Midnight on Lime Street (41 page)

‘Eve!’

‘Bog off.’

When Kate was occupied at the business end of the kitchen, Eve reached for the phone, but it rang just before she lifted the receiver. It was Belle again. Eve listened carefully, inserting a
prompt here and there, but never embarking on real conversation. She was right! Her heartbeat quickened; at last, there seemed to be some sort of proof about Neil Carson.

‘I’ll call you again from home, Eve. I’m using Mr Martindale’s phone in the office behind his shop, so I’d better ring off. He thinks I’m phoning me
mam.’ Belle ended the call.

Eve pushed herself into a sitting position. The words she’d heard rattled round in her brain like marbles in a tin. Neil Carson’s wife was in the jeweller’s shop with the
jeweller, her children and Tom, Belle and young Lisa. ‘It
is
him,’ she mouthed while reaching for the phone once more. This had to be done properly. ‘Mr
Heslop?’

‘Yes. May I help you?’

‘I think so. It’s Eve Mellor from Meadowbank Farm. Remember?’

‘Ah yes. Would you like me to call by?’

‘Tonight if possible. I’ll be on my own in bed in the kitchen. I’m dying, you see.’

A short pause was followed by, ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll come at about eight o’clock. Will that do?’

‘Oh yes. That will do very well indeed.’

Another pause. ‘Is there anything you need, Miss Mellor?’

She smiled to herself. ‘Just you, your notebook and a pen will do nicely, thanks.’ Eve ended the call and leaned back on her pillows.

Belle parked the van outside their house. Lisa was lifted out by Tom, who stood to watch while the child dashed off in near-darkness to show her grandparents the silver St
Christopher medal and chain given to her by the kindly jeweller. She would stay with Sam and Frankie this weekend, though she was usually a movable feast during daylight hours. ‘Bye,’
she shouted as she closed her grandparents’ gate carefully.

Tom and Belle walked through their own front doorway. ‘What happened?’ Tom asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

She kissed him. ‘Let me make a cuppa first. It’ll give me time to sort my head out. I mean, I didn’t know her, did I? Why me, Tom?’ She walked into the living
room/kitchen and set the kettle on the hob. Tom followed her and sat on the sofa. ‘It’s your face,’ he advised her. ‘You’ve got one of those faces that people talk
to.’

She huffed at him. ‘You’re biased.’

Tom chuckled.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I suppose I am biased.’ He let her get on with brewing tea. She needed time to think, because he realized that something of moment had happened between her and Laura Carson
during their expedition to Cooper’s Cakes. Belle had been jittery ever since the two women had returned with custard slices, and she had even asked if she might phone her mother from the
jewellery shop.

‘Here.’ She passed him a mug and sat beside him. ‘Just give me another minute,’ she begged. Max wasn’t here, so distractions were minimal. The dog had learnt how to
acquire food in two houses and was intelligent enough to get his own way. Sometimes, an animal could be useful when a pause became necessary.

‘OK.’ Tom sipped at his tea.

Time ticked on. ‘I didn’t phone my mother,’ she said at last, ‘it was Eve. I phoned Eve.’

‘Oh, yes?’

She nodded. ‘Laura is Laura Carson. Her husband is that chap I told you about, the queer bloke who wanted bondage and flaying till he bled. He told Angela he needed to relive the Stations
of the Cross, so Ange put him right, saying if he wanted a crown of thorns he could make his own and wear it at home.’

Tom waited.

‘Anyway, Laura’s not one for keeping up with the news – well, she didn’t use to be. She works for some mates who have a chippy down her road, and she saw something in a
newspaper saved for wrappings. It was about the murder of Jean Davenport, and it said her gold cross and chain had gone missing. Her initials were on the back of the cross.’

Again, Tom allowed her an uninterrupted pause.

‘Laura’s husband had hidden a gold cross and chain in his sock drawer, said he’d bought it second hand and was saving it for her birthday. It had initials on it, though she
can’t remember what they were, and then it disappeared. Why did she tell me, Tom? Why not her friends in the chippy?’

‘Too close to home?’ he suggested.

‘She’s frightened of talking to the cops because of her kids. I understand that, but . . .’

‘But she has a lot on her mind.’

‘She certainly does. Andrew Martindale knows, and she says he’s offered to go with her to the police, but she’s still holding back for the sake of her family. I know it must be
hard, Tom, but how’s she going to feel if it is him and he carries on killing?’ Belle sat down next to her husband. ‘Did she tell me because she wants me to send the police to
her?’

‘No, love. She told you because you’ve got trustworthy eyes, and she needed to offload to somebody of the same sex. Complicated creatures, women are. Even if they have a decent
husband, a good dad or a brother, they’ll usually confide more easily in another woman. Anyway, she told Martindale first, didn’t she?’

Belle raised her legs and studied her feet for a moment. She had new shoes and they hurt a bit, so she kicked them off. ‘She’s in love with him, Tom.’

‘And he is with her, too.’

She grinned at him. ‘You know, for a bloke, you’re sometimes nearly human. He’s selling up, lock, stock and diamonds. He’s planning on moving abroad and taking her and
the kids with him if Laura’s husband gets done for murder. If he doesn’t get charged, they’ll stay in England, but in Devon I think she said. It would be a fresh start all round,
I suppose.’

‘All planned out, then. Is he her father figure, Belle?’

She raised her shoulders in a shrug. ‘Nope. I think they’re having trouble keeping away from what she calls mortal sin. Her husband was a cold fish at home, but if he’s the
Mersey Monster, he must have boiled over down near the docks at least three times. It’s a bugger, Tom. Oh, by the way, Babs is pregnant. She’s marrying that horse trainer.’

‘Good for her. From the little I know, she needs grounding with both feet nailed to the floor. I wonder if she’ll improve with age?’

Belle laughed.

‘What’s funny?’ Tom asked.

‘She’s lovely.’ Belle always defended her friends. ‘And no, I think she’ll always be the same – a nuisance.’ She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully.
‘I wonder if Eve’s right about him?’

‘Carson? Well, I’d be thinking about the cross.’

‘So would I, yes. I’m beginning to wish Laura Carson hadn’t told me. It’s like being an accessary, isn’t it? If it’s him, anyway.’

It was Tom’s turn to be pensive. ‘Well, you know what the police say – anything, however trivial, helps them to pursue or eliminate a line of inquiry. But at the same time,
it’s up to Laura, I suppose.’

Belle wasn’t so sure. And there was something else that needed addressing, an issue that might well keep her out of everyone’s business for the foreseeable future. She looked into
the eyes of the man she adored. He was a wonderful husband and lover, a great friend to everyone in the family and an excellent stepfather for Lisa. Belle, treated like queen of the establishment,
had learnt early on that Tom Duffield did not and would not ever question her past. Feeling shy with no idea why, she blushed while smiling at him. ‘Don’t get excited.’

‘Eh? What’s exciting about poor Mrs Carson and the gold cross?’

‘It’s not that.’

‘Not what?’

‘A gold cross.’

‘I should hope not. Have you been collecting gold crosses?’

‘No.’

She was being playful, so he grinned at her. Being playful often led to chasing through rooms and ripping clothes off. Mind, Lisa might come back, because Belle made a great cup of cocoa.
‘Well?’ he asked.

She giggled like a schoolgirl. ‘What do you want more than anything else in the world? Leave me and Lisa out of it.’

His lips parted as he drew in extra oxygen. ‘My lads. Have you heard from my lads?’

‘No, love.’

‘Then what . . . ?’

She placed a hand on her abdomen. ‘Not just Babs, Tom, because I’ve got a little passenger, too. I know you’ll love it even if it’s a girl. I’m praying for a boy,
but we’ll just have to wait and see.’

Motionless, he allowed a single tear to obey the law of gravity. ‘Thank you,’ he breathed a second before the tear became a flood.

‘No – thank
you
,’ Belle replied, eyelids in top gear. ‘I never wanted Lisa to be an only child. I’ve made love, kissing included, with just two men in my
whole life. He might have been a rum bugger, but I loved him, and I love you more. So they’re both children of love. I couldn’t feel more for anybody than I feel for you, Duffy.
You’re all my tomorrows.’

‘And you know how to turn my tap on, girl.’

She smiled through the wetness in her own eyes. ‘That’s good, because what use are you with just the one hand?’

‘Exactly.’ Wrapped together, crying together, they celebrated a little knot of cells that belonged to both of them; it was the perfect end to an imperfect day.

Sisters Helen Veronica and Mary Veronica were slumped in armchairs in Nellie’s subterranean living quarters. On a small sofa, Eddie and Nelson fought for space.
‘I’m fed up now,’ declared Detective Sergeant Barnes, who had served his plain clothes apprenticeship to the satisfaction of his betters. ‘We must have missed him by no more
than a few seconds.’

Mary sighed. ‘Well, we know he’s in a green car with no proper lid. It was parked in the back jigger. The neighbour was clear enough about that much.’

‘Sports car,’ Eddie mumbled. ‘This dog is trying to shift me.’

‘He does that,’ Helen answered absentmindedly. ‘Take him in the garden, Mary. He may need to relieve himself.’

Mary chuckled. ‘Eddie, Nelson, or both?’

Helen glared at her sister in Christ. ‘Please yourself.’

Alone, Helen and Eddie sat in silence for a while. Having kicked open Boss’s mother’s door, Eddie was now recognizable. Bearing a court order at the time of invasion, he expected no
trouble in the legal sense, but he had mucked it up. The murderer of his best friend remained at large. ‘I have to get him for Dave’s sake, Nellie.’

‘I know. Just listen to me, all right?’

He combed his hair with restless fingers. ‘What?’

‘The house next door to Mrs Shuttleworth’s is empty. Mary, Nelson and I should take it. I’m sure she wouldn’t recognize us. We might befriend her, and we can certainly
keep a wary eye on comings and goings. Ask the police to put a phone in for us.’

He stopped scraping at his hair and began to rub his chin. ‘That may not be a bad idea.’

She laughed. ‘I knew a first from Oxford would be useful at some stage.’

Eddie blinked. ‘Educated, then?’

She nodded. ‘By nuns, of course, until I was eighteen. Then off I went into the unreal world of academia, worked my socks off and returned to the nuns.’

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘I got the call.’

He grinned. ‘So that’s why you need a phone.’

She giggled again. ‘Of course. God may ring to tell me it’s all been a mistake, and I’ll be released to function as a lay person in an unsuspecting world.’

Eddie stared at her. ‘We always knew you were different. Smelly Nellie is missed down Lime Street, you know.’

‘I miss her, too,’ Helen replied. ‘Perhaps she’ll return in time.’

In a comfortable silence, they stared into the log fire.

‘Yes,’ Eddie said finally. ‘We’ll do that, then, as long as the powers agree. Make sure you dress like others in the street, flowered pinafores, curlers sometimes,
headscarves – you know the score. Go out as if you have jobs.’

‘I certainly do know the score. I’ll work mornings, and Mary can do afternoons or evenings. That way, we can make sure there’s always one of us in residence. You can come and
go. Colour your hair and wear paint-spattered overalls. I’ll be your mother and Mary can play the part of your aunt.’

Thus the next step was decided upon. Boss’s time was almost up.

Neil Carson set about his new campaign with vigour. He found himself enjoying whores, because not only did he have a good time – he was also spreading his disgusting
illness far and wide throughout the city. As his nerves settled, he used every woman who offered herself. He carried protection in case victims demanded it, but each item was peppered with small
holes, so he was doing his job. This way, men as well as women would be punished for unseemly behaviour.

Neither Jesus nor Judas put in an appearance. The house settled, as if all vestiges of Joseph and his mother had left at last, and Neil no longer feared voices or muffled footsteps. Now on an
easier mission, he did his job at the post office, came home to eat, then set out to do the real work. His pattern changed, since he was no longer completely dependent on darkness; the killing had
stopped, and he was now imposing a slower death on prostitutes and those who made use of them. Even if they lived, treatment would be needed, so he was on a winning streak.

He polished off fish and chips, reaching for a bottle of beer to complete his meal. But he never got to drink it, because the doorbell sounded. The days had shortened and, on this particularly
cold November evening, he had made up his mind to stay here and do a bit of washing. He was running out of socks and— The knocker hammered. Who the hell was it? A visitor he hadn’t
expected? It was no use pretending not to be in, because darkness had established itself and he was burning electricity.

He opened the door.

‘Hello, Neil.’

Stepping back as if avoiding the fangs of a snake, he retreated from his wife and her companion, who was smartly dressed, tall and graceful. ‘Er . . . you’d better come in, I
suppose. I thought you worked Friday nights.’

‘I took the evening off,’ Laura said.

‘I see.’ Unsteady on his feet, he led them into the modest but clean home. His heartbeat, too, was erratic, staggering in his chest like a drunk on his way home from a night on the
ale.

They followed him. Laura looked round the room as if assessing its contents – including the resident.