‘Where can he be, sir? We’ve turned the place inside out. He ain’t a bird. He can’t fly away.’
Coggins suddenly slapped the man on the back. ‘Roberts, you’ve given me an idea!’ he exclaimed, his eyes narrowing. ‘I want ladders. At least two, and long enough to reach up to that roof. I bet our man’s nesting up there somewhere. Go on then! Hurry, man!’
Above the street Dennis Foreman rested his head against the cool slates and thought about his next move. It would be useless to climb down into Widow Pacey’s house, he realised. The police could make another search at any time and it would look bad on the old lady if he was found there. There was only one thing to do, he decided. Quickly he unlaced his shoes, tied them together and hung them around his neck. Next he took off his socks and stuffed them into his trouser pockets. Slowly and carefully Dennis eased his way up the attic roof on to the slate-covered slope. His bare feet allowed him a grip and, breathing heavily with the strain, the fugitive inched his way along the side away from the street, a few inches below the topmost ridge. Dennis realised that he could not be seen from down in the turning nor from the backyards, but he moved very slowly and carefully. If a slate became dislodged and tumbled into one of the yards it could alert the police and the game would be up. His breath came short and he repeatedly stopped to rest. Finally, aching and sweating he reached a position directly above the Toomeys’ house. For a while he rested, then slowly he eased his way down the slope until he reached the guttering. Gritting his teeth Dennis slid his legs over the edge and felt the drainpipe. Clamping it with his knees he steadied himself, and then gradually he shinned down into the yard. By the time he reached the ground his feet were bleeding and his trousers had ripped against the brick. He crept over to the tin bath and gently took it down from the wall. Quickly he opened the package and took out a revolver, which he tucked into his belt. Breathing heavily, he put his hand back into the bundle and brought out a large wad of notes. Suddenly the yard door opened and Lillian walked out with a bundle of washing in her arms. As she saw the shadowy figure looming in front of her Lillian screamed in terror and fell over the tin bath.
The sudden din alerted the policemen standing on guard at the front and they shouldered the door open and rushed along the passageway. Lillian tried to push past the policemen as she ran hysterically from the yard and obstructed them long enough for Dennis to clamber up over the rickety fencing. As he climbed down into the yard of the wardens’ post the other side, he dropped the money. But there was no time to go back for it, and he quickly ran to the heavy iron door and turned the handle. It creaked open and Dennis dashed into the dark interior and slammed the door shut behind him.
A black maria with two ladders strapped to the roof screeched to a halt at the end of the turning.
Inspector Coggins rushed up. ‘Forget the ladders, Roberts! We’ve got him cornered! He’s not going anywhere.’
‘Where is he?’
‘We’ve got him trapped in the wardens’ post. It’s sealed off. Get your lads over here and we’ll plan our next move.’
The shouting and the sounds of heavy boots on the cobbles carried into the dark, quiet interior. Dennis fell over objects and barked his shins as he looked for the light switch and, when he finally managed to turn on the light, he could see that there was no lock on the back door. He drew the gun from his belt and hurried over to the front door. Gingerly he turned the heavy handle and pushed. The door would not give. It was locked from the outside. The air was stale, and Dennis felt beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead as he went back to the rear door. He could hear noises a little way along and he realised they would be coming over into the yard very soon. He looked around in desperation and saw the shelving in a corner. With a frantic strength he yanked the shelving down and grabbed two large pieces of wood. He wedged the shorter piece under the iron handle of the back door and fixed the larger piece between the ceiling and the top of the handle. When he was satisfied the handle could not be moved either way Dennis Foreman rushed across to the front door. He knew that they would soon be coming for him, but it would take them time to get the key. There was no way they could knock down the heavy iron door. The whole place had been reinforced to protect the wardens from blast. He reckoned that he had a few minutes to spare before all hell broke loose. The cupboard would do, he decided, and quickly he dragged it up against the front door. When they rush me I’ll have a chance, he told himself.
It had gone quiet outside. Dennis eased his aching back against the stone wall and placed the revolver on the floor beside him. He laughed bitterly to himself as he realised he had just five rounds in the cylinder. He knew that he could not let himself be taken without a fight. The clock on the wall had stopped and Dennis guessed that it would be dark in another hour. It was strange, he thought. Only a few hours ago he had been having a quiet drink with Joe, and now he was cornered like a rat in a trap. He stared down at the revolver. This street was where he had grown up and, despite all his wanderings, it looked as though he was going to end his days in the shabby little turning.
The news had travelled fast and everyone in the street was either at their door or crowded into the little parlours. Old George Baker was huddled up in his favourite chair with a sad look on his face and his eyes were watering. ‘Who’d ’ave thought it,’ he was saying. ‘I knew ’im when ’e was just a lad. Many a time I’ve seen ’is ole man clout ’im fer somefink or the ovver. Bloody shame.’
Mary and Frank sat with the old man. ‘What’ll ’appen to’im, Pop?’ Mary asked.
George looked at his daughter. ‘When they do get ’im they’ll lock the poor bleeder up an’ throw away the key.’
Frank was not so sympathetic. ‘Let’s face it, Mary. ’E did rob a jewellers.’
George gave his son-in-law a blinding look and Mary shrugged. ‘I know ’e did wrong, Frank, but yer gotta feel sorry fer the bloke. ’E never ’armed anybody.’
Billy Argrieves had arrived at Ada’s house and he was standing with Connie and Ada at the front door. ‘I ’ad a job ter get in the turnin’, what wiv all them ropes they’ve got round the place,’ he said. ‘What’s goin’ on?’
Just as Connie finished explaining to Billy they saw Widow Pacey appear at her front door. She walked up to them, her face set firmly. ‘’E was in my place earlier,’ she said, nodding her head towards the end of the turning.
‘’E got out on the roof. It’s where ’e was ’idin’. I knew it was gonna end up like this. I saw it on ’is face. ’E ’ad the mark on ’im.’
Ada glanced at Connie, and Billy looked uncomfortable. They could see the police standing behind their vehicle and groups of the street dwellers standing in small groups staring towards the wardens’ post. The light was beginning to fade and a chill breeze started to blow down the turning.
‘I can’t stand watchin’,’ Ada said, hunching her shoulders. ‘C’ mon in, I’ll put the kettle on.’
They were sitting in the small parlour, drinking tea. Ada and Widow Pacey were facing each other in the armchairs and Connie and Billy were sitting together at the table.
‘’E was surprised when I told ’im I reco’nised ’im,’ Widow Pacey was saying, ‘but I ’ad ’im taped right from the start. I bin in this street more than forty years. I seen ’im grow up. The three of ’em was always tergevver as kids. ’Im, Joe an’ yer muvver, Con. They was always tergevver. Like peas in a pod. Matter o’ fact I got some ole photos of ’em indoors. I jus’ bin lookin’ at ’em.’
‘Yer say yer got some o’ me mum, Mrs Pacey?’ Connie asked.
‘Yeah. I’ll pop back an’ get ’em. It’ll pass the time away.’
When Widow Pacey left Ada turned to Connie. ‘She’s a strange woman. I’ve lived down this street enough years an’ I’ve never ’ad much ter say to ’er until lately. Some o’ the fings she says frightens me. Did yer ’ear what she said about Dennis Foreman ’avin’ the mark on ’im?’
Billy grinned. ‘That’s the sort o’ fing my ole mum used te
r come out wiv.’
‘Well it scares me, that sort o’ talk,’ Ada said with a shiver.
Widow Pacey came back with a large tattered album under her arm and laid it down on the table. ‘There we are,’ she said as she began to turn the pages. ‘There’s the three of ’em. They couldn’t ’ave bin more than seven or eight at the time. There’s anuvver one of ’em. That’s much later. See yer mum there, Connie? Yer can see the likeness, can’t yer. My ole man took most o’ these. ’E was always messin’ around wiv that box camera of ’is. There’s anuvver one o’ yer mum an’ Dennis. They must o’ bin about twenty at the time.’
Connie studied the photo and saw that Dennis had his arm around her mother. The widow pointed at the two young people in the picture. ‘They were goin’ out tergevver at the time,’ she said. ‘There’s one of Joe Cooper an’ Sadie.’
‘Yer say me mum an’ Dennis Foreman used ter go out tergevver, Mrs Pacey?’
‘Yeah, about the same time Joe started goin’ out wiv Sadie. I remember it well ’cos it was the talk o’ the street. We all thought Joe an’ yer mum would end up tergevver, but instead ’e latched on ter Sadie Armond an’ yer mum got tergevver wiv Dennis. Funny turn out that was.’
‘Why was that, Mrs Pacey?’ Connie asked, looking intensely at the old woman.
‘Well ’e suddenly left. Dennis Foreman I mean. Just seemed ter vanish. There was a lot o’ talk about ’im joinin’ the army or runnin’ off ter sea. Nobody really knew what ’appened to ’im, until it was in the papers about ’im doin’ that jewellers raid. Nobody round ’ere clapped eyes on ’im again until a few months ago. Although nobody knew who ’e was – ’cept me.’
Billy had been watching Connie’s face and he saw the colour drain away. She was still looking closely at the photo of Dennis and her mother. Suddenly she looked up at the old widow. ‘Mrs Pacey, did yer ever ’ear the name “Bonny” used?’ she asked quickly.
The old woman looked at Connie strangely. ‘I’ve not ’eard that name fer years,’ she said, creasing up her eyes. ‘Funny yer should ask me that. Yeah, I remember the name. It was a nickname they used when they was kids. I’ve ’eard ’em shoutin’ it out when the three of ’em used ter stand under me winder. As a matter o’ fact, I . . .’
Her words were interrupted by a loud bang and Billy jumped up. ‘That’s a gunshot!’ he gasped.
They all hurried to the door and looked along the turning. They could see the police crouching down behind the vehicle and people peeping out from their doorways.
Mrs Richards hurried along to Ada’s open front door. ‘’E’s got a gun!’ she said breathlessly, her hand held to her cheek. ‘’E’s fired at the coppers!’
Connie had pushed her way past Ada and Billy and suddenly she was running along the street. Ada yelled out for her to stop but Connie ran faster.
‘Quick, Billy! Stop ’er!’ Ada screamed.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Dennis Foreman sat hunched against the cold wall and listened to the voices outside. It wouldn’t be long now, he thought. They’d be looking to get it over before it got dark. Would they try to rush the place, or would they play the cat and mouse game? He heard mumbling close by and the sudden noise of a key grating in the lock of the iron door. He sat up straight and picked up his revolver.
Slowly the door creaked open a few inches and a voice shouted, ‘Dennis Foreman. This is the police. We’re asking you to come out with your hands above your head. Did you hear?’
‘Get stuffed!’ Dennis shouted.
The door opened another few inches and the voice called out, ‘Foreman. If you’re carrying a gun throw it out.’
The fugitive stood up and pointed the revolver at the gap between door and framework. Slowly he squeezed the trigger and the deafening bang reverberated around the room. Running feet sounded on the cobbles and he heard shouting, then it became deathly quiet. Dennis leant heavily against the wall and slid back down on to the floor. Well they know the score now, he told himself. They’ll think twice before they rush the place.
Outside, the police crouched behind the car. Inspector Coggins was frantically signalling the two constables away from the iron door.
Suddenly one of the policemen behind him shouted out, ‘Grab ’er!’
Coggins turned to see a young woman running towards them, her long hair blowing out behind her. She dodged the first policeman and as she reached the car Coggins pounced up at her and pulled her down beside him.
‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, young lady?’ he shouted at her.
‘Don’t shoot ’im! Please!’ she moaned, tears streaming down her white face.
‘Listen, Miss. We’re not going to shoot him. At the moment he’s trying to shoot us.’
‘Let me talk to ’im. Yer must let me talk to ’im,’ she pleaded, wringing her hands.
Chief Inspector Coggins put his hand on Connie’s shoulder and gently pulled her down out of the line of fire. Another shout went up and Coggins saw one of the constables struggling with a young man.
‘Bring him up here,’ he called out.
Billy shrugged the constable off and slumped down beside Connie. She looked at him for a second and then fell against his body, burying her head in his chest. ‘Oh Billy! It’s me dad in there!’ she cried. ‘They’ll kill ’im!’
Coggins moved closer. ‘You say it’s your old man in there? Dennis Foreman is your father?’
‘Yes! Yes!’ she shouted.
‘What’s your name, young lady?’
‘Connie. Connie Morgan.’
Coggins gently patted her on the back. ‘Take it easy, lass. We won’t harm him, unless he does something silly.’
‘Let me talk to ’im,’ Connie pleaded, raising her tear-filled eyes to the inspector’s face.
‘No, it’s too dangerous. I can’t take that chance.’
‘D’yer wanna get people killed!?’ Connie screamed. ‘I’ve gotta talk to ’im. ’E’ll take notice o’ me.’
Coggins gritted his teeth and looked across the street at the iron door. It was still ajar. ‘All right,’ he said with a sigh. ‘But only if you do exactly as you’re told, okay?’
She nodded, blinking back her tears.
‘Right, now listen. We’ll cross over there, away from the door, and then we’ll inch along that wall until we’re close. You’ll let me do the talking and don’t say anything until I ask you to speak. Is that understood?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘C’mon then,’ the inspector said quietly, taking her arm.
It had grown very quiet as the two neared the door. ‘Dennis Foreman,’ the policeman called out. ‘This is Inspector Coggins. I’ve got a young lady with me. Connie Morgan. She says she’s your daughter. She wants to talk to you.’
The silence seemed to grow deeper. Inspector Coggins could hear himself breathing. The young woman beside him said nothing as she continued to stare at the door.
‘Let ’er speak,’ Dennis suddenly called out.
Coggins nodded to Connie and she swallowed hard. ‘’Ello,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘This is me, Connie. I wanna talk ter yer. Can I come in?’
Coggins pulled Connie back against the wall to prevent her going any closer. ‘She can talk outside, Dennis.’
Connie tried to pull her arm away from the officer’s grasp. ‘I wanna come in,’ she called out. ‘I wanna talk ter yer. I know about Bonny. Can yer ’ear me? I know about Bonny.’
There was a scraping noise from within, and then she heard Dennis’s voice. ‘Okay. Yer can come in, Connie,’ he said. ‘But I warn yer, Coggins. Try anyfink an’ I’m gonna use this gun, understand?’
‘All right, Foreman. No one’s going to try anything. You’ve got ten minutes.’
Connie moved up to the door and slowly eased her way through the gap. Dennis Foreman stood facing her, his eyes staring at her, his lips pressed into a thin line. She walked slowly towards him, tears starting up in her eyes again.
<
br /> ‘I knew I’d find yer one day,’ she said, fighting to control her voice. ‘I never give up ’ope. “Bonny” led me to yer. The name in the locket. The locket yer gave me mum. It wasn’t buried wiv ’er. I’ve got it. It was all I ever ’ad of yer. Why? Why did yer leave us? Why did yer walk out on me mum all those years ago?’
Dennis lowered the gun and reached for her. He held her arm gently and slowly shook his head. ‘Sit down, Con,’ he said quietly. ‘There’s so much yer don’t know. Let me try ter explain.’
Darkness was falling down over the ramshackle houses and, along the street, folk stood silently at their front doors like shadowy statues, their silhouettes dark against the grey walls. Coggins crouched down beside the car, his fingers drumming on the metal. The minutes ticked slowly away and only the occasional nervous cough or a shuffling of feet broke the silence. The inspector began to get fidgety and he wondered whether or not he had made the right decision.
Suddenly Connie Morgan appeared in the doorway and walked slowly towards the police car. She was not crying any more and her face looked impassive. As she rounded the car Billy stood up and took her arm.
She looked at the inspector without showing any emotion. ‘Dennis Foreman said ’e needs five more minutes, then ’e’ll give ’imself up,’ she said simply.
Detective Sergeant Roberts looked enquiringly at the inspector who nodded. ‘I think we can give him another five minutes, Roberts.’
Connie walked slowly away from the wardens’ post, her head lying against Billy’s shoulder, his arm around her waist. They reached Ada’s house and Connie straightened up. Ada was at the door beside Widow Pacey and Joe Cooper.
‘Yer shouldn’t ’ave done it, Con. Yer could ’ave got yerself killed,’ Ada said, resting her hand on Connie’s forearm.
‘It’s all right, Ada. I wasn’t in any danger.’
Ada was about to speak when the shot rang out.
‘Christ!’ Billy gasped, swinging around. ‘’E’s shot ’imself!’
Ironmonger's Daughter Page 52
