by Ellie Dean
His escape from the hospital had been much easier than he’d expected, for once the doctor had agreed he could be discharged early the following morning, the nurses had let him move more freely about the ward. He’d managed to bundle up his ruined clothes from the bedside locker and hide them beneath the hospital dressing gown as he’d watched and waited until the staff nurse left the ward, so he could charm the probationer into finding him a pair of crutches so he could use the bathroom.
She’d followed him down the corridor to the bathroom and was planning to wait outside – but he’d scotched that idea by reminding her that the staff nurse had left her in charge of the ward and wouldn’t be best pleased if she came back to find it deserted. Having assured her he could manage quite well, he’d breathed a tremulous sigh of relief when she finally went bustling away.
His struggle to get dressed had been painfully slow, and because his suit trousers were not only torn but stained with blood, mud and the filth from the alleyway, he’d shoved them in a waste bin and decided to risk going out in his pyjamas. On his journey to the bathroom he’d seen the abandoned wheelchair parked conveniently outside the next ward, so once he’d checked that the coast was clear, he’d hobbled towards it and sunk gratefully into it using the dressing gown as a blanket to camouflage his pyjama trousers.
But he’d soon discovered that a wheelchair is an unwieldy thing to manoeuvre when all the muscles in your body protested at every move, and his cracked ribs grated bone on bone with needle-sharp stabs. It had taken him many minutes to get the thing along the corridor and out onto the hospital forecourt, by which time he’d been sweating profusely and almost passing out with the pain.
The damned thing had proved to be murderously heavy to propel along the blasted pavement, and he’d been all too aware of the curious stares of those he passed along the way. The several hundred yards between the Anchor and the hospital felt like a million miles, but determination and fear of the Copeland brothers had kept him going.
He’d hesitated momentarily as a large woman bustled past him and disappeared down the alley to the side door. Wondering who on earth she could be and what her business was at the Anchor, he’d manipulated the wheelchair to the door that she’d left ajar so he could get some sense of what was going on upstairs. He couldn’t actually hear what was being said, but it didn’t take long to recognise the voices that drifted down to him, and he was shocked to the core that Eileen’s was one of them.
As the large woman seemed to have joined the others, he’d gathered up the crutches, dragged himself out of the wheelchair and bumped up the stairs on his behind as quietly as possible, so he could listen in and find out what they were talking about. If Cyril Fielding was mentioned, then he’d have to just take his chances, for he was now on the point of collapse.
Thankfully, there had been no sign of the Copeland brothers during his journey, and the women still seemed to be fully occupied in some tearful exchange that made absolutely no sense to him. He dragged himself up onto his good leg, and once he’d got his balance on the crutches, he decided he’d recovered enough to put his plan of escape from Cliffehaven into action.
‘Very touching, I’m sure,’ he drawled with deep sarcasm. ‘But when you’ve all finished blubbering, I could do with a hand.’
He saw Ron shoot to his feet with a glower as Monty growled deep in his throat and the five women silently stared at him in shock. There was obviously not going to be any offer of help. He gritted what was left of his teeth and hobbled into the room on the crutches. ‘I don’t know what the hell this is all about, and I don’t want to,’ he slurred through his split lips. ‘But the Copeland brothers are likely to pay a visit, and it would be better if they don’t find any of us here.’
‘The Copeland brothers?’ rasped Ron as he took in the battered face, missing teeth and the plaster-cast. ‘Was it them who did that to you?’
Tommy didn’t even glance at Ron as he headed slowly and painfully into the room on his way to the narrow hallway and his bedroom. ‘Pack your bag, Rosie, we’re on the next train out of Cliffehaven.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she snapped.
He turned to glare at her. ‘Don’t be stupid. Whatever’s going on here is not important compared to what they’ll do to you and this place.’
‘They’ll do nothing as long as it’s light,’ said Ron, ‘and by the time it’s dark I’ll have the police here waiting for them.’ He eyed Tommy with deep disgust. ‘If you’re involved with scum like the Copelands, then you deserve everything you got,’ he rumbled. ‘But you put my Rosie in danger, and I’ll never forgive you for that, you heathen swine.’
‘Sticks and stones, old man,’ he said dismissively. ‘You don’t frighten me.’
Ron eyed him with loathing as he clenched his meaty fists and held onto his famous temper. ‘There are plenty of ways to skin a cat, Findlay, so I wouldn’t be too cocky if I were you.’
Tommy didn’t like the sound of that, for he knew Ronan Reilly was perfectly capable of getting him banged up in prison again, and he wondered suddenly if the old bastard was up to something. He saw him put a protective arm round Rosie as the other women edged back towards the couch in a huddle.
‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded of Rosie. ‘Since when have you and Eileen become best friends?’
‘Since we all discovered what a lying, cheating, devious rat you are,’ retorted Rosie.
‘You’re despicable,’ rapped out Eileen, ‘and worth less than the dirt on the bottom of my shoes.’
‘You’re a dishonest toerag who should be ashamed to even face us,’ said Mary sharply, her face pale with distaste.
‘You’re not a man,’ hissed a venomous Peggy, ‘but a worm. A low, despicable worm. So why don’t you crawl back under your rock and leave decent folk alone?’
He was feeling light-headed and unsteady, and couldn’t understand what on earth had made them gang up on him like this when he was so obviously in pain and needing a bit of sympathy. Realising he wouldn’t make it as far as the bedroom, he placed the crutches carefully against the arm of the chair, and eased himself into it.
‘That’s a bit strong for you, isn’t it, Peggy?’ he asked lightly.
‘It’s Mrs Reilly to you,’ she spat. ‘And if I was the sort of woman to use stronger language, believe me, Thomas Findlay, I’d throw the entire dictionary at you.’ She looked down at him, arms folded tightly round her skinny waist, her face alight with fury. ‘You have absolutely no idea what’s been going on here this afternoon, have you?’
He shook his head and closed his swollen eyelids. ‘I’m sure you’re about to tell me,’ he said wearily. ‘But make it quick. I’ve got a splitting headache and your voice is making it worse.’
‘Hello, Cyril. Remember me?’
He opened his eyes with a start and looked blearily at Mary as his heart began to pound against his cracked ribs. ‘I’m Tommy,’ he rasped.
‘You are when it suits you,’ she replied coldly. ‘Well, I’m your daughter, Flora.’
Tommy froze and stared up at her, his addled brain working desperately to clear the fog of pain and think straight. ‘I don’t have a daughter,’ was all he managed.
Mary looked at the other women who’d come to stand protectively at her side, thereby surrounding him. ‘He obviously needs a little reminder of the truth. Shall we tell him how we found out about the way he lied and betrayed us all?’
Tommy’s blood ran cold in his veins and the icy sweat beaded on his battered face as he tried and failed to think of a way to wriggle out of this situation. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he muttered as he glanced from one angry, set face to another.
‘Remember Gideon Jones and his childless wife Emmaline?’ Mary’s voice was low and unemotional as she and the other women closed in around him. ‘Remember going to his church in Carmine Bay once you’d discovered the sad story of their lost children, and the fact they were about to move to another parish in
another county? They were prime targets, weren’t they?’
Tommy pressed back in the chair as Rosie leaned towards him. ‘And remember how you lied and told me Eileen had changed her mind about me keeping Flora?’
‘And how you tricked me into handing over my baby so you could give her away to strangers,’ added Eileen.
Tommy grabbed one of the crutches and began to jab at the women to get them out of his way as he struggled out of the chair. ‘I don’t have to sit here and listen to this,’ he hissed. ‘If you won’t heed my warning about the Copeland brothers then that’s up to you, but I’m getting out of here.’
‘You’re not going anywhere, Findlay,’ said Sergeant Williams as he and three hefty constables stormed up the stairs and into the room. ‘At least not until we’ve searched this place thoroughly for illicit contraband.’
Monty began to growl and Ron quickly silenced him before he nodded to the women to move away from Tommy.
Tommy’s sneer of contempt encompassed them all before he turned back to the sergeant. ‘Help yourself,’ he said dismissively. There’s nothing of interest to you here.’
‘Really?’ Sergeant Williams rocked back and forth on his heels as two of his men began a perfunctory search behind the couches and under the cushions. ‘That’s an unusual state of affairs for you, Findlay. You’ve usually got something stashed away.’
‘Not this time,’ he replied smugly. ‘I’m a law-abiding citizen now, and wouldn’t dream of breaking the terms of my probation.’
Sergeant Williams surveyed Tommy from his bruised and battered face to the cast on his broken leg. ‘Had an accident, have we?’ he asked with more than a hint of sarcasm. ‘Run into a couple of fists, and maybe a heavy boot or two?’
Tommy didn’t reply, for Williams was a wily old bastard and probably already knew who’d given him a beating. He watched through his swollen eyelids as two of the policemen began to search through Rosie’s kitchen cupboards, and felt a certain satisfaction that they were wasting their time.
‘I understand you’ve discharged yourself from hospital,’ the sergeant continued. ‘Now why would you do that when it’s clear you’re still a very sick man?’
‘I hate hospitals,’ he muttered.
‘Hmm.’ He turned to his men, who were still opening and shutting drawers and cupboards in the kitchen. ‘You two go and search the bedrooms while PC Carter minds the stairs and I have a chat with Mr Findlay here.’
Tommy’s eyelids had puffed up again and it felt as if there were grains of sand scratching his eyeballs as an army of drummers marched through his head. Yet he managed a sickly smile as the two policemen headed down the hallway. ‘Look where you want,’ he called after them. ‘You won’t find anything more than my dirty underwear.’
‘I see you haven’t lost any of your bravado, Findlay,’ said Williams, ‘but then it’s a rather necessary commodity when mixing with people like the Copeland brothers, isn’t it?’
‘I dunno what you mean,’ he replied as he sank back into the chair and battled against the nauseous headache.
‘Come, come, Findlay. The Copelands are your friends. Why, they even took time out of their busy, nefarious schedule of robbery, intimidation and violence to visit you in hospital this afternoon.’
Tommy was fighting not only the blinding headache but the gnawing pains that were shooting through his tortured body. ‘How do you know that?’ he rasped.
Sergeant Williams rocked on his heels as his stony-faced constable stood at the top of the stairs and kept an eye on Tommy. ‘Matron became most concerned over your welfare once she’d discovered who your unsavoury visitors were. She telephoned me at the station, and I sent Carter here to go and keep an eye on their office at the abattoir and see if he could discover what they were up to. I also had a man watching you – which is how I knew you’d be here this afternoon.’
Despite the agony he was in, Tommy’s curiosity had been piqued, and he looked through his swollen eyelids at the sergeant, noting he seemed to be very pleased with himself. This didn’t bode well, and the sweat was cold as it ran down his back.
‘The Copeland brothers are creatures of habit and never stray far from their office – it must be the stench of all that blood and raw meat that attracts them,’ the sergeant added with a sneer. ‘Carter didn’t have long to wait until he saw them piling into their delivery van, armed to the teeth with clubs, knives and chains.’
Sergeant Williams beamed with pride as he glanced across at the beefy constable. ‘Despite his size, Carter is fleet of foot and managed to get to a telephone box to warn me the Copelands were looking for trouble, and that he’d overheard them planning to do over this place.’
Tommy heard Rosie gasp in horror and ignored her. He was far more interested in hearing from Williams what had happened next.
‘We were waiting for them, and let them get as far as the side door of the pub before we trapped them in the alley. It was like shooting fish in a bucket,’ said Williams smugly. ‘Now they’re all tucked up nice and tight in my cosy cell waiting to go before the magistrate in the morning.’
Tommy’s relief was so intense that he couldn’t help but smile, even though it pulled on the cuts in his lips.
But that smile swiftly disappeared when the two policemen came into the room carrying armfuls of shoeboxes. ‘We found these in the back of his wardrobe, sir.’
There was a horrified cry from Rosie and an answering yap from Monty as the boxes were deposited on the low table and opened to reveal dozens of packets of cigarettes and tobacco as well as several half-bottles of gin which were clearly marked with the RCA insignia.
Tommy’s blood froze. He’d been stitched up – and he knew exactly who’d done it. ‘It’s not mine,’ he protested as he struggled to get out of the chair. ‘Someone put all that there to frame me. It’s not mine, I tell you.’
Sergeant Williams ignored his protests, and as the evidence was packed away and carried down to the sergeant’s car, he indicated that Tommy should be helped to his feet and then handcuffed.
‘Thomas Arthur Findlay,’ he intoned gravely, ‘I am arresting you for possessing goods which you are clearly planning to sell on the black market. You will also be charged with stealing the property of the Royal Canadian Air Force, and for the robbery committed on Jackson’s tobacconist on the night of December the twenty-second.’
‘It’s not mine,’ moaned Tommy as he feebly struggled against the policemen’s iron grip. ‘I was stitched up.’
Williams carried on with his speech as if Tommy hadn’t spoken. ‘As you have broken your terms of probation, you will spend the night in my cell alongside your friends, the Copelands, and be transferred first thing in the morning to His Majesty’s Prison in Maidstone.’
‘No. I can’t be banged up with them,’ Tommy whimpered through his pain. ‘They’ll kill me.’
‘I must warn you,’ continued the sergeant with little emotion, ‘that anything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you.’
Tommy felt the cold grip of the handcuffs round his wrists, and he shot a glare of pure malice at Ron. ‘I’ll get you for this, you old bastard,’ he snarled.
‘I heard that threat against a law-abiding citizen,’ said Sergeant Williams, ‘and if you open your mouth again, I’ll charge you with intent to harm.’
Tommy cried out in pain as he was manhandled towards the stairs. ‘You’re hurting me,’ he wept. ‘For God’s sake, don’t be so rough.’
But the policemen carried him none too gently down the stairs and out to the police van. The door was opened and he was virtually thrown into the back. He lay there fighting to breathe and to contain the searing pain that shot through his body and right through his head.
But the terror of knowing he would be sharing a cell with the Copeland brothers was far greater than any pain, and he sobbed in despair as the doors were slammed and the van began to trundle inexorably towards the police station and his doom.
‘I’m sorry you had to witness that, ladies,’ said the sergeant. ‘But rest assured, you are quite safe now, Rosie. We’ve found enough evidence at the abattoir office to finally prove that the Copeland brothers were responsible for at least one murder as well as black-marketeering, grievous bodily harm and aggravated burglary, so they’ll be locked up for the foreseeable future. As for your brother, his sentence will be increased to take into account these latest charges, and this time he will serve the full term.’
He turned away from the women and gave Ron a sly wink of thanks for the tip-off as he carefully placed his peaked cap on his head. ‘I wish you all a very pleasant evening,’ he said, and with the broad grin of satisfaction for a job well done, he took his leave.
Epilogue
THERE HAD BEEN a great deal of discussion once the sergeant had left the Anchor, and as the women settled down to explain everything to Barbara Boniface, Ron had sneaked a slice of cake, kissed Rosie goodbye and left them to it. Monty and Harvey were due for their evening walk, and he was looking forward to getting some good clean air in his lungs after breathing in the same atmosphere as Tommy Findlay for the latter part of the afternoon.
The master-stroke in his plan to nail Findlay once and for all had been his purchase of that black-market gin from his mate Bill Fletcher, who always kept a bottle or two of something hidden in his potting shed. Those bottles had condemned the man to at least ten more years in prison, and Ron had no regrets about what he’d done. His Rosie would be safe, and all the unpleasantness that had simmered between her and Eileen could be wiped away in the knowledge that their little Flora had survived Tommy’s twisted plotting, and that although she would be leaving Cliffehaven the next day, she was returning home to the people who loved her.
It was heart-warming to know that good things could still happen in these dark days, and there was a spring in his step as he tramped up the steep hill behind the racing, excited dogs.
