Midnight on Lime Street (45 page)

Lippy whispered a few words to Sally, who came forward and repaired minor damage to the bride’s makeup. They walked down the red carpet while Glenn Miller’s music played in the
background. Photographs of the main players in the wedding party were taken. Later, when the whole gathering had been captured on film, a black carriage arrived, a splendid affair pulled by two
greys with white plumes on their heads.

Gordy and Babs sat in this chariot. A white velvet cloak with a white fur collar was placed by her husband around Babs’s shoulders. ‘There you are now, pet. That’s imitation
ermine; you could join the House of Lords, so you could.’

A coach held most of the party, while Eve and Kate were helped into Lippy Macey’s van, which also held the wheelchair.

‘Why aren’t we moving?’ Babs asked.

‘Wait. Try a little patience for once.’

From a nearby side street, Murdoch appeared. He shone like polished copper, his tail plaited, his mane combed straight. The horse wore rosettes he’d never won because he was meant to be a
secret, while bright horse brasses gleamed on his tack. Lippy Macey’s men guided the horse and blind Nye to the carriage, and Murdoch led the procession homeward.

Nye’s bell sounded with every step he took. Shoppers stopped in their tracks and stared at the procession – one red-bay horse, one donkey, a carriage pulled by paler steeds and a
slow-moving Rolls-Royce, with a single-decker bus and a van bringing up the rear. But this was Southport, so there was no applause, and no children ran by the side of the wedding party.

The bride and groom held hands. ‘That’s why Sally was missing,’ Gordy explained, ‘because she was looking for Murdoch and brushing Nye.’

Babs squeezed his fingers. ‘She brushed Nye?’

He nodded. ‘And we all know what happens to brushers of Nye. Was she muddy?’

‘She was.’

‘She did it for Murdoch, babe. You know he doesn’t like to leave his best friend behind.’

After biting her lip, the bride said, ‘I was horrible to her.’

‘That’s normal, wife. And we are all used to it.’

‘Am I horrible?’

‘Yes, but lovely with it.’

‘They’re all staring at us.’

‘That’s because you’re lovely, and they haven’t seen you horrible.’

She slapped his hand. ‘Just wait till I get you home.’

The groom chuckled. ‘Promises. Empty promises.’

There had been a delivery of snow for just a few minutes, and the children were outside trying to scrape together enough to make a miniature snowman. Laura watched them for a
while, smiling anew at the innocence of the young. She wanted them to stay like that, at a safe distance from life’s harsher truths, but she now knew that would be impossible.

Removing her notes from the bureau, she whispered them into the room. ‘Started having nightmares towards the end of summer when the killings began. He screamed in his sleep. After a week
or two of that, he began to use foul language referring to female body parts. I asked him to leave for the sake of my children, Matt and Lucy.’

She glanced at the window, checking the precious ones again. They were laughing. Would their natural happiness be spoilt by what was about to happen?

‘I found a cross and chain in his chest of drawers. It was hidden under socks. There were initials on the back of the cross. The front was ornate and very like the one in the newspaper
photograph, diamond cut, and without a Christ figure. At my place of work, I saw an article in an old newspaper. It stated that Jean Davenport’s initialled cross had been missing from her
body. I could not remember the initials I’d seen on the cross in his drawer, but I confronted him and lied, asking what he’d been doing with a piece of jewellery that bore the initials
J and D, and he shook like a leaf in a gale.’

Matt had taken a tumble, but he stood up and rubbed his knees like a brave little soldier. He would need to remain brave, as would his sister.

‘He says he bought the jewellery from a street trader on Paddy’s Market, but I don’t believe him. For years, he was as steady as a rock, then he suddenly became jumpy and
strange. He may not be the Mersey Monster, but I thought I should talk to you just in case. I have my two children, and I fear for them if their father gets arrested. On the other hand, I am
finding it very difficult to sit here with my suspicions without doing anything.’

Laura tapped her teeth with a pen. The day was growing cold, and darkness threatened, so she stashed away the notes and put sausages under the grill. The vegetables were already in the steamer,
so there remained only the tasks of browning Wall’s Pork Sausages and creaming the potatoes.

Andy let himself in; he had his own key now.

Laura raised her head from the tasks in hand and smiled at him. ‘Did you close early?’ she asked.

‘No. Mrs Mather’s in charge with her son, and the day was quiet, so I stashed the good stuff in the safe and left her totting up the takings. She’ll lock up and go home when
she’s finished. The Christmas trade won’t start for a couple of weeks yet.’ He looked through the window. ‘I see they’ve made a midget snowman.’

She sighed. ‘They may as well have fun while they still can.’

‘Laura, I—’

‘I’ve done the notes. When I take the children to the Bramwells’, look in the top drawer of the bureau and see if I’ve forgotten anything. We’ll talk about it later
before we go to . . . before we go upstairs.’

Andy smiled; she was blushing like a teenager. Sometimes, she seemed so young, so naive. ‘Hey, if it bothers you, I’ll sleep down here.’

‘No, you won’t. I told you before, I’ve made up my mind. You’re my man now.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Another thing your children will have to deal with, another change of circumstances.’

‘Yes.’ There was some power in her voice at last. ‘Never forget that my children may be Carsons by surname, but they also have McMahon blood in their veins. I am so much
stronger these days, and they will grow into their strength, too. They’re fond of you.’

‘And their father?’

‘Never visits them. It would upset him too much.’

‘It’s all about him, isn’t it?’

Laura paused, potato masher held aloft. ‘I think it always was, Andy. His mother was very unkind to him, kept calling him a sinner, especially when he started growing up. She’s all
right with him now – or she was till we separated, but he was an unhappy teenager.’ She pulled herself together. ‘Get them in, Andy, then I can feed them. We’ve a lot to do
tonight.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m not as young as I was, Laura.’

‘Andrew Martindale, I was referring to the notes. Bring the children in and let’s be a family.’ While creaming the mash, she stood at the sink and watched as Andy talked to
Matt and Lucy. He was a good man. Hopefully, he might become the father figure her children needed.

Bert Heslop, private detective, found Brandwood Street. Carson’s house stood on the end of a row; a dark blue van was parked at the side of the building. Neil Carson had
taken in his pint of milk very late in the day, and Eve Mellor’s description had been good. It was half past four; Bert was scribbling notes on his pad. Miss Mellor was dying, so speed and
accuracy must be employed.

The day had been cold with flurries of snow, and evening had begun its descent. He turned on the engine and drove round the streets for a while so that he might heat the chilled air in his car.
For a reason he failed to define, he knew there was something very wrong with the man who had lifted the milk from his step. Perhaps it was the eyes? They had shifted from side to side as if
expecting to see something or someone he feared.

Returning to a different part of Brandwood Street, he watched as Carson moved past him in the blue van. Careful not to seem over-keen, he followed the vehicle at a slower pace. On a main road,
Carson stopped. This section of the long stretch was named College Row and, after parking, Neil wrote down the number of a house at which Carson was staring. ‘He’s up to no good,’
the detective mumbled to himself.

Glancing round, he caught sight of the chip shop mentioned by Miss Mellor. In there, Mrs Carson had found among wrappings evidence of her husband’s possible involvement with the murders.
Why was the man watching the house? Chills played up and down Bert’s spine.

Neil Carson drove a few yards closer to the road, but Bert stayed where he was. Why? he wondered. ‘Why am I choosing to keep watch here?’ he whispered. Because the killings on the
Dock Road had stopped? Because he suspected that Carson’s next target might be his own wife? Curtains were pulled into the closed position by a tall man. After half an hour or so, Mrs Carson
emerged from the house with her children. She disappeared into the chip shop, which was not yet open to the public. Bert decided to buy his supper there as soon as possible, because a hungry man
felt the cold more acutely.

Using a torch, he re-read notes made yesterday after his meeting with Eve Mellor. Mrs Carson had spoken unexpectedly to a new acquaintance about the cross found in a drawer, and that lady had
told Meadowbank’s madam. Had Mrs Carson confronted her husband? Was she now in danger? When he looked up from his scribbles, he saw that Carson’s van had gone.

He switched off the torch. The man in Mrs Carson’s house had to be Martindale, a well-known and respected jeweller. The call to Miss Mellor had come from one of his shops, so . . . So he
would knock on the door. ‘Should I?’ he asked the dashboard. Shivering again, he gave birth to the next couple of thoughts. Was Carson’s missus insured? Had he been making sure
that the kids were not in the house? He leapt out of his car and ran across the road.

Andrew Martindale opened the door. He held a tea towel in one hand and a plate in the other. ‘Yes? May I help you?’

‘Let me in, please. He may be planning his next move as we speak.’ Bert had to put his head back to see the face of this very tall man. ‘I’m a private detective and
I’m following Neil Carson. He was watching this house, and he drove away just minutes ago.’

Andy widened the gap and allowed the short man to enter the hall. ‘Living room on your right,’ he said, placing plate and towel on the hall table.

Grateful for the fire’s warmth, Bert perched on the edge of an armchair. ‘Hubert Heslop,’ he announced.

‘Andrew Martindale.’

The visitor held out his hands to the fire. ‘Cold night,’ he commented.

‘Yes, the weather’s serving up a taste of winter,’ Andy replied. Surely this man was here to discuss something more dangerous than snow?

‘I suspect Carson’s ready to strike.’ The small detective paused and fuelled his lungs with a large intake of oxygen. ‘Well, a Mrs . . . er . . . Belle Duffield was
spoken to by Mrs Carson during a visit to one of your shops.’

Andy nodded. ‘Yes. It was rather rash, but she seemed to trust the lady.’

‘She is trustworthy. Mrs Duffield spoke on the telephone to a very discreet client of mine, someone who has used my company in the past. I am employed by a Miss Eve Mellor to follow Neil
Carson, since she believes him to be the Mersey Monster.’

The taller man placed himself in a chair opposite his visitor. ‘I see.’ He didn’t quite see, but he felt he ought to make some comment.

‘I know about the gold cross and the behaviour of Mr Carson. He was outside just now, watching while Mrs Carson took the children to the chip shop. Will they be home later?’

‘No. Saturday nights are busy, and Laura works late, so Matt and Lucy stay with the Bramwell twins in the flat on the floor above the shop. She will come back, but they’ll return
tomorrow in time to get ready for church.’ He paused. ‘What’s going through your mind, Mr Heslop?’

‘Bert.’

‘Right, Bert – I’m Andy. I’ll make some tea while you get your thoughts in order.’

But Bert followed Andy into the kitchen. ‘When does Mrs Carson come back to the house?’

‘About half past eleven, usually. Occasionally, she works till midnight.’

The small man nodded thoughtfully. ‘Does he know she suspects him?’

‘Yes.’

‘And does he know that you share her opinion?’

Andy nodded.

‘Then he’ll probably be here later tonight. I’m assuming that you haven’t yet spoken to the police?’

‘That’s right – we haven’t.’

‘Well, I suggest that now would be a good time.’

Andy stared down at his companion. ‘We’re going to do it together.’

‘When?’

‘Monday.’

Bert inhaled deeply once more. ‘You could both be dead by then. I think it will be arson – that’s usually the choice of a cowardly man. With women, it’s poison, but men
use fire if they want the hands-off approach.’

With his hand shaking, Andy brewed the tea. ‘She’s frightened enough already, and the children are up and down the stairs at the Bramwells’ until bedtime, so she has her hands
full. On Saturdays, their curfew runs later.’ He followed Bert back into the living room and placed the tea tray on a low table. ‘You watch and I’ll watch. Let’s get the
police when he tries to set the house on fire.’

Bert’s lips settled into a grim line. ‘I’m not sure it will be arson. He could have a gun or . . .’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘If he is the monster,
he’s downright dangerous.’

Andy leaned forward, elbows on knees, clenched hands supporting his chin. ‘I’ll walk her back here in a few hours and I’ll tell her then what might be happening. You watch from
the side street across the road – you can see this house clearly from there. Laura and I will walk through the house and, after switching on lights, we’ll go through into the rear
alley. He won’t do anything until he thinks I’m asleep, because I could bring him down as easily as swatting a fly. I may be older, but I’m fit. I’ll take her along the back
all the way to the Bramwells’ place, then I’ll return here, put the downstairs lights out, switch on the bedroom lamp, leave again via the rear door and cut through a few streets to
join you in your car. She’ll be with her children, and I’ll be out of his line of fire – no pun intended.’

Bert smiled grimly. ‘And you’ll leave your car parked outside the house so that Carson can assume that you’re inside with his wife.’ He looked Andy up and down.
‘Will you fit in a Mini?’