The Devil In Her Heart (Beatles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 36

November 16th 1965, 4.10pm, 24 Chapel Street, Belgravia, London

It was quite obvious no one had been inside the house for some time. It had that musty, damp smell that closed–up houses always have. There was no post on the mat though, and apart from a layer of dust, everything was as it had always been.

"I haven't seen Mr Epstein in a long time," the plump woman behind George was saying. "He gave me the key for emergencies, I hope he won't mind me letting you in here."

"No, he won't," George said, looking around the hallway, walking towards the front room, searching for something, anything, that might tell him what might have happened to Brian.

"I wouldn't normally, but I recognise you. You're one of The Beatles, aren't you?"

"Yes," George replied, flicking through a letter rack on the bureaux.

"And Mr Epstein is your manager."

"Yes," George confirmed again.

The woman smiled, pleased at her detective work. "Everything is alright, isn't it?"

George forced a wide smile, well practiced for a hundred posed photographs. "Of course," he said, patting the woman on the back and guiding her towards the door. "Mr Epstein asked me to pick a few things up for him, but he forgot to leave me his key, the silly thing. If you don't mind though, I have to make a phone call. I'll drop the key back to you in a little while."

"Oh, okay then..." the woman just managed to say before George bundled her out of the front door and closed it.

George turned back to the house, waiting for something – a clue, the answer – to leap out at him, but nothing was forthcoming. Everything just looked... normal. So what did you expect? he asked himself. Furniture overturned as they came to drag Brian away? A big note written somewhere saying 'Don't forget to move to Australia tomorrow'?

He wandered from room to room. Brian had only moved to the house in January. He was still in the processes of redecorating it, not that anyone would know. Everything was predictably neat and perfectly laid out. George came into the front room and leaned his elbow on the ornamental mantalpiece above the fireplace.

"Where are you, Bri?" he said out loud, and his voice seemed to echo, disconcertingly. There must be something here, George told himself. Something I'm missing, something I haven't noticed.

He looked down. The fireplace hadn't been used recently. Or cleaned out. There was a small corner of paper sticking out, starkly white against the black ash and charcoal. George bent down and pulled it out.

The section where it would have been signed by the sender had been burnt away, with just the top part of the letter still intact – and just about legible. It didn't matter anyway. George had seen that handwriting a thousand times, he would have recognised it anywhere.

...worried about you. I don't...

...that man. He is not to be trus...

...Brian. I am always...

...in London.

The rest of the words were too badly burnt to make out, but it was enough. George remembered Paul mentioning something about Alistair Taylor coming to see him, not long after everyone had been fired at NEMS. He was worried about Brian, what did he say? The letter was unmistakably in his handwriting.

Alistair Taylor had been Brian's right hand man since the days of the record shops in Liverpool. He was their 'Mr Fix–It', the one who organised the trips and booked the tours, who sent them cigarettes from England when they didn't like the ones they had available in America and the one who devised the escape routes when maurauding fans threatened to break through the police barriers. Alistair Taylor had accompanied Brian the night he came to The Cavern to see why such a fuss was being created over some band called 'The Beatles'. He had been there when the contract between The Beatles and Brian Epstein was signed, a short time later. That Brian would unceremoniously fire Alistair Taylor, without seemingly any reason, definately showed something was amiss. George cursed him and the others for being so wrapped up in their own lives that they didn't question what was going on at the time.