had electrodes planted in his brain to find out why such an evil mind existed. “I think this should now end. I seemed to have overstayed my welcome and it’s time to move on before someone notices the injured cop outside. I have my air ticket booked for tonight and I’m thinking of starting up an antique shop in Bath, Maine when I get back. I’ve picked up quite a bit of useful information since I’ve been here,” he said in a boastful confident manner. “Anyway, I only have my knife with me so it can be a quick neck job or one where I cut your penis off and stuff it up your butt, which in the circumstances, may be more appropriate. I mean let’s face it, I thought I was giving dear old Clarence Collier the thrill of his life when I shoved that pole up his fat rectum. So with your own penis it wouldn’t be so painful! Is there any confession you want to repent for before you go to hell, or do you have too many to mention?” he continued, putting his right-hand inside his waistband pocket of his trousers and retrieving a long, wide, pointed knife. It was only then that Braydie truly realised just what was going to happen. There was no time for farewells, a note or a recorded message to anyone. For a strange moment in reflected time, he thought of what his grandmother once said: “these things are sent to try us”. His heart started to beat faster and he felt his face getting warmer. He closed his eyes and tried to utter a prayer as he felt the presence of someone standing very - 112 -

close to him. Suddenly he felt cold, ice cold, and his mind picked up what sounded like a bell, a death knell. Braydie opened his eyes and saw a hand being slowly raised with a knife. The face was drained of emotion and anger seeping from every pore. Then he knew he was about to strike and this was the end. Closing his eyes and clenching his fists, he then heard a noise. “What was that?” Braydie opened his eyes and found that the assailant had moved away from his chair and position and gone to the door leading to the hall. He stood up and watched him turn around, facing him again with that evil look. “I heard something but what was it?” he said, looking anxious. “I don’t know,” Braydie stuttered a reply. “Old houses make strange noises at times.” “But it sounded like a creaking floorboard.” Just then the door suddenly burst open and sent Fuller sprawling onto the floor knocking the knife out of his hand. Braydie’s eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw it that was Joe and forgot the knife had fallen near to the sofa. He then saw it and in the confusion rushed to grab hold of it when the murderer beat him to it and pushed him away while he retrieved it. Joe quickly tackled him and they went rolling on the floor, punching and struggling with one another in the hope of getting the knife. Joe was punched in - 113 -

the stomach and was gasping for breath when once again Braydie saw the knife being raised. Immediately, he picked a vase full of flowers from the window and smashed it down on the guy’s head, shattering it into thousands of china pieces. The guy was stunned and got up and kicked Braydie and then punched Joe onto the floor as he staggered to the front door. He fumbled for the key, which was not in the lock and found it only to find as he got outside that the body of the policeman was not there. Panting, stunned and shocked, in the confusion he found on the pavement upstairs that there were four men waiting and they grabbed him immediately. After handcuffing him and reading him his rights, they bundled him into a van. Inspector Jameson was on hand to see the whole operation take place. Much later in the evening, after check-ups at the hospital A&E department for Joe and Braydie for shocks, cuts and bruises followed by giving statements, they settled down for a drink alongside Inspector Jameson in the Green Room. “I suppose I should explain first how I came to be heading back to Bath rather than on a train to London,” Joe said, smiling and taking a large sip from his glass. “It was this morning when this guy telephoned and said he wanted to have a look over the flat. The accent, of course, was not British and then the name Fuller somehow lodged in my brain. It was after I telephoned Braydie on the train to tell him a guy would be calling around lunchtime to see the flat that my clouded thoughts persisted. It was an hour and a half later, when the train

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arrived at Paddington, that I realised that the accent and the surname belonged to a guy I met once during a break in a filmed TV commercial and who’d been interested in Bath and CC, so I wondered whether the two might add up to something more sinister. I telephoned you at home and got no reply so I tried at work and was told you were at a very important meeting, Long Term Care, and your mobile phone wasn’t answering either.” “No. Everyone had to leave their mobile phones outside the boardroom due to interruptions in the past. But I was surprised the phone didn’t ring at home while the butcher was there.” “When we found PC Robinson outside the flat we also found the phone wires had been cut.” “So,” Joe continued, “I telephoned my agent and said I had an urgent journey to make and, hopefully, I could see him tomorrow. I got a taxi from the station, asking him to stop at the beginning of the cul-de-sac and slowly walked down to the house. The PC I spoke to this morning wasn’t there and I saw what looked like a body near the door to the garden flat. I got out my door key and slowly and quietly entered the main house and it was then that I almost crept down the stairs to the flat. I listened and knew that I had to burst into the room at a certain point, and waiting was almost like a lifetime. If I went too soon or too late it could be disastrous. So I closed my eyes, said a few words under my breath, and took a chance on the right time. Gladly my instincts paid off!” he said, smiling and looking at Braydie. - 115 -

Inspector Jameson also seemed happy and enjoying his drink in a room that was not at all crowded. “Now I think it’s my turn,” he said, settling back in his chair. “It’s my day off today and my wife and I were attending a service at the abbey and just before we arrived we were at the Orange Grove…” “Oh No! Not oranges again,” Joe said screwing up his face. “Sorry, Inspector, I’ll tell you one day all about my pet hate.” The Inspector smiled a little. “When we arrived at the abbey, I saw a man passing by on a bicycle. He was wearing what looked like a tracksuit and one of those ghastly baseball caps turned around the wrong way. He stopped because, as you know, on the roundabout there’s a crossing and quite a lot of cars sometimes slow to a halt. I stared for a while at the man, noticed the initials GF on the peak of his cap as he started to cycle on again and then I remembered that on two occasions there were several reports of something similar leaving the scenes of the crimes. It was then that I noticed he was cycling in the direction of your house, so I explained to my wife to pass on my apologies to all concerned at the abbey because I simply had to get back to the station urgently and check what I thought might be a breakthrough at last, as I had no radio link or my own mobile with me. It took a while, but I did find out all that I wanted to and had to get permission for a patrol as I was off-duty. Needless to say it took a while before it was - 116 -

granted. In the meantime I radioed PC Robertson and got no reply - so I knew intinctively that something wasn’t right.” “How is PC Robertson by the way, Inspector?” said Braydie, also feeling more relaxed and content. “He’s holding his own. But he’s young and tough and I’m sure he’ll pull through.” “I think we should all say a prayer or two tonight, Inspector, about what has happened,” Braydie said, smiling and then sighing. “There are two things, Inspector, that I can’t work out,” Joe said, finishing off his drink. “Why would Grant Fuller Jnr, who seemed to have everything under control, wear that tracksuit and cap when sightings had been reported in the local newspaper and TV?” The Inspector smiled. “Yes. I thought that too. Since he’s been interviewed and charged with murder, that was one of the questions that he was asked. He stated that the reports were neither in the local papers or on TV. When we asked why he was so sure, he said that he had bought the papers and also saw the local TV on both occasions that they had happened. When we asked him what time he bought the papers and watched the TV we found that he had bought the early editions of the papers and saw the early news on the TV. Neither of these incidents had been reported by then - because the police hadn’t released the information. It was only in the later editions of the papers and the late news on TV that the cyclist - 117 -

and the cap was reported, so he didn’t see it at all. That’s why he wore the same clothing today, not knowing, it was about to be the beginning of his downfall.” “The other thing,” Joe said, “was why did he use his real name instead of John Doe as he had done before?” “I’d wondered that as well,” the Inspector replied. “I can only assume that as he had asked for Mr Neilson, as in the ad, on the telephone and you said that he wasn’t available that he thought that he’d be seeing you and not Braydie. Or maybe it was just a slight lapse of concentration,” he speculated, finishing off his apple juice. “I’m sure we shall all know in the trial, Inspector,” Joe said, smiling. That night Braydie and Joe did not make love but held one another before falling to sleep after a day that neither would, or could, ever forget. Braydie later woke up during the night and almost cried because of what had happened, plus the fact that he had not even thanked Joe for saving his life! - - -oo0oo- - On reflection, Braydie was not in the best of spirits about deciding not to go to work, it was not only the whole ordeal of what happened the previous day, it also suddenly struck him how very close to death he had been. Like some delayed reaction when he realised that although Joe, the Inspector and his own ability to apprehend the killer had all played an important part, things could so easily have gone the other way!

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He wandered around the house, stopping and staring in each room… It was not that he thought the murderer was still there and hiding. He just marvelled that in such a short space of time everything could be so utterly different. There were no happy faces, laughter or smiles now - and remembrance of things past came vividly to mind of chattering voices, plans and what had now gone of the people, their lives and their futures. Faces came and went… that of Alder King, an ordinary guy with a good sense of humour. Lee Darke, fun and mischievous. Tommy Niven, prankster and always good-humoured. Haddon James, kind and considerate. Jackie Juniper, plain, serious and trustworthy. Last but not least, the one and only Clarence Collier. The great CC - a legend in his own gaytime, with his wisdom, hilarity and kindness, loveable in everything he did and what he had achieved. With CC, nothing had ever been too much trouble for anyone and everyone. For a strange moment he thought of a musical that CC had played him once. He believed it was called Skyscraper by Jimmy Van Heusen & Sammy Cahn and it featured the lovely tune, I’ll Only Miss Her When I Think of Her. It was haunting and particularly poignant at this present time. Memories of meetings, pubs, restaurant visits, theatre trips, shopping, parties, telephone calls, the jokes, innuendoes, camp and scandal and not forgetting the sheer presence of a great confidant - it all echoed through his mind over and

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over again. Why did it all have to be ended so soon by a demented, deranged mad soul? Would he have still slaughtered the group if it had been hereto? Braydie suddenly felt sad and tired and brushed away a tear. Where, dear friends, are you all now? The garden flat, needless to say was the worst reminder and he felt a shudder down his spine when he stood at the doorway, the same place where Grant Fuller Jnr had wielded his knife. Just thinking of the killer, his presence and what he had done to his friends made Braydie shiver and for that moment he felt very alone and only wished that Joe, or anyone, was there to hold him, comfort him and just whisper, “He’s gone and you’re alive!” Could he have done something for the others? Anything? Had Inspector Jameson failed to try hard enough because of his limitations? Was anyone to blame? Or were they all to blame? Was GF really that unbearably evil? Why did one survive while the others perished? Was that a bell ringing? Could it have been the abbey? Or a death knell! Braydie felt for a moment confused, his mind racing with various unanswerable questions, like he was in a fog and had stumbled upon a crossroads and was not certain which way to go. Many had taken the wrong road and there were voices, faces, fingers pointing in various directions. He closed his eyes, sighed and wished that he could go to sleep for a long, long time and not have to make a decision.

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He felt a stirring when he heard a sound and only after a while did he know that it was the ringing of the telephone. He slowly opened his eyes. “Yes, Operator, this is the number. Thank you for telling me that it’s now back in order.” Braydie smiled. It was a voice and yes, he was very much alive! - - -oo0oo- - Joe, on the other hand, did go to see his agent in London and on the way back home telephoned Braydie. The audition he had done in the States for an American musical that had never been performed in London before had been successful. It was for the part of Little Joe in Cabin in the Sky. After the telephone call, Braydie felt composed and confident again, and went to an open window that somehow he felt drawn to, and at first was a little startled. On the sill was a bird, a robin, and it turned as though to stare at him, then slowly bowed its head and flew away. Braydie looked up at the sky. It was raining and yet there was sunshine and, behold, a rainbow! He blinked, wished, smiled and slightly shivered. “Thanks CC - in more ways than you will ever know!”

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Titles originally anticipated:(1) ‘HAPPINESS IS A GUY CALLED JOE’ (2) ‘BLOOD BATH’ (3) ‘C.C. & THE DEADLY CIRCLE’

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