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Pen Your Pride


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November 17th 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 journalists had begaun to gather at the boundaries of the property. The bungalow was set so far back from the road that it couldn't be seen at all, but that 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 eventually opened by a dishevelled and irritated looking man.

"Yes? Don't you know what time... " he demanded, but stopped when the detective held up his identification.

The detective recognised the man stood in front of him - of course - he was one of the most famous people in the world, but that wouldn't spoil the fun. "Are you George Harrison?" he asked, stoney faced.

"Who wants to know?" John Lennon replied bluntly, laying on a thick Liverpudlian accent.

The owner of the house appeared behind John. "I'm George Harrison," he said gruffly, and stepped outside into the bright morning 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 clothesline. A far cry from the Fab Four's squeeky clean nice boys image, the dectective thought. What would all those screaming fans think to this?

The detective cleared his throat, "Mr Harrison," he stated 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 died in suspicious circumstances."

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 would be the last person to see Miss Burgess alive."

"Am I being arrested?" George asked, turning back to the policemen, looking at the two uniformed constables flanking the detective.

"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, "No, the press would have a field day. I'll be okay, just... " he faltered, "Just find Brian."

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