by June Gadsby
‘Nobody deserves to die like that, Elizabeth,’ John told her softly, his eyes avoiding the newspaper and skimming over her face before being averted.
‘She was a prostitute, for goodness sake!’
‘She wasn’t a bad person. In fact, Colleen was as good a person as you’ll find around here, including your fancy, bigoted friends who think they’re God’s chosen few.’
‘You went with her, didn’t you?’ Elizabeth’s face was screwed up in an expression of pure revulsion. ‘Is that where you were when you came home late with my father, saying you’d lost track of time?’
‘You didn’t want me in your bed any more, Elizabeth. However, I’m still a relatively young man. I may be a cripple, but I have needs...physical needs. Colleen understood that.’ John gazed off into the middle distance and gave a wry smile. ‘Sometimes we just talked. In some ways, I liked that best. She was a good listener, but she also needed somebody to talk to.’
‘Oh, yes, I’m sure!’
‘No matter what you or anybody else says about her, Colleen Maguire was all right. She didn’t deserve to die.’
‘Didn’t she? I think that whoever did that to her did the world a service.’
‘Where’s your Christian heart, Elizabeth?’ John’s eyes flashed at her momentarily and for the first time she saw something akin to hate in his attitude. ‘There are quite a number of suspects, as you can imagine, but at the top of the list is Patrick Flynn. Right now, however, he seems to have gone missing. Him and that little lad of his. The one they call Billy Big Boots.’
‘Billy?’ At last some warmth of feeling stole back into Elizabeth’s cold heart. ‘Dear God, you don’t think the man would harm his own son, do you?’
John slowly shook his head, wiped a hand over his face. ‘I don’t know. Remember when Laura was little, the day Billy was born? She came out with some ridiculous story about Mr Flynn trying to suffocate the baby.’
‘Oh, that was nothing, John. Just childish imagination. You know what Laura’s like, even now. She scribbles away at every spare moment, writing fairy stories. They read them out at the school. The children love them, but they’re not true. They’re just a product of Laura’s fertile imagination.’
‘I wonder. Maybe she really did see that bastard try to murder Billy. Remember, Flynn went missing around that time too, then turned up again years later. The priest had moved on, the grandparents were all dead. The incident had been forgotten. Not even Laura mentioned it anymore.’
‘I can understand a man like Patrick Flynn going with whores,’ Elizabeth said suddenly through gritted teeth. ‘Look at his wife.’
‘Maggie Flynn gave our household many years of good service,’ John said in the woman’s defence. ‘It was a pity she ever left. Her daughter will never be a patch on her.’
‘Oh, don’t! The last I heard Maggie Flynn never takes her head out of the gin bottle. They’re a fine pair, I ask you, and still breeding if the size of her is anything to go by.’
A scuff of feet announced the arrival of Maureen Flynn. There was a timid tap of knuckles on the door and there she stood, cowering fearfully, her face sheet white and lips compressed.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Caldwell, but...’
‘Maureen?’ Elizabeth frowned at her young housekeeper. ‘What is it?’
‘I...I...’ The girl stuttered and couldn’t get the words out, so Elizabeth took it to mean nothing at all but a lapse on Maureen’s part.
‘Bring us some tea and cake, would you? And don’t take all day about it.’
‘Yes, Mrs Caldwell,’ Maureen started to go then she turned back and rested a doleful look on her employer. ‘Mrs Caldwell, can I take the rest of the day off please? Me mam’s bad and we don’t know where our Billy is and....and...I’m not feeling well mesel’ like.’
Elizabeth’s brows lowered. The girl had no brain and was lazy, but she wasn’t one to take time off that wasn’t owing to her. And she did look rather ill.
‘Very well, Maureen,’ she said, ‘but bring the tea first and see if you can manage a few salmon sandwiches. I do believe there is a tin in the pantry. Red salmon, mind.’
‘Oh, but...’ Maureen thought better of the argument that had risen like bile in her throat. ‘Yes, Mrs Caldwell.’
* * *
In the kitchen, Laura was as pale as Maureen. Two broad-shouldered policemen in plain clothes were standing near the back door. She had taken pity on their plain and simple housekeeper when Maureen begged her not to inform Elizabeth Caldwell of their presence, or of the reason for them being there.
They had swaggered in through the back door, long overcoats flowing, big black shoes polished and creaking with every step they took. Laura had been scribbling furiously in one of her notebooks, rushing with enthusiasm to the end of her latest children’s story. One of the men had rudely picked up the notebook and read a few lines before either of them thought of showing their identity cards.
‘Oh, I’ll get my mother, shall I?’ she asked them hesitantly, but they didn’t need to see Mrs Caldwell, they said.
‘We’ve come for Maureen Flynn,’ the older and more senior of the two turned to Maureen. ‘That would be you, miss?’
Maureen’s eyes grew very wide. ‘What have I done?’ She looked frantically at Laura and shook her head. ‘Honestly, I haven’t done nothing!’
‘No, no, Miss Flynn,’ the more fatherly of the two detectives said kindly. ‘We’ve come to fetch you home. I’m afraid, lass, you’ve got a bit of trouble on your doorstep.’
All the time they were talking the service bell was ringing and Maureen was looking more and more frightened and confused.
‘Perhaps you’d like to answer that,’ the senior man said, ‘and tell your employer that you’ll be taking some time off. As quick as you like, now. We’ve got a car waiting outside.’
Maureen’s mouth opened as wide as her eyes then she gave a little nod and rushed off to answer the impatient bell.
Now, she was back and stood there, trembling from head to foot as if her whole body had turned to jelly.
‘Mrs Caldwell....she...she wants tea and cake...and sandwiches and...’ Her eyes locked with those of Laura’s. ‘I...I can’t do it....I....what’s happened? Has there been an accident or something?’
Laura took one of the girl’s ice-cold hands and squeezed it. ‘Never mind the tea, Maureen,’ she said then turned back to the policemen. ‘Can’t you tell us what’s happened, sergeant? I may be able to help. I’m a friend of the family you see.’
Maureen shot her a surprised and grateful look.
‘All right, miss. I suppose it won’t do any harm and you’ll find out soon enough. ‘There’s been a murder, you see. A neighbour of Miss Flynn’s here. We went to question Mr Flynn because...well, no matter. He wasn’t there. It seems he hasn’t been home since Friday night, according to his wife. The thing is, Mrs Flynn is in rather a...well, you might say, a delicate state of health.’
‘You suspect...’ Laura gulped audibly, remembering that day ten years ago and seeing Patrick Flynn in her mind’s eye, a pillow poised over poor little Billy’s face. ‘Did he...did he murder Colleen Maguire?’
‘Miss Maguire is indeed the victim,’ the sergeant said. ‘However, we can’t point the finger at Patrick Flynn, though he’s high on the list of suspects. Trouble is, miss, we can’t find him. And his youngest son seems to have gone missing too. Billy Flynn, that is.’
‘Billy didn’t do anything.’ Laura was quick to Billy’s defence. ‘He’s only ten...’
The inspector held up his hands. ‘Now, now, miss, I didn’t mean to imply that the lad had done anything wrong,’ he said, patting her shoulder in an avuncular way. ‘It’s just that he’s the only one who can deal with his mother, it seems, and nobody knows where he is.’
‘Oh, he hasn’t hurt Billy as well, has he?’ Laura’s dark eyes were frantic. ‘Mr Flynn is a bad man...an evil man. He...’ She heard a gasp and remembered the presence of Patrick Flynn
’s daughter. ‘Oh, I’m sorry Maureen, but you didn’t see him that day when Billy was born. He was going to put a pillow over Billy’s face. Everybody said the poor baby wouldn’t live, but he did and he’s a good boy.’
The younger but senior policeman was listening intently to her words and came closer, drawing himself up to his full six feet and expanding his broad chest beneath the stiff mackintosh he wore.
‘And who told you that, Miss Caldwell?’ The other policeman stepped forward, regarding her from beneath thick, wire wool eyebrows. ‘About the business with the pillow, eh?’
Laura’s head snapped round and she blinked at him, slightly shocked at her own outburst.
‘Nobody told me,’ she said in a half whisper, afraid he might take her words wrongly and arrest her for telling lies. Slander they called it. Her grandmother warned her over and over again about telling tales. ‘I...I saw him.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Laura could see Maureen’s pale face staring at her in disbelief. The inspector and his colleague were both now giving her their full attention, eyes narrowed, mouths tight and grim.
‘You saw him do what, young lady?’
Laura swallowed and cleared her throat. ‘It was a long time ago. I was just a little girl, but I was there when Billy was born and...’ She looked about her, fearing that her mother might come in and tell her to forget that silly story once and for all. ‘I went back later. I saw Mr Flynn standing over the baby with a pillow and he was going to smother the poor little thing. I shouted for him to stop and...’
‘And?’
‘And then, the woman with the red hair came in and there was an argument and Mr Flynn ran out of the house.’
‘The woman with the red hair being Colleen Maguire?’
Laura nodded. ‘Yes. She was kind to me. She brought me home, but nobody would speak to her and they didn’t believe me when I told them. About Mr Flynn and Billy, I mean.’
The inspector turned back to Maureen Flynn. ‘Is this true, Miss Flynn?’
‘I don’t know,’ Maureen shook her head vigorously. ‘I wasn’t there. Mam sent me for help when the baby started to come. I went for me grannie, but I was too scared to go back home, so I stayed with her that night.’
‘It is true,’ Laura said plaintively, every bone in her body sagging with the frustration of not being believed yet again. ‘Mrs Maguire said I saved little Billy’s life that day. She said Mr Flynn would have killed the baby. I tried to tell everybody, but I was only eight. Nobody believed me. They still don’t.’
The inspector exchanged a glance with his sergeant and then smiled kindly at Laura. ‘Well, Miss Caldwell, I think perhaps I do believe you, but we can do nothing without proof. I suggest you call in at the station and make a statement and we can keep it on record, but don’t you go telling people what you saw. If Flynn is guilty of murder I’d feel a lot happier if he was behind bars before he knows you’ve pointed a finger at him.’
There was a suppressed whimper from Maureen and he gave her a sharp look. ‘Miss Flynn, can we trust you not to mention what you’ve just heard? He may be your father, but he’s a nasty piece of work, and I daresay you already know that.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Maureen said and scrubbed at her red, watery eyes. ‘I don’t live at home no more, anyway, so I never see me da. I won’t say anything to nobody, I promise.’
‘If he’s done a runner you might never see him again,’ the sergeant said pointedly.
‘I don’t mind that,’ Maureen said, tenderly rubbing her arm where Laura knew there was a scar and she suspected Patrick Flynn had inflicted it on his daughter. That and many other injuries, mentally as well as physically.
With the police officers gone, none the wiser about the whereabouts of Patrick Flynn or his youngest son, Maureen turned mournful eyes on Laura.
‘Do you know where me brother is, Miss Caldwell?’ she asked.
‘Why do you ask me that?’ Laura felt she had to be on her guard from now on until the suspected murderer was caught.
‘Because you and Billy have always been thick as thieves. He’s always hanging around you.’
Laura chewed on her mouth and gave a deep frown. ‘Yes, I know. I don’t know why he does that, but he’s always popping up, wherever I go. It’s irritating.’
‘He worships you, miss, that’s why. Our Billy knows that you saved his life, so he kind of thinks of you as his own special angel...well, you know...’ Maureen hung her head, embarrassed at her own words. ‘Something like that.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Laura bit down on a smile, thinking how nice it was to be worshipped, even from afar. She did so wish, though, that the one doing the worshipping were somewhat older and wiser than ten-year-old Billy Flynn. Someone like David Simpson, the minister’s son, or.... Well, anybody that her parents would approve of.
She and David had been going out for a few months, but she wasn’t sure where she was with him. He was tall and dark and handsome and he treated her like a precious piece of porcelain. Whenever she thought of him her heart did a little flip. Seeing him, even at a distance lit her body up as if she were filled with electricity. So far, however, he had done nothing but hold her hand gently when they were alone together and, in Church, he would send her that special, secret smile of his across the aisles while his father gave the sermon. One day, she hoped, she would be walking down the aisle on David’s arm, the new Mrs Simpson.
‘Go on home, Maureen,’ Laura said, suddenly realizing the girl was waiting anxiously for an order. ‘I’ll explain things to my mother.’
‘What about tea?’
‘Goodness, I think we can manage just this once. Off you go and....Maureen?’
Maureen halted in her swift tracks and looked questioningly over her shoulder. ‘Aye, miss?’
‘Be careful.’
‘Aye, I will.’
‘And if you find Billy, tell him...tell him to come here. It’ll be much safer for him than in your house.’
‘Eeh, me mam wouldn’t like that, miss. She goes daft if Billy’s not around to handle her.’
‘All the same, tell him. Until your father is found I’m afraid for his safety.’
Maureen nodded slowly as Laura’s words sank in, then she was gone, her flat feet slapping the pavement as she ran down the road in the direction of Jarrow Banks and Dawson Street.
* * *
It did Albert Robinson’s old heart good to hear the laughter of the group of miners who had gathered up in the top allotment. They met there, rain or shine, to practice. Forty members of the pit brass band, some of them so keen they still bore the coal dust on their faces and on their clothes.
As he approached, he heard them warm up, smiled genially as the odd discordant note sallied forth. Albert was no musician, but, by God, he liked the sound the band made. It could relieve tension better than any of those hocus-pocus medicines the doctor could dole out. And, unless you were too near and deafened by the blast of the ensemble, the music was sweet and soothing to the ears, or rousing to the heart. And definitely good for the spirit.
‘Hey, lads!’ He greeted them with his usual jovial smile and a wave of the hand, which had known toil as tough as any of them had known.
They were gathered around the long shed that the pit manager loaned to them and at the sound of his voice multiple salutation issued forth. Albert Robinson was a man well liked for his easy nature and his fair dealings with the men in his charge and his reputation had filtered through from the most junior brickie to the most senior miner in the region.
There were greetings all round, then Joseph Coates, the bandmaster, came forward to exchange a few words with his old friend.
‘Sorry to hear about the missus,’ Joe said with a slight nod of his bald head. ‘We thought maybe you’d give up the allotment after moving in with your daughter.’
‘Never!’ Albert told him, shaking hands firmly. ‘I just needed a bit of space. You know what it’s like, losing somebody close, like.’
‘
Aye, ‘course I do, lad.’ Joe had lost his wife two years ago.
‘Well,’ Albert said, rubbing his hands together, the skin rasping like sandpaper. ‘I figure it’s time to get back to the things I enjoy doing. What are you and the lads going to play for me that’ll set me off digging this blessed plot of mine, eh?’
He cast his gaze around the quarter acre plot that had miraculously been engulfed by weeds in the months he had not been in the mood to tend it.
‘It looks like you haven’t come back too soon, man,’ Joe said. ‘How about we play you something cheerful, like a Sousa march?
‘Aye, that’ll do me fine.’
‘And I’d take a look in your shed, Albert,’ Joe indicated the small wooden structure behind them that Albert had spent many an escapist hour in the past. ‘I think you’ll find you’ve got a lodger.’
‘What?’
But Joe just touched a finger to his forelock and went back to his lads, who immediately picked up their instruments and started to play.
Albert noticed that the lock to his shed had been broken into. It was hanging loosely and the door was slightly ajar. Even before he pushed the door open he had a gut feeling that he knew what to expect.
‘Billy? Is that you in there?’
A small, white, heart-shaped face appeared through the dusky light. Albert closed the door behind him and stood regarding the boy.
‘Aye, Mr Robinson. I’m sorry.’
‘Ye’re sorry, are ye? Well, I don’t know what for. Come here and tell me what this is all about, laddie. Come on. You know I’m not goin’ to eat ye, goodness sakes.’
‘Have they caught him, Mr Robinson?’
‘Who’s that, then?’
‘Me....the man that killed me Aunty Colleen.’
‘If yer talkin’ about that father of yours, Billy Flynn, the answer’s “no”. It seems he’s disappeared into the wide blue yonder.
