The thought of spending the winter in a country cottage was not so attractive; Leo liked bars and pubs, and games of darts. He was missing his friends and the Irish pub and began to think he might be happier back in Liverpool. He was a city lad at heart and he knew where to hide himself away there.
Had he worried too much about that photograph in the newspaper? He’d been wearing those heavy-rimmed glasses and his hair had been cut short. It was growing now and he looked more like himself. He’d panicked and run when he discovered how much the police knew about what he’d been up to. He’d been shocked at the time, but now he was thinking logically again.
He’d be perfectly safe renting a more comfortable place in a different area of Liverpool in the name of Arthur Worboys. He was sure they couldn’t have found that bank account, and he had more money there. He thought about it long and hard, but could see no risk in doing that. If he stayed away from Bootle and Bristow’s Pet Foods, he’d be unlikely to have any trouble.
There had been an acute shortage of property to rent in Liverpool, but though it was expensive, it was coming back on the market now. New two-bedroom flats were going up and Leo thought one of those might suit him.
As a temporary measure, he found workman’s lodgings in Upper Parliament Street in his newspaper. He packed his suitcase and took the train back to Liverpool. He immediately felt more at home; he knew his way round the city pubs, cinemas and theatres. Here, he could enjoy life again.
The next day he went round the estate agents looking for a flat to rent. He chose a superior newly built one in Woolton and was asked if he wanted a furnished or unfurnished tenancy.
‘Unfurnished, please.’ This time he meant to make himself comfortable and settle down. He had money in Arthur Worboy’s account; he’d use his own name and turn himself into a solid and law-abiding citizen.
‘Before a tenancy can be granted, you’ll need to fill up this form giving details of your income and present address,’ he was told. ‘And also supply two references.’
That came as something of a surprise. The landlord of his bedsit had needed no such formalities. Leo took the form and agreed to do as he was asked. He’d think up a background for Arthur Worboys and tell a fib or two on the form. He knew he could arrange references by providing letters much as he’d done when he went to work for Mr Bristow. He went back to his lodgings and set about doing it. A personal reference could be hand-written, but the other was supposed to be from his employer or bank manager, and he would need to type that.
He had a typewriter at his bedsit as well as a lot of other things. To be on the safe side, he should go back and clear it out properly.
Soon he would have a better home than the old bedsit; he need no longer keep that on. Much the safest thing would be to break off all connection with the place, but before he did that he’d empty it of everything that connected him and Francis Clitheroe to it.
Better if he went back when there was nobody much about. He was glad that Conor Kennedy didn’t live on the premises, but he had that woman Maisie on the ground floor keeping an eye on the place, and during daylight hours the students would often be coming and going.
He decided the safest time would be after ten o’clock, when Maisie would have locked the front door and would presumably feel she was off duty and could go to bed. If he went at that time on Saturday night, the students would either be out working or enjoying themselves in the bars and restaurants.
He had more stuff there than he could carry; he’d need a taxi to get it all away. The nearest taxi stand he could think of was outside Lime Street station. He’d pick up his typewriter and bring that and one suitcase away. He could get a taxi and collect the rest later. Anyway, he had no space for all his things in these lodgings. He’d need to put most of it in the left luggage place at the station until he moved into his new flat.
At ten o’clock, he stuffed some bags into his empty suitcase and caught a bus into town. He got off near his bedsit, and as he passed the Irish pub, he could hear sounds of jollity; music and singing. He would have liked to have a last session in there; he’d missed the fun. The pubs in Llandudno hadn’t been anything like so good. But no, the last thing he needed was to be seen by his old mates, so he gave it a wide berth.
His plan was to pack up his belongings, clear his bedsit and disappear for good. As he approached the building, he could see that Maisie’s curtains were drawn and her lights on; he hoped she was in bed. There didn’t seem to be anyone else at home in the front of the house. He let himself in quietly and crept upstairs in the dark, but it was impossible to do without the steps creaking beneath his weight. He flinched but told himself it was a solidly built house and sound didn’t travel much. Once in his own bedsitter, he drew the curtains and put the light on.
It was an untidy mess, the bed unmade, the air fetid. He set about packing everything that was his and found it hard work. He had two zip bags and three big suitcases packed tight, and was wondering whether the detritus that was left would tell an investigator anything when he heard the front door open.
He froze, listening, holding his breath. Heavy footsteps were coming upstairs. It might just be one of the students, but it sounded like his landlord, Conor Kennedy. If it was, he could hardly have missed seeing that Leo’s lights were on. He waited motionless, in a lather of dread and sweat. The steps stopped outside his door.
‘Leo?’ The door shook as a heavy fist drummed on it. ‘My friend, are you in?’
Leo swallowed hard. He knew he’d have to open the door; the landlord had a master key to all the rooms. ‘Hello, is that you, Conor?’
He hurried to push his baggage out of sight behind the bed and opened the door as quickly as he could. What had brought Conor Kennedy here at this time of night? Leo was quaking as he tried to edge his visitor back on to the landing.
A firm hand clapped him on the shoulder. ‘My friend.’ Conor Kennedy’s bald head looked polished under the electric light. ‘Home at last, eh? Have you had a nice holiday?’
‘Excellent,’ Leo said brightly, but inside he was cursing. This was the last thing he needed.
‘Llandudno was good, then?’
That made Leo jump with surprise. ‘How d’you know where I’ve been?’
‘My friend, you sent your rent money and let me know you were coming back. The stamp had been franked.’
Oh God, was that what had done it? ‘Of course!’ What a fool he’d been to forget that. But what was he doing here now? ‘How did you know I was back?’
‘Saw your light on. Come and have a nightcap down in the pub. There’s still time for last orders.’
Was it a trap? Surely not, Conor was his friend. ‘Tomorrow, perhaps? I’m very tired, the train took hours.’
‘Come on, man, a wee snifter will sort you out. Do you good.’
Leo’s nerves were shredding; he was panicking, couldn’t think properly. This was all wrong. Conor had never done this before. Why was he doing it now?
‘Tommy will be glad to see you back.’
‘Thanks, then. It’s Sunday tomorrow, I can have a lie-in.’
‘’Tis right you can.’
Leo turned back to pick up his coat, then reluctantly followed Conor downstairs. Two minutes later they were outside the pub and he could feel himself being shunted towards the door. It flew open in his face, releasing a cloud of beer fumes into the night. Once in the warmth inside, Leo looked round furtively. Were the police waiting here for him? Many of the customers had gone home; it looked as though time had been called quite a while ago.
‘Welcome back.’ The publican, Tommy O’Sullivan, slid a tankard of Guinness on to the bar in front of him. Conor was making much of him, wanting to know more about his holiday.
The door opened and two uniformed police officers came in. Leo had to hold on to the bar; his knees suddenly felt like rubber. He recognised them.
‘Leo Hardman?’ one of them asked.
He knew he’d lost. He took a great gulp from his tankard of Guinness, and gave Conor a filthy look. ‘I thought you were my friend,’ he said bitterly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
C
HLOE FELT THE BEDCLOTHES being dragged off her. ‘Wake up, Mummy.’ Lucy’s voice was wide awake and full of childish joy. ‘Time to wake up.’
Chloe anchored her sheet, craving more sleep. ‘Sunday morning,’ she gasped. ‘Mummy’s treat, stay here.’
‘No. Wake up.’
‘Mummy.’ Zac was climbing on top of her, putting baby arms round her.
The curtains were being swished back; the morning sun flooded into her room and a mug of tea thumped down on her bedside table. Only Aunt Goldie would do that; Chloe opened her eyes.
‘Morning, Chloe. Such good news: they’ve caught him at last. Walter wants you to ring him back when you’re awake.’
Chloe sat up and hugged Zac. ‘Caught him? That’s wonderful.’ She laughed aloud. Relief, satisfaction and triumph were flooding through her. ‘How?’
‘He went back to his bedsit. Inspector Halyard thought he would and had told his landlord to let him know when he did. And guess what? Hardman was planning to disappear again. He set about packing up all his possessions, but the tenant on the floor below heard him dragging his suitcases across her ceiling.’
‘Marvellous!’
Chloe was pulling on her dressing gown and slippers. She rushed downstairs to the phone and her children followed her. Lucy was jumping up and down with excitement.
Joan picked up the receiver. ‘Isn’t it splendid news? We’re both thrilled. Walter’s here, he can’t wait to talk to you.’
Walter’s voice came on; he sounded overjoyed. ‘You were right, Chloe. His name is Leo Hardman. Adam bought silver from him and sold it on to us. He went to that auction and left in a hurry when he recognised me. He passed himself off as Francis Clitheroe, chartered accountant, though he was nothing of the sort.’
‘Inspector Halyard got it right too,’ Chloe said. ‘By talking to Rosamund Rogerson and finding that they both worked at the Exchange Hotel.’
‘Yes, he found out Hardman had left about the time Francis Clitheroe was killed, and when he showed me Hardman’s security badge, I was able to confirm that he was the man who was defrauding me. He had over seven thousand pounds on him in cash when they arrested him. Can you believe that?’
‘A lot of money,’ Chloe agreed. ‘And it’s yours.’
‘There’s more, of course. Halyard says they’ll wear him down, find out where he’s hidden it.’
Chloe could hear Joan talking in the background, and moments later she’d taken the phone from Walter. ‘Chloe, you were all coming for lunch today anyway. We’ll make it a special celebration. Come early.’
‘Lovely. What d’you mean by early?’
‘As soon as you can. I’ve got the vegetables done and the joint of pork all ready to go into the oven.’
‘Great, we’ll come over as soon as I’ve had a bath and got myself and the children dressed.’ She rang off then and immediately dialled Rex’s number. She wanted to tell him the news and ask him to come round as soon as he could.
‘I’m delighted for you, Chloe,’ Rex said. ‘Absolutely thrilled. Well done.’
Chloe could hear pure pleasure in his voice.
Rex put the phone down and went back to his tea and toast, but he didn’t touch them. He felt full of love for Chloe. She’d tried to comfort him after Helen had died. He hoped she’d found comfort in him too. But now she’d sounded ready to sing and dance, happier than she’d been for a long time.
What a change there was in her. He knew the time was right to tell her of his feelings. He was eager but also fearful to know how she felt about him. He was after all, a widower, fourteen years her senior, and she’d once seen him as a father figure. It was hardly a recommendation for romance. He must look for an opportunity to tell her how much he loved and admired her. Get her on her own.
Up to now, Rex had found it painful to think of the past, but now those troubles were over. Chloe’s affair with Adam Livingstone had held him back for years and had been disastrous for her. She’d been very low after Adam had rejected her and the two children he’d fathered.
Rex had held his breath after that, half fearful that she’d live her life as Aunt Goldie had. Especially when her mother’s illness and death had followed and she’d been very distressed. But Rex had always known she was a very special person and she’d pulled herself round.
Chloe had wanted to prove she was capable of holding down a job to support herself and her babies. Uncle Walter had given her that job, and his troubles had come at the right time for her. She’d had to work very hard to sort out his accounts, but by fixing her mind on them, she had helped herself over the hard times she’d had.
And now she’d helped to put Leo Hardman behind bars. That must be counted as a great success by everybody. Rex understood what it would mean to her. It would make her feel she could cope with anything life threw at her. It would make her into the confident and well-balanced woman he’d always known she could be.
He knew now they’d both be able to forget the past, put it where it belonged, behind them. Chloe would be able to manage on her own after this.
As he usually did, he drove to Carberry Road in his van, and then backed Helen’s car out of the garage. Chloe came running out to greet him, her coat swinging open and her lovely tawny hair bouncing on her shoulders. She was laughing as she threw her arms round him.
‘I can’t believe they’ve caught this villain who’s been taking Walter’s money.’
He would have proposed there and then except that Lucy and Marigold carrying Zac were hot on her heels.
When Rex drew up outside the house in Freshfield, Walter opened his front door before Chloe could reach it.
‘Congratulations!’ His cherubic face was wreathed with smiles and he came bounding out to sweep Chloe up in one of his great bear hugs. ‘She’s got her wits about her this one,’ he said to Rex over her shoulder.
Joan kissed Chloe and swept them all into her sitting room. ‘We’re going to start with morning coffee,’ she said. ‘Walter’s overjoyed and so am I, and he’s got some important propositions to put to you.’