Midnight on Lime Street (47 page)

He heard the catch in her throat. ‘I love you, too. What’s the matter?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, when you do know, be sure to tell me.’

Belle tried to concentrate on her driving. Being female was not always a good thing. Women knew stuff that wasn’t knowable, and men seldom understood the vagaries of a woman’s mind.
Was it a sixth sense? Was it imagination? Perhaps hormones were the culprit.

‘There’s nothing you can do, anyway,’ he said.

Ah yes, here came the pragmatism of the male. She smiled. Tom would take care of her, wouldn’t he?

Detective Sergeant Eddie Barnes had earned his invisible stripes. Not that he’d ever lost them, since he had passed his sergeant’s exam while still in uniform, but
he knew that his boss rated him highly as a plain clothes officer.

At a quarter to eleven p.m. on this November Saturday, he sat in an emergency meeting called by DCI Fox, a man who minced few words. ‘So there’s a shitty drugs war on,’ the man
in charge pronounced. ‘Boss Albert Shuttleworth is being challenged by the new big boy, and they’re meeting tonight.’ He stared at Eddie. ‘Lime Street.’

Eddie clicked his jaw into the closed position. ‘No,’ he breathed.

The DCI smiled. ‘I think the new drugs baron dictated the terms and the location. This tip-off is from a reliable source, so go to it. Take unmarked cars, suitcases or whatever else you
think will make you blend with the scenery.’ Again, he addressed Eddie. ‘So if all goes well, we won’t need to rent the house next door to Mrs Shuttleworth.’ He talked to
the full meeting. ‘Remember, all of you, that Albert Shuttleworth is an escapee. We want him on trial for the murder of the drugged boy and the killing of PC David Earnshaw.’

Eddie asked a question. ‘Are they meeting in the station or on the street?’

‘The source wasn’t sure. So spread yourselves out a bit. You, DS Barnes, will be in charge. I’ll be on the station in my best suit. The meeting between our two heroes is
scheduled for eleven thirty, hence this rushed gathering. Remember, the man’s a bulldozer without wheels. Go. Get the bastard. He’ll be lucky if I don’t rip his effing head off.
Dave Earnshaw was a damned good copper.’

Eddie Barnes swallowed and hoped his eyes weren’t red. He took over the job of his superior, allocating officers to certain sites along Lime Street. ‘Ideally, we want both of them,
but Shuttleworth is the priority.’ He allocated three cars to six officers. ‘The rest of you are foot soldiers. Pick up bags and cases from the dressing-up box. We don’t want to
waste overtime money, so make tonight count.’ He blinked. ‘For Dave. Make it count for Dave.’

While Bert Heslop sat in his Mini in a side street facing College Row, Andrew Martindale left the house and walked down to the chip shop on the next block. Fortunately, Laura
was not in the serving area. He spoke to Barry Bramwell. ‘Where is she?’ The words emerged in a whisper.

‘Upstairs checking on the kids,’ was the reply.

‘I’ll be bringing her back here,’ Andy said. ‘No time for details, but we’ll come down to the rear of the shop. Is that all right?’

‘Er . . . yes. What’s happening?’

‘Too complicated, Barry. I’ll tell you another time.’

Laura appeared in the doorway. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ the men said simultaneously.

She eyed them with suspicion. There was an atmosphere, and they were lying. ‘I know you’re up to something,’ she stated evenly. Her gaze travelled over both guilty faces.

Barry laughed. ‘Typical woman, eh? As soon as a man opens his gob, he’s telling lies. We’d be better off dumb.’

Laura smiled and picked up a knife. ‘Line up,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll cut your tongues out.’

Andy smiled in spite of everything. He remembered the quiet little woman he had met. How she had changed. Here she stood brandishing a sharp knife, yet she wouldn’t have said boo to a
goose a couple of months ago. ‘Come with me,’ he told her. ‘I’ll sort her out,’ he promised Barry.

‘Will you, now?’ Laura tapped a toe on the tiled floor. ‘I’m the one with the knife, Andy.’

Barry shook his head in mock sadness. ‘She used to be such a lovely lady. Put the knife down before you do yourself a mischief.’

Once outside, Andy decided to wait until they were home before telling her the tale. After all, he didn’t want her breaking down out here in the glare of street lighting. Although she
asked repeatedly, he refused to discuss Neil Carson and Bert Heslop until they were indoors.

‘Well?’ she asked as soon as they entered the living room.

‘Sit down,’ he suggested.

She sat.

‘Neil has been watching the house – this house. And a private detective has been watching Neil watching the house. In the professional opinion of the detective, your husband has
waited for the children to be out of the way before . . .’ He sighed heavily. ‘Laura, Neil may be trying to kill us. There’s the gold cross, and—’

‘He wouldn’t kill me,’ she insisted.

‘If he believes you’re about to inform on him, he very well might try to eliminate the pair of us. And here we sit, neatly packaged in one building, no children, just the two people
who could have him locked up.’

‘Move your car.’

‘No.’

‘No? Why not? Let’s drive off somewhere and—’

‘No,’ Andy repeated. ‘You will walk back with me down the rear alley to the Bramwells’ place. I shall take a circuitous route to Mr Heslop’s car. He and I will
watch and wait. There’s a telephone box near where he’s parked, so we can get the police and the fire service as and when necessary.’

Laura blinked. ‘The fire brigade?’

He nodded. ‘Mr Heslop says cowardly men resort to fire. If he broke in and killed us with a knife or a gun, he might leave evidence and he would risk resistance from us. Fire eliminates
everything. Now, we are safe for the moment, as people are still walking and driving past, but I shall go upstairs in a few minutes, close the curtains and switch on the bedroom lamp. Later, we can
put out the downstairs lights and leave by the back door.’

‘But I—’

‘But you will stay with the Bramwells – it’s all arranged.’

She leaned forward, elbows on knees, head in her hands. So this was what the two men had been plotting in the chip shop. A picture of Neil’s angry face entered her head; he had left this
house in a cold fury and had possibly remained in a similar frame of mind. She should have gone to the police, but the children might have been hurt. Nevertheless, it was her fault that things had
gone so far.

‘Laura?’

She raised her head. ‘All right. Do what needs to be done, while I must do as I’m told, I suppose.’

‘I’m sorry, my dear.’

She managed a tight smile. ‘None of this is your fault. I should have gone to the police station.’

‘Let them catch him red-handed after a 999 call.’

She rose to her feet. ‘We’ll be apart on our first night together.’

Andy laughed. ‘Do you have Irish ancestors?’

‘I do.’

‘Ah, well that explains everything. Come along, let’s get you away from here. With people still walking and driving out there, he’ll try nothing this side of midnight.’
He looked at her with love in his eyes. ‘As long as you’re safe, I’m happy.’ And he meant it.

The pills were in the kitchen.

It was clear that Thelma Wray must have decanted them into larger jars, containers big enough to take labels onto which she could write in huge script the purpose of each collection. There were
several types, including
Sleeping
,
Calming Down Mild
,
Calming Down Strong
, S
tomach
,
Fits
and
Painkillers
.

He chose the mild calming down jar, tipping out just one harmless-looking article that imitated common aspirin. Should he? Shouldn’t he? It wasn’t yet midnight, and he was still
tense and worried. This was just a gentle sedative, something to take the edge off. He needed to stop thinking about Dolly Pearson and Joseph Turton, wanted to calm down, relax, even to doze for an
hour or so.

After swallowing the pill, he fed the coal fire and waited for the medication to work. Warmth spread throughout his body, and he felt as if he were drifting on a cloud, carefree, almost happy.
He raised a hand and almost chuckled when it dropped back onto the arm of the chair. Never in his life had he felt so calm. No, that wasn’t true. He remembered the pre-med before his
tonsillectomy.

Drifting towards sleep, he smiled. After a few hours of good rest, he would go and do . . . he would go . . . do . . . what needed to be done.

*

Just before setting off for Lime Street, Eddie phoned Sister Helen Veronica. ‘Sorry to wake you, Nellie, but stop collecting furniture for the house – we may not
need it, so leave everything alone tomorrow unless I say different.’

‘Why?’ she asked sleepily.

‘Because with any luck, you two will be Smelly Nellie and Holy Mary again by Monday. Pray. Pray like billy-o.’

‘I will. God bless, Eddie.’

‘Thank you, Sister.’

He joined his men and set forth to do his duty. No, it was more than his duty; this was for Dave.

Belle suddenly sat up in bed.

Her husband stirred and opened his eyes. ‘Belle? What’s the matter?’

‘I don’t know,’ she breathed, the words almost sticking in her throat.

He switched on a lamp. ‘Is it the baby?’

She shook her head slowly. ‘No. It’s nothing to do with you and me – it’s something out there.’ She waved a hand towards the window. ‘I don’t even know
what I mean. Just a bad feeling; I have this bad feeling.’

‘Where?’

‘Everywhere. It’s in my head, my chest, my throat. I keep imagining I want to vomit, but it passes. And it’s not a headache or bellyache or toothache.’ She turned and
looked at the man she loved. ‘It’s probably to do with Eve and this bloke she’s got searching for the postman. Or it may be that I’m disturbed by how ill she looked.’
She plucked at the sheet. ‘The thing that woke me was a smell of burning. Black smoke everywhere, there was. I couldn’t see his face, but the fire was his fault.’

‘You couldn’t see his face?’

‘No. But I know who he was . . . who he is.’

‘Carson?’

‘Yes.’

Tom slid out of the bed. ‘Cup of Horlicks?’ he asked.

‘Yes, please.’

He left the bedroom.

Belle sat and hugged her knees. She hadn’t told him everything, hadn’t mentioned Eve’s voice in the dream. It was just a dream, after all. ‘It’s all over,’
Eve had said. ‘He’s done for, finished, on his way to hell.’

The woman in the bed shivered. Perhaps she should not have accepted that second piece of wedding cake. Ah well, the Horlicks might settle her down.

Neil Carson’s legs were like lead. He dragged himself up, looked at the clock and made a note of the time. It was only ten minutes to twelve; but it was almost Sunday,
the Lord’s day, a time for worship and prayer. He stilled. When had he last been to church? Psalm 118 invaded his head for a few seconds, and he whispered the words, his voice almost as
unsteady as his legs. ‘This is the day that the Lord hath made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.’

Be glad? That pill hadn’t lasted long, had it? Should he take another one? No, no – he needed to stay awake. Perhaps he should go now, wind the window down on the driver’s
side, let the cold air give him a boost. He would park in the side street across the way from College Row, watch the house, look out for their comings and goings. Meanwhile, this drug could leach
its way out of his system.

He stood, patted a pocket and smiled when he heard the reassuring rattle of matches in their box. Stumbling slightly on the stairs, he went to take a peep at the old man. Norman Wray was spark
out, mouth wide open, teeth in a jar by the bed. It was a good job that Thelma was deaf, because the old man’s snores imitated the London express pulling into Lime Street.

Right. Downstairs once more, he picked up the Wrays’ keys, his own house keys and those for the van. It was too early, but he needed to get out.

The fresh air hit him hard, making him sway like a man with eight pints in his belly. ‘It’ll be that damned pill,’ he muttered. The street was deserted. Good. Last orders would
have been served, since suburban public houses tended to stick to the old opening hours. He shivered, realizing how hot and stuffy the Wray house had been.

The van was two streets away, and Neil still felt rather shaky when he finally climbed into the driver’s seat. ‘Glad I didn’t take one of the strong tablets,’ he said
under his breath. Driving slowly, he made his way out of a maze of streets and onto the main road from Liverpool to its northern villages. ‘Plenty of time,’ he told himself as he neared
College Row. ‘I can rest down the side street and see what Laura’s up to with her old bloke.’ He had the petrol, the rags and a box of matches; he also had a slight headache which
was probably a side effect of that damned pill.

Lights flashed in his mirrors. Something was travelling close to him, much too close. He picked up speed, but he was too late, because the other vehicle seemed out of control.

And it just happened. One minute, he was hurrying along at about forty miles per hour, and the next he was shunted right across the road. Whatever had hit him was powerful enough to push him and
his van through a plate glass window. He hadn’t been looking often enough in the rear-view mirror – it was that medicine of Mr Wray’s, it had to be. He was a good driver, an
excellent driver, but his brain was out of order tonight.

Just before Neil lost consciousness, he caught a glimpse of the front end of a single-decker coach reflected in his twisted wing mirror. Then something sparked in the rear of the van, and the
can of petrol exploded. He was in the chip shop! Matt and Lucy were in the chip shop and . . . And he passed out.

A few pedestrians stopped walking, knowing full well that they couldn’t help. Flames entered the shop and burned furiously, possibly fed by cooking fat. Faces appeared at first floor
windows, but nothing could be done. Bramwell’s Chippy was on fire, and there were people trapped in the flat.