Midnight on Lime Street (36 page)

As he bent to pick up the pillow, he felt a slight chill in the air, and his pores opened. ‘Stop, lad.’

Neil turned and saw nothing.

‘You’ll come to a bad end,’ the voice whispered. ‘Remember – I warned you. Remember. Nothing good can come of it.’ The voice faded.

He ran out of the front room, through the living room and the tiny kitchen, past Joe who was sitting on the stool, finally reaching the small, tacked-on bathroom. He retched until his ribs
ached, emptying his stomach into the pan before flushing. He sat on its lid. The small bathroom suited him just now, because he was near enough to the sink to splash his face with cold water and
wash his hands. He was ill. The voice was in his head, surely?

Joe tapped at the door. ‘You all right, Neil?’

He breathed in deeply through his mouth. ‘I think I must have had a bad Eccles cake, Joe. And it was a shock hearing about your mother.’

‘Sorry, lad.’

‘It’s all right, Joe. Who else would you turn to?’

There was a pause. ‘We’ll leave the bed till tomorrow, then, and we’ll do it between us,’ the disembodied voice suggested. ‘We’ll need spanners or something
to pull the frame apart.’

‘OK. I’ll have a bath.’

‘Right-o.’

Neil lay in the water. ‘It’s all in your head,’ he breathed. ‘Maude, Jesus, Judas – you imagined them. Get a grip.’ He stood up, found his robe and went
upstairs to dress. His bedroom door opened. ‘Hi, Joe,’ he said.

Joe sat on Neil’s bed. ‘Why did you leave Laura?’ he asked.

‘We didn’t see eye to eye any longer.’

After a short pause, Joe asked, ‘But you still like women?’

‘Some, not all.’ Neil finished dressing. ‘Why?’

Joe lowered his head. ‘I like men,’ he answered quietly. ‘I like you.’

‘Oh?’ Neil stared into the mirror, past his own reflection and studied his landlord. ‘I’m your friend.’

The seated man swallowed audibly. ‘I couldn’t have left my mother, and I couldn’t have brought trouble and shame to her door, so I’ve never told anybody.’

Icy fingers travelled down Neil’s spine. It was his turn to gulp. ‘But Joe, I’m not that way.’

‘Not queer?’

‘No. I could never . . . have you ever?’

Joe shook his head slowly. ‘Not since school. There was a lad there, and we used to mess about, but I’ve wanted to talk to somebody – anybody who’d listen. And when you
left your wife, I wondered—’

‘I’m not like that.’ What was he going to do now? He couldn’t stop here, could he? This man’s mother was hardly cold, yet here he sat talking filth in Neil’s
bedroom; no shame, no control over himself.

Joe continued, ‘I thought with you being my best friend, there might be a bit more to you. Sorry.’

Neil fastened his shirt and turned to look at the poor creature who had just lost his mother, who was desperate for affection and possibly close to breaking point.
Like I am. I must look
after myself.
‘I’ll stay till after the funeral, Joe.’

Joe raised his head. ‘What?’

‘I can’t live here with you now. You’ll want to bring friends home, friends who want what you want. I’d be a wallflower.’

‘No, I—’

‘Sorry, Joe.’ Neil left the room, ran down the stairs, and went through the ground floor to a small shed in the back yard. He found a drill, screws, and a bolt. If he had to stay for
a few days, he would make sure of his own safety. But could he stay? If Maude was still hanging about, and if Joe was going to carry on acting weird, was this the place for Neil?

And the police were searching for his alter ego. There’d been some distraction in the press, he couldn’t recall exactly when, articles about a man who’d shot dead a policeman
on Lime Street Station, but warnings were still being issued to women about staying in at night. If they had to go out, they were advised not to go alone.
See? I remembered all that.

There was no sign of Joe, but Neil could hear him sobbing in the front bedroom. He crept upstairs and entered his own room. As quickly and quietly as he could manage, he installed the small bolt
and shot it home. Although he had no reason to suspect that Joe might try to force him into his unsavoury world, Neil wanted to make sure.

It was in the Bible somewhere about not having physical relations with someone of the same sex. It was a sin. Killing people was a bigger sin, so Joe was a better person than Neil. But Jesus and
Judas— Oh, why had they come that night on the hearth of the front room fireplace at home? Had they come? They must have, because that event never left his memory. The names of three women
stayed with him, too. Jean Davenport, Shirley Evans and, sandwiched between those two, his mistake, Dolly Pearson. But he’d repaid by staying here to look after Maude, who . . . who was no
longer here.

Given months or at most a year to live, Eve decided to make the best of her time, and she started by buying a car, a three-year-old Bentley with plenty of leg and belly room.
Comfort mattered, since there was enough pain without being squashed at a driving seat, and she didn’t want to use the van for her personal expeditions.

Her second decision was also a novelty – she closed the business on Thursdays. When questioned by Kate O’Gorman, her second in command, she had the answer ready. ‘I want a bit
of freedom, love. I’ve spent too many years behind closed doors, and I want to get out and about a bit while I still can. Anyway, they could all do with a rest once a week.’

Kate knew she wasn’t getting the whole story. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me, Evie; I can always see when you’re holding back.’

The large woman shrugged. ‘Let me have some secrets.’

‘No. Not while you’re ill.’

Eve sighed resignedly. ‘Look, I want to go out with a bang. He’s killed three women so far, that Mersey Monster. One was on a Friday, which is pretty much our busiest night, so
I’m staying open, but two were Thursdays, and that’s when we’ll shut, because one of you might like to come with me. I’ve tracked him by looking at the killing sites, and he
does vary among streets around the docks. But they’re all within a mile or so of each other.’ She stared through the window. ‘I’m going to put a stop to him if it’s
the last decent thing I do.’

‘You and whose bloody army? Eve, you can’t – it’s a job for the cops.’

‘I can try. I’m doing no more van runs, so I can carry on as I like, where and when I like. Belle found us that van driver – Cathie Drake, and she’s agreed to take over.
She’s a retired working girl who had a good thing going – she towed a caravan round to holiday resorts and was never short of customers – and she’s used to driving. In
winter, she rested abroad for three months, if you please, so she must have been minted. Spain, I think it was. She went for New Year and stayed till Easter. Now there’s a woman with what I
call a head for business.’

Kate nodded. She quite liked Cathie Drake; Cathie was tough but nice.

‘I’ll stick to Thursdays and the odd Friday, and you can cover here on the few Fridays when I’m out. When I’m gone for good and you’re the boss, you could do a lot
worse than choosing Cathie as your deputy. She knows a thing or two. Or Angela. There’s more to Whiplash than met our eye for years. As for him,’ she pointed at the Liverpool newspaper
in Kate’s hand, ‘he’d better watch out, wherever and whoever he is. Is there anything about another killing in that paper?’

Kate swallowed audibly. ‘I’ve not looked. And when you find him, what then? Because he won’t stop whatever he’s doing just on account of you throwing a maddy.’

‘I might accidentally run over him.’ She bit her lip. ‘And Angela says she can get me a gun. I’ll not leave this world till he’s dead, only I have to catch him
hurting a girl.’ She stared through the window. ‘Oh no, Kate. He’s out there somewhere, and if I’m dying, so is he. I’ll not leave him behind to carry on killing, damn
him.’

‘But Eve—’

‘But nothing. I’ve decided. Give me that
Daily Post
and fetch a cup of tea, please. I’m on me last legs, and my final gift to the world will be to try and make it a
safer place for working girls.’

When Kate had left the office, Eve scanned the front page of Liverpool’s morning paper. It was her turn to swallow hard. ‘Blood and bullets – I do not trust that flaming man.
Look at him, standing there like butter wouldn’t melt.’

It said nothing about suspicious death, but there he was in the doorway of a small Victorian house that was typical of poorer areas of the city. Neil Carson. He’d been living with a Joseph
Turton and his mother, and the old dear had died suddenly. On the morning after his mother’s death, Mr Turton had been found by Mr Carson hanging in the hallway. So to all intents and
purposes, Joseph Turton had committed suicide by killing himself just a matter of hours after his mother’s death. ‘And you were there, you slimy bastard.’ Had Carson helped the
poor bereaved man on his way?

Eve placed the paper on her desk. There was something nasty about Carson, and she had neither liked nor trusted him. Just suppose he needed somewhere to live? The aged lady was dead, so the
house should have passed to her son, but Carson might have had other plans for the old place – it would be just a small matter of changing a name on the rent book. What if he’d
smothered the bloke before hanging him up like a rabbit in a butcher’s window? No. Poor Mr Turton would have been a real dead weight, too much for one person. Oh, this bloke made her flesh
crawl, and she had more flesh than most. Was her intuition getting stronger as she neared her end? Perhaps this might be compensation for the fact that she wouldn’t reach her mid-fifties.

Kate returned with tea. ‘I put a spoon of clear honey in that,’ she said.

Eve made no reply as she took the mug. She offered the newspaper in exchange. ‘Have a gander at that, Kate. Look and learn, because I told you I never trusted that postman bloke. The
devil’s in him, and don’t look at me like that. Leave the d off devil, and that’s what Carson is, bloody evil.’

The older woman sank into the chair opposite Eve’s. After reading, she looked across the desk at her best friend. Eve looked so well today, so normal that no one would have guessed how ill
she was. ‘What are you thinking, Eve?’

‘No idea. I’m waiting for the goose bumps to settle down. There’s something in his eyes . . .’ She took a sip of tea, grateful for its heat, since she needed to warm up
from the inside. ‘No, he’s like an empty house, nobody in, and there’s bugger all in his eyes; he’s like something with no soul, no heart, no care for anything but himself.
I reckon his eyes leave space for Satan.’

Kate shivered and blessed herself hurriedly. ‘Has Angela said anything about him?’ she asked. ‘Because she’s seen him a few times.’

Eve released one of her famous huge sighs. There were clients and there were weird creatures, and this one was as weird as they came. ‘He can take a lot more pain than most. I suppose
that’s because he feels nothing in his body, either. He’s just not right, Kate; he begs Ange to draw blood, and you know that’s a step too far for her. Well, he may want to bleed,
but I reckon that snake could draw some other poor bugger’s blood to save himself. Oh, and she said he’s angry about her staying here till I die, because the flat would have been more
private. I think Angela wants rid of him. Like me, she senses something horrible in the bloke.’

‘So?’

‘So we get rid. Next time he comes, I’ll tell Angela to send him to me for a word or ten. She has a strong stomach, our Miss Whiplash, and if she doesn’t want him, he has to be
a real shit. So he’s out. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had something to do with that man’s death, the one whose mother passed away the day before.’ She pondered. ‘He
wants watching,’ she added, almost to herself. ‘There’s something . . . Kate, you know I’m a woman with what they call intuition, and that intuition is on red alert.
I’m not sure I know why.’

Kate nodded. There were times when it was best to keep her counsel, and this was one such occasion. She changed the subject. ‘Babs and Sally will be here in a while with a surprise for you
to look at. She phoned yesterday and said they’d—’

Eve groaned. ‘Not that bloody horse. Oh, for God’s sake, Kate, tell me it’s not Mad Murdoch.’

Kate nodded, then shook her head. ‘But I didn’t tell you. Just remember that and be overcome with joy, else I’ll thump you.’

‘Can I not be ill instead, Mother?’

‘No. You can be excited and grateful and pleased to see them.’

Eve, muttering and grumbling under her breath, walked out of the office and went to tidy her hair and change into something decent. Horses? What the hell next? With the Gilroy sisters as clowns,
Angela with her whip, and now a mad horse, they had the makings of a small circus.

Left to herself, Kate enjoyed a short, rare and welcome rest. Eve had trouble in her liver, pancreas and intestine. The C word was seldom used by Kate, because it frightened her, but her best
ever friend had the big C and would take no treatment beyond pain control. As ever, Eve viewed the problem pragmatically. It was there, it was going to kill her, but she would decide when.
‘Well, she’d better not ask me to help her come the day, that’s all I can say.’

A vehicle pulling a huge horsebox was trundling its way slowly up the uneven path. Kate watched as the driver jumped down, opened the back of the trailer and walked a beautiful animal down from
the box. Babs, in full riding gear, climbed out of the passenger seat and helped the short, handsome man saddle the horse, a process that took several minutes. Boy, that was a good-looking horse,
and the man, albeit a short-arse, wasn’t bad, either.

Kate watched as he threaded his fingers together and bent so that his hands could act as Babs’s mounting block. Sally flapped about excitedly when Babs urged Murdoch to walk on. Meanwhile
Angela, at the kitchen window, studied her erstwhile rival as she rode up the side of the house – Babs looked as if she’d been born in the saddle.

Kate joined the others in the kitchen. ‘She’s happy,’ she muttered. It was as if rider and horse were one, made for each other. ‘I didn’t know there were women
jockeys,’ she said to Eve when the big woman returned from the hair-tidying and clothes-changing session. ‘I know they can be showjumpers, but our little madam’s training for
races, or so I’ve been told.’