Midnight on Lime Street

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘Just some bloke who agreed with me about this wonderfully clean, high-class restaurant. He said we should try the caviar and the smoked salmon, but what can we do on a cop’s pay, eh? Glad you bought wrapped biscuits, Dave. I wouldn’t want anything touched by either of them at the counter.’

  They sat together eating their biscuits and sipping at strong, stewed tea.

  Dave frowned. ‘I wonder when this was brewed. Yesterday?’

  Eddie looked at the owners. ‘It could be him,’ he whispered. ‘Always open late. Maybe he sends the wife home early while he closes the cafe before going out to do his other job.’

  Dave grinned. ‘Look at him. About six stone wet through. I reckon he couldn’t lift the skin off custard, and he’s certainly a stranger to cleaning up.’

  ‘You’re right. It’s more likely somebody the same as men we see every day. Average height, average weight, average looks, ordinary job, maybe shift work. He’ll have read about Dolly Pearson, and I reckon she was a big error, because he’s after working girls like poor Jean Davenport. He knows the docks are crawling with cops, so he’ll be working on new ideas.’

  ‘Is he crazy?’

  Eddie raised his shoulders. ‘That’s a matter of opinion. Does he know what he’s doing? Yes, he does. Does he know why? Maybe he does, and maybe he doesn’t. Another thing I heard was that he can’t appreciate how other people feel. He could even be an excellent dad, a genuinely good family man till he gets out and about. I bet he’s OK at his job, too, although that psych bloke at the station said he’s probably working at a level he considers beneath him. But I think he’ll steer clear of the docks for a while.’

  Dave grinned. ‘I bet you’ve passed your sergeant exams, Ed.’

  ‘I have. And I think I’m trying for CID. I like the whys and the hows and the whos. Listening to that expert in our office, I thought how interesting it was to dig into the human mind and work out the type we’re hunting.’

  ‘Are you and me getting a divorce, then?’

  ‘Let’s see, shall we? Come on, we should get out of this hole before we come down with cholera or typhoid.’

  They stood outside on the pavement. ‘It might even be him,’ Eddie said quietly.

  ‘Him who?’

  ‘Him who was talking to me, sitting at the next table. Ordinary chap, knows the right thing to say, the right way to behave. They’re good actors, these psychopaths. The killer might even be a policeman or a judge or a clergyman.’

  ‘You serious, Ed?’

  Eddie nodded. ‘Yes. And he hasn’t finished his work, Dave. The odd thing is that he should have left a trail earlier in life, because they don’t usually kick off with killing people. They might hurt animals and other kids first, but everyone on our books has been checked. He could have moved here from just about anywhere.’

  ‘So he might be on another force’s list?’

  Again, Eddie nodded. ‘Could be Scottish, Irish, Welsh. Or he might be what they call inspirational.’

  ‘What’s that when it’s at home?’

  ‘Our killer might have been given orders from voices only he can hear. So he could have a completely clean sheet so far. But he still knows what he’s doing is wrong.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Yes, that as well. Let’s get back to the cop shop. We’re on earlies tomorrow.’

  A few yards away, a man with a bicycle watched the two policemen as they walked towards town. They would catch him? They probably couldn’t catch as much as a cold. He left the recessed doorway and rode homeward back to Laura. Whatever it took, he must make love to her tonight. It was a safe day; it was marked on the calendar.

  Belle Horrocks tucked her precious girl into bed. ‘And the big, bad wolf was never seen again.’ She kissed her beloved daughter’s hair; it smelled of childhood, happiness and Johnson’s baby shampoo. Lisa Marie Horrocks was the most beautiful child in the world.

  Lisa frowned. ‘Did he have to get killed, that wolf?’

  ‘It was either him or Red Riding Hood’s grandma, love. Which would you choose to save?’

  ‘My grandma.’ The child grinned. ‘Well, when she’s not trying to make me eat stuff I don’t want, like trees.’

  ‘Broccoli’s good for you, babe. It’ll make you strong and healthy. All veg are good for you.’

  ‘She does spinach, too. It’s horri-bubble.’

  ‘Horrible.’

  ‘Do you not like it, too?’

  Belle grinned. ‘I have a secret, but I’ll tell just you, shall I?’

  Lisa nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘It was carrots with me, love. I hated carrots. So I cut them small unless they were already mashed, and I put them with something I did enjoy, like gravy or potato or meat. It was easier when they were mashed.’

  ‘Trees don’t get mashed, Mam. If they were mashed, would they turn into leaves like lettuce?’

  Belle laughed. ‘Cut ’em up, stick ’em in gravy and Bob’s your uncle.’

  ‘Is he? I thought I hadn’t got no uncles.’

  ‘It’s just a saying, Lisa. It means everything’s all right.’ She left the room, making sure that the door was open by two inches and the landing light was on because Lisa didn’t like total darkness.

  ‘Night, Mummy.’

  ‘Goodnight, my sweetheart.’ Belle stood at the top of the stairs. She’d be back at the farm in a couple of days, and she’d been shut in this house for what felt like a lifetime, too scared to go out because Tom Duffield lived nearby. It was time to face the music, she told herself firmly. She couldn’t carry on like this, could she? And Tom was a decent chap . . .

  Downstairs, she informed Frankie and Sam that she was off for a walk.

  ‘It’s going dark,’ Sam said. ‘Somebody out there’s killing women.’

  ‘This isn’t the docks,’ was Belle’s answer. ‘I won’t go far.’ That was true, because she was intending to visit a house that was very near. She didn’t dress up. Her hair was tidy, her shoes flat slip-ons, and the dress itself was a sensible one from Marks & Spencer: blue and white stripes, a buttoned blouse-type top with a bow at the throat. She pulled on a navy cardigan.

  ‘See you in a bit, then,’ Frankie called as her daughter left the room.

  Belle walked to the end of the terrace, the side that didn’t pass the front of Tom’s house. Counting the back alley gates beyond her parents’, she tried the one that led into the yard of number 42. It wasn’t locked. Sighing her relief, she entered a client’s territory for the first time ever, and stopped when she saw him seated in the window. The main light was on, and a brighter lamp shone on the table at which he worked. His missing left hand had been replaced by a hook, putting Belle in mind of pirate stories from her childhood. A parrot might have completed the picture.

  She found herself staring at him. With up to three clients a night, few of Eve’s girls bothered to assess unimportant details like looks. They were just lonely men who needed a woman, and the quicker they boiled over, the better. Tom was unusual; Tom tried to please her. He wasn’t bad looking, not bad at all. He often joked about his missing hand, saying his mam had always told him he was ’armless.

  He was fiddling about just now with small items on the table, concentrating too hard to bother looking through the window. Sometimes, he placed an eye against a jeweller’s glass on a stand, so the work was detailed. For the first time, Belle realized that he was very pleasing to the eye, and that made her smile, though she couldn’t imagine why.

  Her palms were damp, so she rubbed them down the sides of her frock. ‘You’re visiting a neighbour, that’s all,’ she whispered to herself.

  She knocked at the rear door. ‘He won’t let me down, not Tom,’ she mouthed silently to herself. A dog barked, and Belle steeled herself, because she wasn’t used to dogs.

  The door swung inward. Tom stood with his right hand attached to the dog’s collar. The hook had opened the door. His face suddenly wore a wide grin. ‘Belle?’

 
; ‘Yes, it’s me. That’s a big dog.’ She pointed to the black Labrador. ‘Is he friendly?’

  ‘You’ll be in danger of being licked all the way to death by drowning, but Max doesn’t bite. Get yourself inside.’

  She entered the house and looked round the small scullery. It was wonderful, clean, tidy and very well decorated with tiles up to the ceiling on every wall. It housed a large porcelain sink, an English Electric automatic washing machine and a pulley clothes line. ‘Where do you cook?’ she asked. It was clear that he’d turned the minute scullery into a laundry.

  ‘This way.’ He led her into the kitchen. It sported not only a bungalow range with an oven, but also a gas cooker with four rings, a grill and another oven, a sink, a fridge, and rows of floor-standing and wall cupboards along two sides of the room. The table at which he’d been working was probably where he ate, and a two-seater sofa faced the range. ‘Who did all this?’ she asked.

  ‘Amazing what a one-handed man can do with a hook,’ he replied, smiling at her, ‘and my mates helped with plumbing and electrics. Your dad’s going to plaster upstairs for me.’

  Belle stood still. ‘How do you know he’s my dad?’

  ‘He brags about you. So does your mam. It’s OK, you’re safe as far as I’m concerned, Miss Bookkeeper. We all have our secrets. I’ll put the kettle on.’

  She placed herself on the small sofa and was joined immediately by the dog. Tom was right – she was getting a thorough wash. ‘Give it a rest, Max,’ she said.

  The animal stopped and leapt off the seat.

  ‘That’s why they’re used as guide dogs,’ Tom said. ‘They love people, they’re intelligent and obedient. All he wants from me is food, a walk and love.’

  ‘Do you see your sons?’ Belle asked apropos of nothing.

  He paused, tea scoop frozen over the caddy. ‘No. The wife disappeared from her parents’ house on Queens Drive after a matter of days.’

  ‘Are her mam and dad still there on Queens Drive?’

  ‘They went with her and the boys, or so I was told by a neighbour.’

  ‘Because of your hand? She left because of your hand?’

  ‘You’ve talked about me to your parents?’

  ‘Yes. I asked who the one-handed man was. I saw you in the back street walking away from me. You were in a shirt with short sleeves. No hook, though.’

  ‘I use it mostly for work. Yes, my other half couldn’t bear to look at my stump, refused to help me dress it, so I had to go every day to the hospital after being discharged. I came back from the dressings clinic one day, and she’d gone. They’d all gone.’

  Belle accepted her cup of tea. ‘Did you try to get her back?’

  ‘No.’

  She didn’t ask why he’d made no effort in that direction. ‘You must miss the kids.’

  ‘They’ll find me when they’re old enough. I didn’t want them to see me and their mam fighting over them. Anyway, they’re why I’m doing the house up. I’ve a television in the front room, and I’m saving for colour. It’s not worth getting yet, because it’s mainly just BBC2 that broadcasts in colour, but the others will catch up.’ He took a sip of tea. ‘You look nice,’ he said.

  ‘Different from the way I usually dress at work.’

  ‘I know I’m not your only client, but you’re my only girl,’ he said. ‘And I’m sure this will sound corny, but the massage is as important as the sex. You stop my nonexistent left hand hurting.’ He returned to drinking his tea. Belle Horrocks was special, but she wasn’t his. Sometimes, when he was with her, he imagined that they were a couple, though he’d never told her that.

  ‘Judy does reflexology,’ she told him. ‘That can help, too.’

  ‘I know. I don’t want Judy. She reminds me of Mrs Duke at school, a pretty face spoiled by disappointment and sulking. You make me laugh; you make me feel good, as if I’m normal.’

  Belle frowned. ‘You are normal. Just because a bit’s been cut off, that doesn’t make you abnormal.’ She glanced at the table. The bright light remained on, and the area was covered in tiny cogs, springs and other bits of metal.

  He followed her gaze. ‘I mend clocks and watches. I’m self-taught.’

  ‘With one hand?’

  ‘Yes. The hook’s adaptable. Smaller-gauged bits clamp to the end of it, and my right hand’s a good labourer. Clocks are easier, because they’re bigger, but I manage with watches, too. So I earn a good living.’

  Belle relaxed. This was ridiculous, because their relationship was strictly professional, yet she felt as if she’d known the man all her life. He was the sort of bloke who couldn’t be pictured in a bad mood. ‘My dad will always help you in the house,’ she told him. ‘You just need to ask.’

  ‘I know. I’m his landlord, though he doesn’t know it, and you mustn’t tell him. I got a pay-off from Watkinson’s because the machine that took my hand had a failed guard. We never went to court. I bought this house which I’d been renting, and theirs – your parents’ – too. I use a letting agent, and he chose your family when the last lot moved out. The name was familiar, so when I found out for certain that they were your mam and dad, I told the agent to charge less rent and Sam would get the place right. I’ll provide the materials, of course. Your little girl’s there too, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’ Belle no longer felt relaxed. Tom liked her; she could tell that he liked her. ‘It’s a lovely house.’

  ‘It will always be their home, Belle. They’re smashing people with a great daughter and a lovely grandchild. She looks like you.’

  Not for the first time just lately, Belle was in danger of being overcome by gratitude. There was Babs with the ten quid, Nellie with the free pram, now Tom promising to look after Mam, Dad and Lisa. ‘You’re a good man, Tommy Duffield.’

  He smiled. She looked wonderful, so much better as an ordinary, if rather pretty mother. ‘When you have an accident like mine, your view of life changes. Once the anger left me, I was grateful that it was just my left hand. I got to thinking about all the lads who never came home after wars, and about those who survived with burnt faces and no legs.’

  ‘I know what you mean, Tom.’

  He shook his head. ‘I decided to be grateful for many mercies,’ he said. ‘I’m better off than some.’

  Belle remained motionless; he needed to talk. It felt as if she might be the first one he’d opened up to, and he needed to offload the traumas to someone who wasn’t a doctor, some lay person who cared enough to listen.

  ‘I went wild again when she took my sons. Hit the bottle, hated the world, didn’t even eat properly because I didn’t like myself much. Then I got the payout from Watkinson’s and I thought right, buy this house and that empty one a few doors down, be positive, work towards a legacy for my kids. They will look for me in time, and I’ll still be at the same address.’ He glanced at the floor. ‘Max likes you. He’s gone to sleep on your foot.’

  Belle laughed. ‘He has a heavy head, so my foot’s asleep too.’

  Tom leaned back and closed his eyes for a few moments. Working with timepieces was hard on the vision. He liked Belle’s company, especially here, in a setting so different from the usual environment. She was radically different from her colleagues at the farm, and he had grown fond of her. ‘Do you kiss any of your clients, Belle?’

  ‘No,’ she answered quickly.

  ‘Not just me, then. Is there a reason for not kissing?’

  ‘Yes. Kissing is human and personal; the rest is just what any animal does. The only person I’ve ever kissed was Lisa’s dad. He died in a car crash before she was born. Eve warns us against getting fond of a client – she says that’s a very bad idea. I imagine that Cynthia kisses, but she’s a no holds barred type.’

  ‘Did you marry Lisa’s dad?’

  ‘He was already married. I couldn’t even go to his funeral.’

  ‘Sad,’ Tom said.

  ‘Yes. I’ve been to the grave. His family keeps it nice and tidy.’ She was quiet
for a while. ‘He said he was going to make sure I stayed off the game, that he would leave his wife and set up home with me and the baby, but I knew he wasn’t going to do it. As things turned out, I’ll never be completely sure either way, will I?’

  He thought about that. ‘It’s the same with me. I wonder whether she would have separated from me if I’d hung on to both hands. In a way, it was a relief except for losing the kids, because there was nothing much left between the two of us. She might well have stayed after I got paid off by the factory; she was very fond of money. It was probably the love of her life.’

  Belle glanced at the mantel clock. Her mother and father would start to worry if she stayed out for much longer.

  ‘There’s no point being bitter,’ he concluded. ‘Bitter people end up on their own, no company, no friends.’

  She sighed.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

  She hesitated through a few beats of time before replying, ‘I won’t be able to see you again at Meadowbank, Tom. We’re not allowed to have male friends in our rooms.’

  ‘Am I a friend?’

  She blushed for the first time in years. ‘Well, I know you away from work now, don’t I?’ She paused again. ‘I suppose I could pretend not to know you, but the boss’d go purple if she found out.’

  Tom shrugged. ‘Purple might suit her. Well, it might improve her. She carries more ballast than a hot air balloon, and she certainly looks like one.’

  Belle chuckled.

  ‘And I could tell you how your mam, dad and Lisa are. Nobody needs to know.’ He didn’t want her to go; he certainly didn’t want her to be with other men. So far, he’d managed – just about – to ignore the fact that he was one among many, but he was hurting now, and not just along the path to his missing hand. Having spent years avoiding love and the pain it could bring, he was now teetering on the brink of loneliness.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘We’ll watch how it goes, shall we?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll see you out.’

  ‘Front door,’ she announced. ‘I’ll tell Mam and Dad that we got talking and had a cup of tea together. It’ll be all right, because they like you.’