by June Francis
That thought cheered him up and Bert hummed to himself as he stripped off and washed himself in the sink. It was not going to be easy catching Alice’s husband off-guard and he obviously knew how to handle himself, but if he was patient, sooner or later the swine would relax and then he would have him. His body shook with laughter thinking about it. In the meantime, he intended carrying on enjoying himself here in Chester by pretending to be a tourist.
He put on a clean shirt and collar and then a bow tie, flannels and a blazer. Replacing the black wig, he combed it neatly before pocketing his wallet and picking up his cane. The walking stick had been an inspiration. If people believed you had been injured in the war they were inclined to treat you with respectful sympathy. He had been practising his limp, so had no trouble adopting it when he left his room and went downstairs to the dining room. He was looking forward to afternoon tea, and then he intended to stroll down to the river and along the Groves to ogle all the pretty girls. During the next few days he would resume his watch on the two houses in Victoria Crescent in a variety of disguises. So far he had only seen a policeman on the beat. But who was to say that there were not a couple more around in plain clothes?
* * *
It was a few days after the departure of the women and children that Sergeant Peter Jones knocked on the door of the house on Victoria Crescent. He had come with an excuse handy for his visit but really his reasons were mixed. He was genuinely concerned about Mrs Waters and would like to see for himself how she was getting along, but also he was interested in what she had said about having performed on the stage after hearing from a musician at the Palladium that she was a singer. He did not have long to wait before hearing footsteps approaching.
‘Who is it?’ asked a male voice.
‘It’s Sergeant Jones from Liverpool.’
Seb could think of no way that Bert could know the name of the policeman who had interviewed his mother and Clara, so he opened the door and looked keenly at the tall, upright figure with a pleasant craggy face and luxurious moustache, dressed in a grey suit and wearing a trilby. He instantly recognised him. ‘How do you do, Sergeant? Nice to see you again. Please come in.’
Sergeant Jones thanked him and wiped his feet on the mat. Seb closed the door and automatically bolted it. ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked.
‘I’ve come to see how Mrs Waters is and to tell you, if you didn’t know already, that the bullet from the gun that was fired at her matched that taken from Mr Moran, who was shot over here. So young Mr Kirk and Miss O’Toole were right about the gunman’s identity.’
Seb smiled. ‘It was good of you to come all this way but I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. We have already been informed about the bullets. I’m sorry, too, if you wished to see Ma. She’s not here – she’s gone on holiday with my wife and children.’ The sergeant’s face expressed such disappointment that Seb’s interest was stirred. ‘Was there something else you wished to speak to her about?’
The sergeant cleared his throat. ‘A musician at the Palladium mentioned that Mrs Waters used to be a singer, so I thought she might be interested in coming to hear our Glee Club perform. The concert is next week and it’s to raise money for the poor children of Liverpool.’
Seb could see no reason why his mother might not wish to go to a concert. And if it was in company with the sergeant she should be safe. ‘If you want to talk to Ma, I can tell you where to find her. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.’
Immediately, the sergeant’s face brightened. ‘Thank you. As long as it’s not too far away, I’ll be delighted to seek her out.’ So Seb told him about the family camping out at Moreton. He made him a cup of tea and they discussed the robbery and the fact that there had been no sign of the wig robber since the last sighting of him at the Palladium. He then saw him out, intending to catch up on some paperwork.
* * *
Bert was enjoying his role playing and had seriously begun to believe that he had missed his calling in life and should have gone on the stage. Today he was pretending to be a street sweeper, and in that guise he had watched a tall, middle-aged man, neatly dressed and of an upright bearing, enter Alice’s home. Bert had had enough to do with the bobbies to know one when he saw one and waited with interest to see him leave. After half an hour he did so, talking for a moment on the step to Alice’s husband, who had returned from wherever he had taken his family. A snatch of conversation reached his ears. ‘Thank you for the information, Sergeant.’
‘Thank you, Mr Bennett. I do hope you’re right and she’ll be glad to see me.’
Bert stiffened. She? Which of the women was he referring to? Did it matter? This sergeant had been told where to find one of them. All he had to do was follow him. Hallelujah, the bobby was on foot. Bert continued to pretend to sweep the street but this time he worked faster in order to catch up with the man striding towards the footbridge over the Dee. Once out of the crescent, he abandoned his brush and hurried after the sergeant.
Fortunately, a neighbour had been watching the road sweeper from an upper window and now the woman hurried downstairs and across to the Bennetts’ house and knocked on the door. She had been the person who had telephoned for an ambulance when Mr Moran had been shot. Such goings-on were frightening and she wanted the person responsible caught.
‘Who is it?’ called Seb.
‘It’s Mrs Taylor from across the road, Mr Bennett. I have something important to tell you.’
Seb opened the door. ‘What is it, Mrs Taylor?’
‘The road sweeper who was here before. He didn’t have a shovel or a little rubbish cart to put the sweepings in. As soon as the man came out of your house, he went after him.’
Seb’s expression was instantly alert. ‘Thanks, Mrs Taylor. I can’t say I took much notice of him. Can you give me a description?’
She described a scruffy-looking fellow with spiky red hair sticking out from beneath a cloth cap. He sounds familiar, thought Seb. ‘I presume he went towards the footbridge?’ he asked.
She nodded.
Seb wasted no time in grabbing his jacket, keys and wallet and leaving the house. Knowing the sergeant’s destination, Seb was not too worried about not being able to catch up with the two men after their head-start, but he was angry with himself for giving Bert the opportunity to hurt his family. Unfortunately, the automobile he had used to take the family to Moreton was at the yard having a small repair done. He would have to take the train. When he reached the ticket box, it was to be told that the earliest connection to the train for Moreton had just pulled out and there would not be another one for half an hour.
With a half-an-hour head-start, Seb knew Bert could easily reach Moreton ahead of him. What if he was armed? How well would the sergeant be able to protect his family if he was taken by surprise? Seb really needed a motor. Perhaps the repair had been done. This time Seb ran across the road from the station and headed for Canal Side. Kenny was in the office talking to Tilly. Seb told them briefly what had happened and was assured that the repair had been done and there was petrol in the tank.
‘Perhaps I should come with you,’ said Tilly, her eyes brimming with excitement. ‘What a story if you were to catch him!’
‘Haven’t I enough people to worry about?’ snapped Seb, starting the engine.
She blinked. ‘Sorry. It’s just that…’
Kenny’s expression was strained. ‘I wish I could come with you but with this foot of mine, I’d be more of a hindrance.’
‘Damn! I wish we had a telephone. Modern businesses should all have one. I could have got in touch with Freddie at Mrs Black’s because he’s nearer to Moreton. He could get there quicker. He’d want to be in on this anyway because Clara’s at the house with Hanny and the children.’
‘I could telephone Eastham post office from our post office,’ said Tilly swiftly. ‘I could say it’s a matter of life and death and they could take a message to him.’
‘You do that,’ said Seb, flashing h
er a grateful smile.
He did not linger any longer but drove out of the yard. Fortunately, it was situated on the edge of the city and soon he was zooming along the Chester-Birkenhead road. He tried to stop his mind from wandering and to keep his thoughts on the road. No point in fearing the worst, surely Bert wouldn’t be mad enough to shoot his whole family? The thought made him break out in a sweat. If he’d had a gun, surely he would have used it when Seb, himself, had stood in the doorway talking to the sergeant. A knife. Perhaps he had a knife and not all of them would get killed. Who might he intend as his first victim…?
He must stop thinking like that. The women were strong and Bert wouldn’t find them easy to cope with if they banded together. Of course, it might not have been Bert who was the street sweeper. It could have been a plain-clothes policeman watching out for him. All might be well. He might have panicked himself and Kenny needlessly.
A horn blasted him into awareness and he realised that he had veered across to the other side of the road. His heart pounded with fright. What good would he be if the sweeper was Bert and he got himself killed? He must stay calm and drive sensibly and pray, if there was a God up there, that he would get there in time to save his family.
* * *
Clara was singing softly to herself as she arrived back at the cottage with milk, bread, butter and eggs. She had wheeled the twins in their pram so Hanny could do some washing while Mrs Kirk did some tidying up. The old woman had livened up since they had come to Moreton and was more talkative. The place seemed to have triggered her memory. She parked the pram beneath the window overlooking the heath. The front door and windows were open and all was quiet. Stepping inside, she found Mrs Kirk in the front room, polishing the furniture.
‘Hello, I’m back,’ said Clara, smiling at the dumpy figure.
Susannah Kirk gave her a faint smile. ‘You’re Clara. You’ve been to the shops.’
‘That’s right. Where’s Hanny?’
‘Hanging out the washing. This is Auntie Joan’s house and I used to bring the children here. We’d go down to the shore and pick cockles.’ She smiled happily at the memory.
Clara had heard this before and she, herself, always said the same thing. ‘They were happy days?’
Susannah nodded. ‘Bert would look after the girls. Such a handsome boy and good, as well. But Hanny was naughty and would go in too far. She would have drowned if he hadn’t saved her.’
‘That’s not true. He tried to drown me,’ said Hanny, looking through the window at her mother. ‘I don’t know how many times I have to tell you.’
Her mother pouted. ‘He loved you.’
‘Strange kind of love,’ said Hanny.
‘He’s in Australia.’
Hanny and Clara exchanged looks but Hanny only said, ‘If I could get someone to stay here with Mother during the summer months I’d do so. She’s happy here and I’ve loads to do at home now the music teachers have moved out of the house. Kenny and I decided to write to Mrs Black and ask her if we can rent the whole house in Victoria Crescent. It’ll be much better for him with his foot if we’re on the ground floor and we could sublet a couple of rooms upstairs to help pay the higher rent.’
‘It sounds like a good idea,’ said Clara.
Hanny smiled. ‘I don’t think our Freddie will stay with Mrs Black much longer.’ She changed the subject. ‘You must be hot after the walk to the shops. Fancy a glass of ginger beer?’
Clara thanked her and was about to sit down when she heard the sound of a car engine. It was one she recognised and so she hurried to the front door.
‘Freddie, what a nice surprise.’ She smiled with pleasure at the sight of his beloved face. Then she realised he was not returning her smile. ‘What is it?’
He seized her by the arms and pushed her inside the house. ‘He’s not arrived yet then?’
‘Who?’ she asked, bewildered.
‘Bert. You all have to leave here.’
A chill ran through her. ‘How did he find out we’re here?’
‘Never mind that now.’ He looked around the room and saw his mother. ‘Where’s Hanny and the twins? Alice and the children aren’t around, are they?’
‘No! They’re at the camping site.’
Hanny came out of the kitchen. ‘Freddie, what are you doing here?’ she asked.
‘You’ve got to get out of here,’ said Freddie urgently, going over to her. ‘Seb is pretty certain Bert’s on his way.’
A muscle clenched in Hanny’s cheek and she placed the glasses of ginger beer carefully on a table. ‘How did he find out?’
‘I’m not going to waste time telling you,’ he said. ‘You and Clara take Mother and the twins and get in the car. With a bit of luck I can get you to safety before he arrives.’
‘Too late for that,’ sneered a voice from the doorway.
Oh my God, thought Clara, staring at the scruffy figure wearing a bright red wig. It’s him!
Freddie whirled round and found himself looking down the barrel of a revolver.
Hanny clenched a fist. ‘Is that really you, Bert?’
His laugh was chilling. ‘Good disguise, isn’t it? I realise now I’ve been wasting my talent. I should have gone on the stage… or no, the flickers. I’d make a handsome gentleman detective, don’t you think?’
‘So you’ve cast yourself as the hero?’ said Freddie harshly. ‘Are there any bullets in that gun?’
Bert turned cold eyes on him. ‘Like to call my bluff, little brother? Do you really think I’d carry round an empty gun? What good would that be to a handsome, gentleman thief like me? Now I have some business to take care of.’ He switched his attention to Hanny. ‘Perhaps I’ll start with you. It’s all your fault I ended up in jail. If you hadn’t told Dah and then Alice about my loving you, then everything would have turned out fine.’
Her jaw clenched and she hissed, ‘Give it its proper name, Bert, and I wasn’t the only one you tried to ruin, was I?’
He snarled, ‘I loved you. I loved all my sisters.’
‘Stop this right now. Stop playing with that gun.’ Susannah Kirk’s quavering voice took them all by surprise.
The gun swivelled round and now it pointed at her. ‘Be quiet, Mother. You let your Bert down, too. You never came to visit him while he was in prison, when he really needed you. You were weak.’
Two spots of colour appeared high on her cheeks. ‘I don’t know you. My Bert never went to prison. He’s in Australia.’
Bert threw back his head and laughed. ‘I could always fool you, Mother.’
Freddie lunged at Bert, not knowing if the weapon was loaded or not. There was a short explosion as the brothers struggled for possession of the gun and then it went spinning out of Bert’s hand. Clara screamed, terrified that Freddie’s reckless act might have resulted in his death. Then she realised that he was still grappling with his brother with such a determined expression on his face that she was convinced he was intent on killing him. She wished there was something she could do but Hanny had gripped her arm and pulled her out of the way as furniture was knocked over and the glasses of ginger beer smashed on the floor. Clara wished she could see the gun. Bert was strong and it was definitely a no-holds-barred fight, dirty and savage. Clara had not thought Freddie had it in him to fight in such a way. Then in the struggle Bert’s wig was wrenched from his head and fell to the floor. She watched as Susannah bent and picked up, not only the wig, but her searching hand found the gun, as well.
‘Stop this at once or I will shoot,’ she said.
The brothers took no notice at first, but then she fired the gun. Both Hanny and Clara screamed this time. The bullet narrowly missed both of them and the bang was enough for the brothers to stagger apart.
Bert held out his hand. ‘Give me the gun, Mother.’ He touched his fair hair. ‘I’m your Bert. Can’t you see?’
She shook her grey head, her round, almost wrinkle-free face stern. ‘No. My Bert’s in Australia.’
Be
rt tried to wipe the blood from his face. ‘No. I’m your Bert.’
She glared at him. ‘My Bert wouldn’t have a gun. My Bert’s a good boy. He’s in Australia.’
A profanity burst from Bert’s mouth and he reached out for the gun. There was a bang and he staggered back, clutching his chest. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor.
No one moved.
Then Hanny stirred and went over to her mother. She put an arm round her shoulders and took the gun from her hand. ‘He wasn’t my Bert,’ whispered Susannah.
‘No, Mother. He never was,’ said Hanny gently.
Clara turned to Freddie and put her arms round him. His face was bloodied and she felt that, if she had not held him, he just might have fallen. She was still too shocked by what had happened to speak.
* * *
By evening Bert’s body had been removed, and the police had interviewed those who had witnessed the shooting. They had also tried to question his mother but it was soon obvious to the police that she was a confused old woman, not responsible for her actions. They also spoke to Sergeant Jones, who was shocked to learn that Bert had followed him to Moreton. Seb was also interviewed, and it was he who broached the matter of a reward with the police.
Hanny decided it would be best if she and her mother and the twins returned to Chester that night. So Freddie and Clara helped her to pack and went with them. Alice, Seb and Gabrielle were not there to wave them off because they, too, made up their minds to take the children home after promising to return to the seaside in a week or so. They were too emotionally wrought to discuss what had happened, but Gabrielle was touched when Seb told her about the sergeant wishing to invite her to a concert in aid of the poor children of Liverpool. ‘I might just go,’ she said.
