Her Missing Husband (5 page)

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?

Below it was the photo of a couple getting married. The woman beaming happily for the camera, the man... Edna stared at the picture... The man... No, it couldn’t be. No, surely not. It was just a man, a heavyset man with slightly bulging eyes and a brutal mouth. There must be hundreds of men who look like him, Edna thought. He’s a type. But the man Elsie had brought home last night
was
that type. She picked up the paper and read the story that ran below the headline.

Labourer James Randall of Belcaster is wanted by the police to help with the enquiries into the death of his wife. Mavis Randall was found stabbed in the kitchen of their home in Ship Street, Belcaster on Wednesday. Jimmy Randall has not been seen since he left the Red Lion pub on Tuesday evening. It is thought he may be heading for London. Pictured above with the unfortunate victim on their wedding day last June, he is considered dangerous and if recognised should not be approached. Anyone with any knowledge of this man’s whereabouts should contact their local police station immediately.

The story continued, but Edna’s reading was interrupted by Mr Bell, the owner of the shop, saying, ‘If you’re going to read my papers, Mrs Carter, you have to buy them.’

‘Well, I will take it,’ said Edna, ‘and I need some bread and milk and some bacon if you have it.’

Her purchases made, she hurried out of the shop and found herself a quiet corner of the park to read the whole article. She didn’t want to read it in her own kitchen because the more she looked at the picture, the more certain she was that he was the man who had met Elsie on the train from Belcaster. The paper said this James Randall came from Belcaster, and surely it was too much of a coincidence that John, who Elsie’d brought home, looked so much like him.

Dangerous,
it said.
Should not be approached,
and he was in her house with her daughter and her granddaughter. She must go back, must warn Elsie somehow and get her and little Betsy out of the house. She thrust the paper into her bag and hurried back home. On the way she passed the phone box and wondered briefly if she should dial 999, but decided against it. Just in case she was wrong. She’d simply get the man out of the house. He’d said he was only staying one night. She would cook him breakfast – she had the bacon and she could make fried bread. Then, she hoped, he’d leave.

When she got home again there was still no sign of Elsie or John. Edna lit the gas and put her precious bacon in the pan. Perhaps when they smelled it frying they’d come downstairs. It was Elsie who came down first. She looked suddenly small, pale-faced, with red-rimmed eyes and a bruise on her cheek. Edna looked at her anxiously.

‘You OK?’

‘Course I am,’ snapped Elsie. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

Her mother ignored that and whispered, ‘Is he coming downstairs?’

‘He will in a minute,’ Elsie replied calmly, trying to sound normal. ‘He can have my bacon when he does.’

‘Look at this,’ hissed her mother, and reaching into her bag she pulled out the paper and thrust it under Elsie’s nose. ‘Look! It’s him, isn’t it? It’s him and he’s murdered his wife.’

Elsie looked, and turned paler than ever. ‘Could be,’ she said.

‘Then we need to turn him in,’ Edna said fiercely. ‘And we need to get Betsy out of the house.’ Edna grasped her daughter’s arm. ‘It
is
him. He’s a murderer and he’s on the run. You give him his breakfast when he comes down. I’m going round the police station.’

‘He’ll wonder where you are,’ whispered Elsie.

‘Tell him I’m upstairs dealing with Betsy. Just keep him happy down here.’ Before Elsie could say any more, Edna was letting herself out of the house, closing the door softly behind her.

Elsie looked again at the newspaper. The man in the grainy picture certainly looked like the man upstairs, but she wasn’t as certain as her mother had been. She just hoped her mother wasn’t going to make fools of them both. If the cops came it’d be round the neighbourhood in a flash and if it got back to Ted that a strange man had stayed at the house, she didn’t dare think of the consequences. Then she heard footsteps on the stairs and hastily thrusting the paper back into the bag and tucking it down beside the stove, she turned back to the bacon sizzling in the pan. Moments later Jimmy appeared through the kitchen door.

‘Hmm,’ he sniffed. ‘Something smells good.’ He plonked himself down at the table as if he had every right to be there. He felt strong and powerful after his night asserting himself over an increasingly reluctant Elsie in the bed upstairs. He was hungry, too, and the food smelled good. He reckoned he’d found himself a good billet; he wouldn’t mind staying here another day or two, just while he got himself sorted out with papers. ‘Any tea?’

Elsie, nervous now of the big man she’d invited to share her bed, said, ‘Yes, of course. I’ll pour you a cup.’ She reached up to the dresser for a cup and saucer and as she did so Jimmy noticed a small toffee tin, tucked away behind a photo frame, and guessed it, like the jar at his father’s, contained the saved gas money.

She handed him the tea and turned her attention back to the bacon. ‘We haven’t any eggs,’ she said, ‘but I could do you a bit of fried bread if you like. Set you up before leave.’

Jimmy’s lips tightened at the word ‘leave’ but only said, ‘Yeah, fried bread,’ and began to slurp the tea.

Elsie put his breakfast on a plate and handing it to him, sat down at the table.

‘Aren’t you having none?’ he asked as he began to eat.

‘No, I’ll have something later. Don’t usually eat much breakfast.’ She watched as her ration of bacon disappeared down his throat. Suddenly she wanted him gone, more than anything she wanted him out of the house and gone. Today he’d shed his uniform and was dressed in civilian clothes, looking quite different from the dashing soldier she’d met on the train. Now, with his jacket straining across his barrel chest, he seemed rough and menacing and she could well believe he’d murdered his wife. She didn’t know if he was the man the cops were looking for and she didn’t care. She just knew that he was trouble and she wanted him to go.

‘Where’s your mother?’

Elsie started at the sudden interruption of her thoughts. ‘I think she’s upstairs with Betsy,’ she said. ‘Think I’ll just pop up an see if she’s OK.’ She couldn’t wait to get out of the room and with a thumping heart she ran upstairs to her mother’s room to make sure Betsy was still asleep.

The moment she left the kitchen Jimmy crossed to the dresser and reached for the tin. It clinked as he lifted it down and it was reassuringly heavy. Opening it quickly, he saw pennies and threepenny bits. Disappointingly small coins, but plenty of them. Looking round for something to put them in, he saw Edna’s bag beside the stove. That’d do. He picked up the bag and tipped out the contents and there was the newspaper. Staring up at him from the front page was his own wedding photograph; he and Mavis together, Mavis still beaming. Forgetting the money for a moment, he snatched up the paper and saw that it was today’s. Someone must have bought it this morning and recognising him, had hidden it in the bag. Elsie had been with him, so that someone had to be her mother. Jimmy glanced round the kitchen as if to catch Edna hiding there, but he was alone.

Quickly he scanned the article and everything fell into place. The mother, Edna, wasn’t upstairs with the baby, she’d gone for the police. How long would it be before she was back? That cow, Elsie, had been keeping him there in the kitchen, feeding him bacon and fried bread, so that he’d still be there when the cops came for him. Well, he’d see about that!

Leaving the gas money spread out on the table, Jimmy went up the stairs two at a time. He could hear Elsie in with the baby; perhaps he could simply grab his stuff and get out. He went into her bedroom and caught up the kitbag, shoving his discarded uniform inside. He stuffed his wallet into his back pocket before glancing round the room to see if there was anything else of value. There was nothing so he made for the stairs. Too late. Through a landing window he saw two police cars further down the street, and several policeman walking silently towards the house. Quickly he returned to Elsie’s room and looked down into the tiny back yard. The house was in a terrace and the yard was fenced, hemmed in on all three sides by neighbouring yards.

Shit! he thought. There was no easy way out there. He edged out onto the landing, thinking fast. Had he time to get downstairs and out the back? Could he climb from yard to yard and escape that way? Even as he reached the top of the stairs he heard the front door open and the tread of police boots in the front passage. He was trapped, but there was no way he was simply going to hand himself over. He flung open the second bedroom door to find Elsie cowering in the corner, baby Betsy in her arms. With one stride he was across the room and giving Elsie a backhander across the face, he ripped the baby from her, tucking the child under his own arm. Now he had a hostage; now he had an edge. He opened the window and leaned out above the street, dangling a shrieking Betsy from one large fist.

He glanced back at the terrified Elsie and said, ‘You go down them stairs and tell them cops that unless they let me out of the house and away down the street, I’ll drop her. Tell them that, Elsie, and make them believe you, ’cos, s’welp me, I will. Tell ’em I’m coming down and when I do I’m taking this baby with me, and if anyone touches me I’ll smash her head against the wall.’

Elsie stared at him in terror, unable for a moment to move.

‘Get on with it,’ Jimmy growled harshly, ‘and remember, you know I’ve killed once, so you know I’ll do it.’

Elsie gave an anguished cry and bolted out of the room.

Jimmy pulled back into the room and dumping the baby on the bed, slammed the door and turned the key in the lock. He didn’t intend to be taken by surprise from behind. Returning to the window, he rested Betsy on the edge of the sill, looking down at the horrified faces of bystanders below.

Some moments later a policeman appeared through the front door.

‘Randall,’ he called. ‘It’s no good. The house is surrounded. Bring the child down with you and give yourself up.’

Jimmy gave a sharp laugh. ‘If you want this child alive,’ he cried, ‘you call your men off. I’ve nothing to lose, remember.’

The policeman paled, but shouted back, ‘Don’t be stupid, man, give yourself up.’

Jimmy could hear men outside the bedroom door and clutching the baby to him, he clambered onto the windowsill.

‘Call your men off,’ he bellowed. ‘Call them off or I’ll jump, and the kid goes with me.’

There was an audible gasp from the crowd gathering below. The policeman disappeared for a moment and Jimmy heard him shouting at the men inside the house to come back downstairs. It was his chance and drawing a deep breath, he took it. Tossing the baby back onto the bedroom floor, he swung round and hanging down from the sill, dropped to the ground. Though he landed awkwardly and a shaft of pain shot through his ankle, he managed to remain on his feet. There was a shout from the door but, driven by desperation, Jimmy was already off and running. One brave man stepped out of the astonished crowd, trying to grab him, but a flailing fist to his throat sent him staggering back, and Jimmy vanished round the corner before anyone else could stop him. By the time the pursuing policemen reached the corner, he had vanished. Jimmy Randall, with only the clothes he stood up in, had disappeared into the stews of London.

*

Later that day, in Belcaster Central police station, Inspector Marshall stared at Sergeant Stanton in frustration. ‘They had him!’ he cried in despair. ‘They had him cornered, Stanton. But he took a baby hostage and he got away.’

‘Is the baby all right?’ asked his sergeant.

‘What? Oh, yes, I think so. Gather the mother met him on the train and invited him back to her home! Women! What is it about Jimmy Randall and women, Stanton?’

‘Don’t know, sir.’ He looked across at his superior. ‘But we will get him, sir. He’s admitted to killing his wife and, one way or another, we’ll get the bastard in the end.’ But there were no further sightings of the fugitive.

Once round the corner, Jimmy had dodged down an alleyway, across a cleared bombsite and into a churchyard. People were going about their business in the nearby streets as Jimmy took a breather behind a lichen-covered sarcophagus. No one had seen him enter the churchyard, and as he crouched behind the tomb he had the stirrings of an idea. Would the church be open, he wondered, and if it were, would there be anyone be inside? He needed money, and surely there would be an offertory box. He waited for nearly fifteen minutes before he ventured out from behind the tomb and went into the church porch. The heavy oak door was closed, but when Jimmy turned the iron handle it opened easily and he slipped inside.

The church was warm, sun shining through the stained-glass east window, painting patterns on the stone-flagged floor. Silence closed about him as he stood staring round the building for any sign of life. The heavy door cut off all sound of the outside world and for a moment Jimmy felt at a loss, then, with a shake of his head, he snapped back and remembered why he’d come in. The offertory box. It stood on a table just inside the door. Beautifully carved with a garland of oak leaves and acorns around its sides, it was more than a foot square. In the centre of its lid was a narrow cross, cut into the wood to accept the offerings of the faithful. On the front was an iron hasp secured by a large black padlock. Jimmy stared at it.

He lifted the box and shook it. He could hear coins inside, but it was far too heavy and too noticeable to pick up and carry away, so unless he could lever the hasp off the box with the padlock in situ, there was no way he could open it and take its contents. He looked round for something, anything, with which he might attack the hasp, but could see nothing. In sheer frustration he hammered the top of the box with his hand and the sound echoed round the silent church.

Perhaps, he thought, if I lift it high and dash it down on the stone floor it’ll break open.

He picked it up again and was just raising it above his head when a voice said, ‘I wish you wouldn’t do that. It would be a pity to destroy the box when I have the key.’