November 17^th 1965

 

The young detective couldn’t believe his luck, as he stood on the doorstep, in between his two burly colleagues. Such a high profile case as this could make his career. His father would be so proud.

 

‘Someone’ had already tipped off the press and a few journalists had gathered at the boundaries of the bungalow. The house was set so far back from the road that it couldn’t be seen at all, but it didn’t stop the photographers snapping away at the police when they arrived, and no doubt they would be ready to catch them when they came out again.

 

The door was opened by a dishevelled, irritated looking man.

 

“Yes?” he demanded, but stopped when the detective held up his identification.

 

Of course, the detective recognised the man stood in front of him, but he asked facetious, “George Harrison?”

 

“No,” John Lennon replied bluntly.

 

The owner of the bungalow appeared behind John. “I’m George Harrison,” he said gruffly, and stepped outside into the bright sunlight.

 

The detective wrinkled his nose as the smell of stale tobacco and alcohol met him. George looked even worse than John. His shirt was stained and buttoned unevenly. His eyes were bloodshot, surrounded by black circles and his yellowy skin appeared to hang on his face like laundry on a clotheshorse.

 

The detective cleared his throat, “Mr Harrison,” he started loudly, “I am Detective Constable David Myles. I’m afraid I am here on rather a delicate matter. You are, er, acquainted with a Miss Grace Burgess?”

 

“Yes,” George confirmed, “What’s this about?” He put his hand up to his forehead, squeezing his temples and closing his eyes momentarily.

 

“I’m sorry to inform you sir, Miss Burgess was found dead early this morning.”

 

George’s hand dropped to his side like a lead weight. “What?” he whispered, barely audible.

 

“We have reason to believe she was murdered.”

 

George turned to look at John, still standing in the doorway. John opened his mouth but no words came out.

 

“We would like you to accompany us to the station, please, sir,” the detective’s every word was carefully rehearsed, “It appears you were the last person to see Miss Burgess alive.”

 

“Am I being arrested?” George asked, turning back to the policemen.

 

“No, sir,” Not yet, Myles added in his head, “Unless you’re refusing to come with us?”

 

“No, I’ll come,” George said, shock giving a waver to his voice.

 

“We’ll come with you,” John said.

 

George turned to him again and shook his head, “I’ll be okay, just…” he faltered, “Just find Brian.”