Midnight on Lime Street

by Ruth Hamilton

  He placed himself in the hands of the Lord and tried once more to read the newspaper. Five long hours, and he must stay calm.

  ‘Where on God’s good earth are you taking me now?’ She was a besom, as his old mammy might have said.

  ‘Somewhere sensible,’ was the new bride’s swift reply.

  ‘Stables?’ Gordy asked. ‘Will we spend the wedding night with a couple of horses and some donkeys? The dogs are in there too, you know. They seemed not to like the music, so they’ll be asking Murdoch to protect them.’

  Babs ground to a halt, as did her husband. ‘A stable was good enough for Jesus’s birthday, wasn’t it? Anyway, we had our wedding night months ago, soft lad. I have to tell Murdoch we’re really married now. He already knows I can’t ride him because of the baby.’

  Gordy tutted.

  ‘What?’ Babs snapped.

  The besom’s partner shook his head slowly. ‘And you call me soft when you’re the one who thinks a horse understands English?’

  ‘He understands me,’ Babs insisted, ‘because he’s mine. He chose me.’

  ‘Hmmph,’ Gordy grunted.

  She folded her arms and faced him. ‘Listen, Hooligan. He knows when I mean there’s change coming. I’m not saying he gets everything I tell him, but he senses when I mean change. And he’s my horse in his heart, so he listens to me. I do nothing behind his back. Like a kid, he wants to learn.’

  Gordy grinned. ‘He’ll be asleep.’

  She laughed. ‘He never lies down till about ten o’clock; he does the sleeping-stood-up bit till Nye settles. They’re both prey animals, both made to sleep standing up and ready to run. And before you ask, yes, I’ve been reading again. A horse does flight or fight. There’s a locking mechanism at the tops of their legs to stop them falling over in their sleep. A mare would fight if she had a foal to protect, but they mostly bugger off when they see predators. Like we would. They’re us, but with four legs and more sense.’

  She was right, of course. Gordy watched as she picked up a torch and switched it on. Murdoch was on his feet, eyes closed, ears in the I-am-resting or I-am-bored position. One ear moved. ‘He knows we’re here,’ Babs whispered. ‘Murdoch? Hello, baby.’

  Both ears suddenly pricked up into the ready position. He whickered softly.

  ‘We’re married,’ Babs announced, ‘so we’ll both sleep in Dove Cottage from now on, but I’ll still be in the big house every day, so you’ll get your carrot and your apple. Nothing’s different really. I can’t ride you, but I can be with you. They’re getting a nice young man to ride you, which is just as well, because they might carry on allowing only men jockeys in the big race.’

  Gordy leaned against a wall and watched as Murdoch placed his head on Babs’s shoulder and the whispering began. Although newly married to his beloved girl, he felt as if he were intruding on a pair of lovers. Babs had proved herself to be a godsend in more than one way; she was clever, funny, loving and would become a great jockey after the child was born. ‘What are you telling him, Babs?’

  ‘That we love him.’

  Gordy sniffed. Babs had a habit of pulling at his heartstrings.

  ‘Lie down, baby,’ she said.

  The horse settled down next to his donkey friend. From the shadows, four scruffy mongrels appeared and stretched out, cuddling up to their equine friends. They didn’t like parties, so their usual beds at the foot of Wordsworth House’s stairs would be empty tonight, and they would borrow warmth from the stable dwellers.

  ‘Come away with you now, Mrs Hourigan.’

  ‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’ She put away the torch and took her husband’s hand. Never before in her life had she felt as happy as she did in this moment. A good man, a precious horse and a house with three bedrooms and a plumbed-in bath – what more could a woman ask for?

  Belle did the driving. For the first few miles, the couple sat in silence, tired after the long but happy day. ‘Tom,’ she asked eventually while travelling through Ainsdale, ‘did you take a close look at Eve?’

  He sighed. ‘I didn’t need to, love. She was nearly as yellow as a new duster.’

  Belle agreed; even the whites of Eve’s eyes had been stained. ‘She can’t have long left. I hope they keep her as pain-free as possible. Will it bother you if I go up there occasionally – to the farm, I mean? Just to help Kate look after her? I’ll go only when you don’t need me to run you round with clocks.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘I won’t mind at all, love. But remember our baby and don’t go lifting and carrying anything heavy.’

  She continued through Formby towards the main route to Liverpool. ‘That private detective is on Neil Carson’s tail, Tom. He’s going to follow him over this weekend, or so Eve says. There has to be a reason why he had that cross and why he got rid of it. I shiver when I think of him. Even Angela said he was twisted.’

  ‘I’ll warm you up when we get home, my love. Until then, don’t think about him.’

  Belle swallowed. ‘I’m scared,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’ll protect you. I may have just the one hand, but I can swing a poker well enough, and my hook could rip his ugly face off. Anyway, he doesn’t have any reason to hurt you.’

  ‘He’s killed working girls. I’ve been a working girl.’

  Tom considered her words. ‘If Laura Carson told you her suspicions, she’ll go to the police soon. He’ll be locked up before you know it.’

  But she still felt chilled to the bone. Eve was dying, and there was a lunatic about with a private detective on his tail. After such a lovely wedding, Belle should have been happy, but her intuition was on red alert. Something bad was going to happen very soon. ‘I love you, Tom.’

  He heard the catch in her throat. ‘I love you, too. What’s the matter?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, when you do know, be sure to tell me.’

  Belle tried to concentrate on her driving. Being female was not always a good thing. Women knew stuff that wasn’t knowable, and men seldom understood the vagaries of a woman’s mind. Was it a sixth sense? Was it imagination? Perhaps hormones were the culprit.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do, anyway,’ he said.

  Ah yes, here came the pragmatism of the male. She smiled. Tom would take care of her, wouldn’t he?

  Detective Sergeant Eddie Barnes had earned his invisible stripes. Not that he’d ever lost them, since he had passed his sergeant’s exam while still in uniform, but he knew that his boss rated him highly as a plain clothes officer.

  At a quarter to eleven p.m. on this November Saturday, he sat in an emergency meeting called by DCI Fox, a man who minced few words. ‘So there’s a shitty drugs war on,’ the man in charge pronounced. ‘Boss Albert Shuttleworth is being challenged by the new big boy, and they’re meeting tonight.’ He stared at Eddie. ‘Lime Street.’

  Eddie clicked his jaw into the closed position. ‘No,’ he breathed.

  The DCI smiled. ‘I think the new drugs baron dictated the terms and the location. This tip-off is from a reliable source, so go to it. Take unmarked cars, suitcases or whatever else you think will make you blend with the scenery.’ Again, he addressed Eddie. ‘So if all goes well, we won’t need to rent the house next door to Mrs Shuttleworth.’ He talked to the full meeting. ‘Remember, all of you, that Albert Shuttleworth is an escapee. We want him on trial for the murder of the drugged boy and the killing of PC David Earnshaw.’

  Eddie asked a question. ‘Are they meeting in the station or on the street?’

  ‘The source wasn’t sure. So spread yourselves out a bit. You, DS Barnes, will be in charge. I’ll be on the station in my best suit. The meeting between our two heroes is scheduled for eleven thirty, hence this rushed gathering. Remember, the man’s a bulldozer without wheels. Go. Get the bastard. He’ll be lucky if I don’t rip his effing head off. Dave Earnshaw was a damned good copper.’

  Eddie Barnes swallowed and hoped his eyes weren’t red. He took over the job of his su
perior, allocating officers to certain sites along Lime Street. ‘Ideally, we want both of them, but Shuttleworth is the priority.’ He allocated three cars to six officers. ‘The rest of you are foot soldiers. Pick up bags and cases from the dressing-up box. We don’t want to waste overtime money, so make tonight count.’ He blinked. ‘For Dave. Make it count for Dave.’

  While Bert Heslop sat in his Mini in a side street facing College Row, Andrew Martindale left the house and walked down to the chip shop on the next block. Fortunately, Laura was not in the serving area. He spoke to Barry Bramwell. ‘Where is she?’ The words emerged in a whisper.

  ‘Upstairs checking on the kids,’ was the reply.

  ‘I’ll be bringing her back here,’ Andy said. ‘No time for details, but we’ll come down to the rear of the shop. Is that all right?’

  ‘Er . . . yes. What’s happening?’

  ‘Too complicated, Barry. I’ll tell you another time.’

  Laura appeared in the doorway. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ the men said simultaneously.

  She eyed them with suspicion. There was an atmosphere, and they were lying. ‘I know you’re up to something,’ she stated evenly. Her gaze travelled over both guilty faces.

  Barry laughed. ‘Typical woman, eh? As soon as a man opens his gob, he’s telling lies. We’d be better off dumb.’

  Laura smiled and picked up a knife. ‘Line up,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll cut your tongues out.’

  Andy smiled in spite of everything. He remembered the quiet little woman he had met. How she had changed. Here she stood brandishing a sharp knife, yet she wouldn’t have said boo to a goose a couple of months ago. ‘Come with me,’ he told her. ‘I’ll sort her out,’ he promised Barry.

  ‘Will you, now?’ Laura tapped a toe on the tiled floor. ‘I’m the one with the knife, Andy.’

  Barry shook his head in mock sadness. ‘She used to be such a lovely lady. Put the knife down before you do yourself a mischief.’

  Once outside, Andy decided to wait until they were home before telling her the tale. After all, he didn’t want her breaking down out here in the glare of street lighting. Although she asked repeatedly, he refused to discuss Neil Carson and Bert Heslop until they were indoors.

  ‘Well?’ she asked as soon as they entered the living room.

  ‘Sit down,’ he suggested.

  She sat.

  ‘Neil has been watching the house – this house. And a private detective has been watching Neil watching the house. In the professional opinion of the detective, your husband has waited for the children to be out of the way before . . .’ He sighed heavily. ‘Laura, Neil may be trying to kill us. There’s the gold cross, and—’

  ‘He wouldn’t kill me,’ she insisted.

  ‘If he believes you’re about to inform on him, he very well might try to eliminate the pair of us. And here we sit, neatly packaged in one building, no children, just the two people who could have him locked up.’

  ‘Move your car.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No? Why not? Let’s drive off somewhere and—’

  ‘No,’ Andy repeated. ‘You will walk back with me down the rear alley to the Bramwells’ place. I shall take a circuitous route to Mr Heslop’s car. He and I will watch and wait. There’s a telephone box near where he’s parked, so we can get the police and the fire service as and when necessary.’

  Laura blinked. ‘The fire brigade?’

  He nodded. ‘Mr Heslop says cowardly men resort to fire. If he broke in and killed us with a knife or a gun, he might leave evidence and he would risk resistance from us. Fire eliminates everything. Now, we are safe for the moment, as people are still walking and driving past, but I shall go upstairs in a few minutes, close the curtains and switch on the bedroom lamp. Later, we can put out the downstairs lights and leave by the back door.’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘But you will stay with the Bramwells – it’s all arranged.’

  She leaned forward, elbows on knees, head in her hands. So this was what the two men had been plotting in the chip shop. A picture of Neil’s angry face entered her head; he had left this house in a cold fury and had possibly remained in a similar frame of mind. She should have gone to the police, but the children might have been hurt. Nevertheless, it was her fault that things had gone so far.

  ‘Laura?’

  She raised her head. ‘All right. Do what needs to be done, while I must do as I’m told, I suppose.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear.’

  She managed a tight smile. ‘None of this is your fault. I should have gone to the police station.’

  ‘Let them catch him red-handed after a 999 call.’

  She rose to her feet. ‘We’ll be apart on our first night together.’

  Andy laughed. ‘Do you have Irish ancestors?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Ah, well that explains everything. Come along, let’s get you away from here. With people still walking and driving out there, he’ll try nothing this side of midnight.’ He looked at her with love in his eyes. ‘As long as you’re safe, I’m happy.’ And he meant it.

  The pills were in the kitchen.

  It was clear that Thelma Wray must have decanted them into larger jars, containers big enough to take labels onto which she could write in huge script the purpose of each collection. There were several types, including Sleeping, Calming Down Mild, Calming Down Strong, Stomach, Fits and Painkillers.

  He chose the mild calming down jar, tipping out just one harmless-looking article that imitated common aspirin. Should he? Shouldn’t he? It wasn’t yet midnight, and he was still tense and worried. This was just a gentle sedative, something to take the edge off. He needed to stop thinking about Dolly Pearson and Joseph Turton, wanted to calm down, relax, even to doze for an hour or so.

  After swallowing the pill, he fed the coal fire and waited for the medication to work. Warmth spread throughout his body, and he felt as if he were drifting on a cloud, carefree, almost happy. He raised a hand and almost chuckled when it dropped back onto the arm of the chair. Never in his life had he felt so calm. No, that wasn’t true. He remembered the pre-med before his tonsillectomy.

  Drifting towards sleep, he smiled. After a few hours of good rest, he would go and do . . . he would go . . . do . . . what needed to be done.

  *

  Just before setting off for Lime Street, Eddie phoned Sister Helen Veronica. ‘Sorry to wake you, Nellie, but stop collecting furniture for the house – we may not need it, so leave everything alone tomorrow unless I say different.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked sleepily.

  ‘Because with any luck, you two will be Smelly Nellie and Holy Mary again by Monday. Pray. Pray like billy-o.’

  ‘I will. God bless, Eddie.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister.’

  He joined his men and set forth to do his duty. No, it was more than his duty; this was for Dave.

  Belle suddenly sat up in bed.

  Her husband stirred and opened his eyes. ‘Belle? What’s the matter?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she breathed, the words almost sticking in her throat.

  He switched on a lamp. ‘Is it the baby?’

  She shook her head slowly. ‘No. It’s nothing to do with you and me – it’s something out there.’ She waved a hand towards the window. ‘I don’t even know what I mean. Just a bad feeling; I have this bad feeling.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Everywhere. It’s in my head, my chest, my throat. I keep imagining I want to vomit, but it passes. And it’s not a headache or bellyache or toothache.’ She turned and looked at the man she loved. ‘It’s probably to do with Eve and this bloke she’s got searching for the postman. Or it may be that I’m disturbed by how ill she looked.’ She plucked at the sheet. ‘The thing that woke me was a smell of burning. Black smoke everywhere, there was. I couldn’t see his face, but the fire was his fault.’

  ‘You couldn’t see his face?’

&n
bsp; ‘No. But I know who he was . . . who he is.’

  ‘Carson?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Tom slid out of the bed. ‘Cup of Horlicks?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  He left the bedroom.

  Belle sat and hugged her knees. She hadn’t told him everything, hadn’t mentioned Eve’s voice in the dream. It was just a dream, after all. ‘It’s all over,’ Eve had said. ‘He’s done for, finished, on his way to hell.’

  The woman in the bed shivered. Perhaps she should not have accepted that second piece of wedding cake. Ah well, the Horlicks might settle her down.

  Neil Carson’s legs were like lead. He dragged himself up, looked at the clock and made a note of the time. It was only ten minutes to twelve; but it was almost Sunday, the Lord’s day, a time for worship and prayer. He stilled. When had he last been to church? Psalm 118 invaded his head for a few seconds, and he whispered the words, his voice almost as unsteady as his legs. ‘This is the day that the Lord hath made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.’

  Be glad? That pill hadn’t lasted long, had it? Should he take another one? No, no – he needed to stay awake. Perhaps he should go now, wind the window down on the driver’s side, let the cold air give him a boost. He would park in the side street across the way from College Row, watch the house, look out for their comings and goings. Meanwhile, this drug could leach its way out of his system.

  He stood, patted a pocket and smiled when he heard the reassuring rattle of matches in their box. Stumbling slightly on the stairs, he went to take a peep at the old man. Norman Wray was spark out, mouth wide open, teeth in a jar by the bed. It was a good job that Thelma was deaf, because the old man’s snores imitated the London express pulling into Lime Street.

  Right. Downstairs once more, he picked up the Wrays’ keys, his own house keys and those for the van. It was too early, but he needed to get out.

  The fresh air hit him hard, making him sway like a man with eight pints in his belly. ‘It’ll be that damned pill,’ he muttered. The street was deserted. Good. Last orders would have been served, since suburban public houses tended to stick to the old opening hours. He shivered, realizing how hot and stuffy the Wray house had been.