by Annie Murray
The three of them stood outside the house, burning to keep moving, keep looking, but unsure what to do next.
‘His mom!’ Maryann said suddenly. ‘She had a house in Handsworth.’
‘Is she still alive?’ Dot asked.
‘Don’t know – but let’s go and find out.’
Across the city they went again.
‘You must eat something, Maryann,’ Sylvia said anxiously as they moved along on the tram. ‘You’ve barely had a thing. You’ll drop with exhaustion if you don’t. Here – have this.’
Maryann ate the biscuit Dot offered, scarcely seeming to notice. She had to keep going, had to keep on, not keep still for a moment.
At the house in Handsworth they were told that old Mrs Griffin had died a few years back, having been well into her nineties by then.
‘It’s no good,’ Dot said, when they had been back to the works in Highgate yet again. ‘We’re not going to find him like this. I vote we head back to Tyseley and get ourselves a meal before we drop.’
On the way back, Maryann left the others and called in at Mr Osborne’s shop.
‘Hello, m’dear!’ he greeted her, beaming. ‘Well, I haven’t seen you for a month of Sundays. How’re you keeping?’
‘All right,’ Maryann said. ‘Look, I haven’t stopped by for meat – I wanted to ask you if you’ve seen a man who’s been into your shop lately.’ She explained, described. Mr Osborne stood leaning forwards on the counter, considering, beside a plate of pigs’ trotters.
‘I think I do remember the man you mean,’ he said, ‘ because, as you say, his face was so badly disfigured. You couldn’t help but notice him. But he hasn’t been in for a while now. No – not that I remember. What’s your reason for asking, m’dear?’
‘Oh, I just need to see him,’ was all she was going to say, but Mr Osborne’s kind, twinkly face made it all come spilling out, about Sally and how she knew it was this man who’d got her and please to keep an eye out.
‘Well – ’ Mr Osborne stood up straight, looking shocked – ‘what a terrible thing for you. Are you sure? I expect you’ve told the police, haven’t you?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said desperately. ‘They’re s’posed to be looking too. But you know how it is these days.’
‘Don’t I just. Goodness me – I’ll certainly keep my eyes peeled.’
She walked back to the wharf, exhausted, in despair. All day she had forced herself to think of anything except the reality of her child in the hands of Norman Griffin and what he might be doing to her because if she let herself imagine, she knew she’d go mad. All they could do was to keep searching, keep looking and hope and pray that it was not too late.
Dot and Sylvia were trying to cook tea when she reached the boats, but there was a knot of people round the Theodore, talking, asking questions, all deeply shocked by what had happened. Everyone wanted to help. Maryann saw that Charlie was among them, leaning against the cabin. She quailed, feeling she couldn’t face any of it, the questions and especially the sympathy. Needing to avoid them all, she went to the Esther Jane and picked up the water cans.
‘I’ll fill up,’ she called to Sylvia, who began to protest, but she waved this away. ‘’I’ve got to keep on. It’s the only way.’
She stood watching the silver thread of water filling the cans and imagined taking her kitchen knife and dragging it through the flesh of her arm or leg. She almost ached for it. Wouldn’t that kind of agony be easier to bear than this? Once the cans were full she lugged them back towards the boats, glad of the harsh strain on her arms and back. The others kept a respectful distance, seeming to sense her need, for the moment, to be alone.
But as she made her way across the wharf she caught sight of a figure moving over towards the boats with a slow but sure stride. For a moment she just stared. It couldn’t be! He wasn’t supposed to be here! In a second she was almost running with the water carriers hauling on her arm sockets and reached him before he got to the boats, dropping the cans to the floor.
‘Oh – you’re here, you’re here!’ Tears streaming down her face, she was taken into Joel’s arms, clasped to the familiar smell and shape of him, sobbing her anguish into his chest as he held and stroked her.
Thirty-Eight
Everyone was looking at them. Clinging to Joel, Maryann poured out all that had happened in incoherent snatches.
‘He’s got our Sally – I know it’s him and I’ve beening and looking and … we’ve got to find her … I can’t stand it…’ After holding onto her feelings all day they poured out now, running out of control. It didn’t matter who was watching – she didn’t even see them. For a few moments she could only dimly hear Joel’s rumbling voice trying to comfort her, to make sense of what had happened. He took her face between his leathery hands and made her stop and look up at him.
‘It’s all amiss,’ he said. ‘Everything’s amiss about this. But I’m here now. We won’t stop till we get our Sally back.’
Dot and Sylvia had climbed onto the bank and were standing discreetly nearby, obviously full of sympathy but feeling awkward at the distraught state that both Maryann and Joel were in. Joel released Maryann and turned to them. They had never met him before and came and shook hands formally. Everyone was shy with one another. It was not a good time for Joel to be dealing with new people.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Dot said, holding her hand out. ‘Except for the circumstances. You received the telegram, then?’
Joel nodded, seeming a little overwhelmed by Dot’s powerful presence.
‘Came straight away. First train I could.’ He looked down at Maryann with pained eyes. Then the others were crowding round, those who knew Joel greeting him, asking if he was better.
‘Not quite myself, but nearly,’ he said. ‘Near enough so’s I couldn’t sit still there for a moment hearing this news.’
‘What’re we going to do?’ Charlie asked. He seemed full of agitation. ‘You can’t just have some bloke run off with your daughter…’
Others called out their agreement. Come on, Joel – we’ll come and help you find him.’
‘We’re ready – let’s go now!’
As Maryann and Dot filled Joel in about all that had happened, Sylvia brought them cups of tea. Maryann couldn’t seem to stop crying, the tears running down her cheeks as she talked.
‘I’ve been back and forth all day – every place I can think of, his house, his factory and I can’t find him. The police’re s’posed to be looking but I don’t know what they’re doing. I don’t know where they can! I don’t know what else to do—’
‘Let’s go again.’ Charlie seemed on fire with the need to do something. His tender feelings for Maryann were inflamed by seeing her in such distress. Some of the others called out in agreement.
‘Let’s go and track the bastard down – we’ll find him! Come on – where do we start?’
‘I’ll come!’ Maryann cried. ‘I’ve got to – I can’t sit still here till we’ve found her!’
Sylvia came over to Maryann and gently took her arm, speaking both to her and Joel.
‘You must have some food first. Maryann, you’ve been on the go all day with nothing – and your husband must be hungry as well.’ She ignored Maryann’s protests that they didn’t need food, that they should go right away. ‘Come on, love, there’s some stew ready.’
‘We’ll have ourselves a bite to eat – ’ Joel steered Maryann by the arm – ‘and then we’ll go and get him.’
It was already getting dark by the time they set off. Three of the men said they would go to Norman Griffin’s house and see if there was any sign of him. Charlie wanted to come to the Highgate factory with Joel. Maryann refused absolutely to be left behind. Sylvia said she and Dot would stay and put the children to bed. Sylvia stood on the back of the Theodore, a neat figure holding Rose’s hand, watching as they left. The men had instinctively armed themselves with some of the few things they possessed: screwdrivers, hammers and windlasses.
The evening had clouded over after a warm day and a light drizzle began to fall, which brushed her face like cloud. Charlie tactfully walked a few paces ahead of them. Maryann looked at Joel beside her, noticing with anxiety how stiffly he was walking. She put her hand on his arm.
‘Is it still hurting?’
‘Not much – not enough to fuss about.’ A few seconds later his voice burst out in the darkness. ‘Why’s he done this? Why? What does he want with us, to do this?’
Maryann heard all the grief and anger in his question and in anguish she squeezed his arm tightly.
‘That’s what he’s like … what he’s always been like.’ But Joel had never really wanted to hear it.
Charlie stopped and waited for them. ‘How far along is it?’ he whispered in the quiet street.
‘Down on the right,’ Maryann said. She walked ahead. A car was parked ahead of them on the road, but there was no sign of anyone about. A few moments later they were standing in front of the works – Albert Griffin, Toolmakers & Machinists.
In Acocks Green, the three boatmen who’d walked from Tyseley Wharf found their way to the house in Cameron Road. Maryann had told them they should be able to climb in through the front window, but they found that a board had been nailed over it. He’d been back then, or someone had. Between them, with their few tools, they quietly prised the board off and climbed inside.
They had no fear of switching the lights on. If they were caught, what did that matter? They were only doing what the police should have done – they had right on their side. Walking round the house, they could see nothing amiss. They looked round downstairs and then went up to the bedrooms. Had they been there before, with Maryann, they might have noticed that certain things were different: the wardrobe door was swinging open and there was nothing inside. Some items had disappeared from the chest of drawers and the walls were now completely bare, where before a portrait had hung above the bed. But these details were lost on the men.
Downstairs they looked, as Maryann had done, for signs of other hiding places in the house. They went out to the back and opened the door of the privy. The flush toilet looked innocently back at them in the gloom. They shook their heads. Nothing doing there.
As they were passing back through the kitchen, one of them noticed something that made him stop. The floor was covered with grey lino, and he stood puzzling, noticing that it had been strangely laid. Instead of being arranged to cover the largest amount of floor with the least number of cuts, there seemed to be a panel of linoleum covering the middle section of the small square room. At one end it met the wall, at the other it was held down by a small cupboard with a meat safe on top.
‘Let’s have a look here,’ he murmured, and shifted the cupboard across onto the other strip. The linoleum easily rolled back, and underneath they saw the square shape of a trapdoor. For a moment they all looked at each other.
It took them seconds only to lift the trapdoor. On a beam just below they found a switch for the cellar’s light, and climbed down the brick stairs, each waiting at the bottom until all three of them were down. The cellar was not large, nor did it feel damp; it was very clean and obviously recently swept, though there was a stink in there which they did not recognize as the source of their unease. All they could see were a couple of shelves to their left on which rested bottles and jars and, in the far corner, what looked like a heap of old linoleum.
One of the men went over and, almost idly, lifted up the corner of it. He dropped it again instantly and recoiled, cursing.
‘Lord God Almighty … oh my word…’
The other two went to see for themselves. They looked at each other pale-faced. One clamped a hand over his mouth.
‘For God’s sake, let’s get out of here,’ the other said.
They ran, stumbling up the stairs and out into the dark street.
‘This his place then?’ Joel looked up at the frontage of the Cheapside works.
‘There’s no night shift, anyroad,’ Charlie commented.
‘So – you reckon we need to go in?’
Maryann could hear the doubt in Joel’s voice. His innocence both touched and enraged her. Joel’s life had not contained the darkness of Norman Griffin and in some way he still could scarcely believe that such cruel wickedness as Griffin was capable of could truly exist. It was in the cellar beneath his premises in Ladywood that Sal, her sister, had suffered at Norman Griffin’s hands.
‘We’ve got to go and look,’ she hissed at him, enraged by the doubt in his voice.
Charlie tried to peer down the grating at the front of the factory.
‘Can’t see a thing – but there’s sure to be a cellar. It’s just how we get down there…’
Maryann was burning with impatience. ‘Can’t we get the grating up? Climb down there?’
‘It’s not as easy as all that,’ Charlie said. ‘Let’s have a look round first – see if there’s any other way.’
Narrow alleys led down each side of the works. The three of them moved cautiously along the one to the right, Maryann between Joel and Charlie, who was in the lead. He tripped and almost fell over a piece of wire.
‘Bugger it! – ’Scuse us,’ he said, catching his balance against the wall. ‘It’s so bleeding dark down here.’ They could just make out that there were windows in the side of the building, which must have let in precious little light in the daytime, as they were so close to the wall of the premises next door. Gradually, struggling over the uneven ground, which seemed to be strewn with rubble, they reached the end of the works. There was a thin yard at the back, fenced off from the one belonging to another factory in the street behind. The three of them stood, straining their eyes in the darkness.
‘Why didn’t we bring a torch?’ Maryann said desperately. ‘This is hopeless! How’re we s’posed to get anywhere like this?’
‘Hark – what’s that?’ Charlie held up a hand and Maryann’s heart began to hammer, almost unbearably.
From the street they heard the sound of an engine starting up.
‘That’s a moty car,’ Joel said.
They breathed more easily again.
‘Come on – let’s move on round,’ Joel said.
He led the way round the back of the building, sliding his hand along in the darkness. Maryann was now immediately behind, and when they had almost reached the far end, Joel suddenly gave a gasp and almost toppled forward. He had been unable to see that the ground suddenly fell away and had almost tumbled down a deep cleft in front of him.
Charlie struck a match, and in the couple of seconds’ flash of illumination they saw that there were steps down from the corner of the works.
‘Why the hell didn’t we bring a proper lamp?’ Charlie grumbled.
Another match, held lower, showed them that at the bottom was a rusty iron door. When they climbed down they found it was held shut with a chain and a hefty padlock. Charlie shook his head.
‘We’ll have a hell of a job getting in here.’
Joel tried his strength against the door. It gave slightly, tugging on the chain, which seemed to rattle far too loudly in the quiet.
‘If we can’t smash the padlock, I reckon we’d be able to break that down,’ Joel said. ‘If I was up to full strength, I could.’
With their hammer and the windlasses they smashed at th
e padlock, an erratic process in the pitch dark. Striking another match showed them that they had only succeeded in denting it, and the chain wouldn’t break or give. Maryann stood watching, her whole body tensed to breaking point, wanting to smash at the door herself.
‘It’s no good!’ she cried after a few moments. ‘We’ll never do it like this!’
Joel stood up straight, considering. ‘Look, pal – let’s go at the hinges. I don’t reckon they’re up to much.’
They leaned and shoved and kicked. Joel aimed a blow low on the door with his leg and reeled back in the narrow space with a grunt.
‘Confound this back of mine!’
‘ Here – let me.’
With a few kicks from Charlie’s powerful leg, the lower hinge came away.
‘I can get in through there!’ Maryann cried.
‘Just hang on.’ Charlie kicked at the door again and Joel joined in. Soon the top hinge gave as well and the door fell in with a crash and fell, hanging at an angle from the chain.
They walked into even more profound darkness, straining their eyes to see anything of the space around them.
‘This is hopeless,’ Charlie said. In the flare of light from another match, they saw they were in a narrow room. Maryann had a brief impression of a large, dark shape to her right.
‘Here – there’s a light!’
She turned on the switch by the door. The dim bulb in the middle of the ceiling gave off light that strained to reach the walls. The big object by the wall turned out to be a rusting old lathe. Ahead of them was a partition wall with a door in it. Otherwise the space was clear: brick walls, earth floor. Nothing else.
‘Oh, where is she!’ Maryann wailed. ‘What’s he done with her? Could she be in there?’
She went to the door in the partition and hammered her fist on it, beginning to sob. ‘ Sally – Sally, it’s your mom. Are you in there?’
