by Anne Crosse
“Would you like a cup?” James said, and pushed one of the cups towards Brigit.
“No, thanks,” Brigit replied.
“Shall I pour out the tea?” the young woman asked.
Brigit dismissed the woman with a wave of her hand and said, “I’ll do it.”
Robert picked up one of the biscuits and took a bite out of it. It was thick and wholesome, homemade, he realized.
James noticed how unsteady Brigit’s hand was as she poured out the tea. He could see she was nervous.
“Milk and sugar?” Brigit asked.
“We will sort that out ourselves,” James said.
“We are investigating the murders of Dick and Pat Dillon.” Robert made the formal announcement.
“He made a right idiot out of me,” Brigit snapped.
“You could say he’s got his comeuppance then, couldn’t you? So, that must make you happy,” Robert said.
“He made a right idiot out of me,” Brigit said, repeating her comment.
“So you’ve said,” Robert remarked.
“I have to keep convincing myself that that’s what he’s done. Because, one minute I hate him and the next minute I love him.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Robert said.
Brigit wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I am so glad he is dead. I really am delighted,” she said.
“So, who would, apart from yourself, in your own words, be glad he is dead? How about your uncle? Could he have had anything to do with Dick Dillon’s untimely demise?” Robert asked.
“My uncle wouldn’t harm a fly. I would, though. I sure as hell would if given half a chance.”
“I don’t think a pretty young woman like you would be capable of doing anything bad to anybody, no matter how awful they were to you,” Robert said.
“I’d harm a fly, though; dirty little buggers pitching on your food and you don’t know where they’ve been,” Brigit said jokingly.
“Tell us about Sundays Well,” Robert said, smiling.
“That bloody place. I suppose you could say that’s where my child was conceived. You could say it because it’s the truth.”
“Is that right?” Robert said.
“I should hate it, but I don’t.”
“Memories are always there to haunt you, aren’t they? But maybe you might like to tell us more, all in the strictest of confidence, of course,” Robert said.
“I used to have to feel my way along the edge of a rocky wall until I came to a hidden recess. I would have to crouch down to make my way inside a small cave which Dick had discovered when he was a young lad, that’s what he told me, anyway. He seemed quite proud of the secret place that he and his brother frequented for years. They went there to smoke and read dirty magazines, to talk about the fairer sex, and sex. Talk about it was all they did, though, but he was hardly going to admit that to me, was he? The vagabond Dick.”
“So, then the venue changed course for the brothers?”
“Yes, it became the place for just me and him. Pat had to be put right out of the equation.”
“So, you and Dick had sex there?” Robert said.
“That’s a bit harsh,” Brigit replied.
“Sorry, I am inclined to be a bit heavy-handed,” Robert said. “Let me rephrase my question, you and Dick got to know one another better out there, isn’t that right, Brigit?”
“When we met in the cave the first time, I was surprised he didn’t have Pat trailing after him, considering they were joined at the hip. There is a name for those who are conjoined. I read an article about it while I was waiting for my turn at the hairdresser’s. Conjoined twins, only Dick and Pat weren’t conjoined technically, that is.”
Brigit could see it all in her mind’s eye. Dick had opened a new packet of cigarettes and offered her one that first time. She’d have been a fool if she didn’t realize he was going all out to impress her.
After smoking a cigarette and a bit of small talk, the real game began in earnest. Dick did some fumbling. He put one hand down her front and the other between her legs. He was, as the girls used to say in school, like an octopus, or the other favourite description of theirs was: he was all over her like a bad rash.
It didn’t take her long to figure out why Dick was without his shadow, and she couldn’t help wondering how he’d actually bribed his brother to make himself scarce in order to carry out his big seduction plan.
It became a habit, meeting in the cave, and she gladly went along with it. But then, after a while, doubt began to set in, and she knew she should challenge him about all this hiding. It was true they had to have their special time in the cave because, where else could they go? But this business of telling nobody about their relationship didn’t sit well with her.
Dick said it was better meeting in secret, because it made it far more exciting. Like forbidden fruit, he’d said. Wouldn’t she agree? He’d keep asking until she’d nod her head.
Was he ashamed of her? Was that the real reason for the secrecy? She was only a barmaid. Was that it? Did he think he was better than her because he worked in Kelly’s Cider Bottling Company? It wasn’t as if he had a great position there; all he did was fetch out crates of cider for customers and write a docket. That was the sum total of his job. So, did he think writing dockets made him an office clerk, for God’s sake, or an accountant even, for that matter?
There were times when she could knock his block off, especially after the cold ground had frozen the arse off her. Wouldn’t you think he’d take off his coat and put it under her for protection? Oh no, Dick was a selfish prick and never in a million years would he think of acting the gentleman.
Robert broke in on her thoughts. “We are trying to establish if the boys were killed out in Sundays Well,” he said.
“What difference does it make where they were killed?” Brigit said.
“Does your uncle possess a gun, Brigit?” Robert asked.
“He has a rifle. He kills rabbits with it. He used to try and make me eat the poor misfortunates. He said they tasted just like chicken, but I couldn’t bear the thought of eating a little bunny.”
“Seeing you knew the Dillons so well, who would you say could hate them so much that they went and killed them?” Robert asked.
“That young one’s father,” she replied.
James knew exactly who Brigit was alluding to, but he kept quiet. Best not to let Robert know he was ahead of the game, because Robert would only think he was trying to upstage him.
“What young one?” Robert asked.
“Marie McGrath.”
“Yes, of course.”
“You know her?”
“We both know her,” James blurted out.
Robert shot him a look.
“Are you going to tell me not to leave the country, and hand over my passport? Not that I could do that, because I haven’t one,” Brigit said, and laughed.
“Here’s my card, and if you can think of anything at all that might help us in our enquiries, we would be most grateful,” Robert said.
“And have you got a card?” Brigit asked, looking straight into James’s face.
James wanted to admit he didn’t have a card because he was only the helper after all. According to his uncle, he was a babysitter, and if Robert knew that, he would go absolutely mad.
“Do think about it, won’t you, Brigit? You surely wouldn’t want the killer of your child’s father to escape scot-free,” Robert said.
“You haven’t touched your tea,” Brigit said.
“I prefer coffee, but the biscuits were very nice, though,” Robert admitted.
CHAPTER 15
“James, how are you?”
James looked into Mark’s face.
“You still work at Mary I’s?” James asked.
The night James first saw Mark, he was sitting on a high stool at the counter in the pub with Katie Manning. They were both nurses at Mary I’s nursing home.
Please, don’t ask me about Kati
e, James prayed inwardly.
“So how is Katie?” Mark asked.
The truth, if James was to admit it, was that he didn’t know how Katie was. Her phone calls had stopped in the last few months, and all he got now was the odd text. Just touching base, she’d say. Was that all he was now, a base?
“Anything new in Mary I’s?” James said, changing the subject.
“You know yourself, James, all the same poor lost souls we always had lying in their beds with the clock ticking. We got a new patient a few weeks ago, though. A woman who lived on the main street. She got kicked out of her house because it got condemned.”
“I heard about that, not about that woman exactly, but the kicking out of the tenants. A chap called Mossie Harrington got kicked out for the same reason. He works for The Crier, so at least he escaped Mary I’s, not that I’m saying there’s anything wrong with the place,” James said.
“Anyway, this woman I am talking about lived beside him, as it happens. I feel so sorry for her because she’s quite sprightly. But she will go downhill. Being stuck in confinement sucks the life out of you. Take some people out of their environment, and it’s a condemned to death job,” Mark said.
“Was there no one to come to her aid? Did the council not offer to give her shelter?”
“That’s a laugh. Now here’s the thing, she has a daughter, but her daughter has her own agenda. She is suing the council on behalf of her mother, but that’s a load of rubbish. She was probably paid off to persuade her mother to leave,” Mark replied.
“By whom?” James asked, intrigued.
“Well, this old lady, my patient, told me something very interesting. Seeing you are a policeman, I feel I have an obligation to tell you.”
James smiled at that. He wasn’t really a policeman, just a work experience fellow. Though that job description had changed, according to his uncle, he was tagging along with Robert Carroll because the man needed guidance. Guidance – that was a good one. All the same, he felt very proud he had been called upon to participate in this investigation of the bodies in the well.
“She said she heard Martin Hayes, he’s the local builder, and John Hanton, the local counsellor, arguing outside her window the day before the council told her that her house was condemned.”
“Did she say what the argument was about?” James asked.
“She said Hayes was adamant the houses were sound, and Hanton reminded him that he could earn a nice sum of money if he played along.”
“Does it ever end, this corruption?” James said.
“Chancers will always be around,” Mark replied.
Mark’s phone bleeped in his pocket. After reading the message, he told James he had to go.
James hurried up the street to the station, he was a few minutes late, but what about it. He had, after all, been furnished with information which could prove very useful in the case.
The desk sergeant greeted James and waved a note in the air when he arrived at the station.
“You may as well take this, seeing the boss is not here.” The sergeant thrust the note into James’s hand.
James made his way to the incident room and sat down. Dare he take a peek at the note? he wondered.
Doctor Morris had the most awful handwriting, but he could just about make it out. The gist of the thing was that there was more news about the bullets that the good doctor had found embedded in the two boys’ skulls.
He now knew the type of gun that had been used in the situation. Apparently, he had called upon the expertise of a friend who knew everything there was to know about guns.
The bullets would have been fired from a small gun, as he had previously said, but now he had it on authority that the gun in question, according to this gun enthusiast friend, was a derringer.
James refolded the note and placed it on the desk where Robert usually sat, and then went back to his side of the desk, seated himself and folded his arms.
It was so quiet down here, peaceful in fact, he thought. He would savour the calm until Robert arrived because he knew that, as soon as the man read the note, he would kick off big time.
Doctor Morris would once again get a right old ear bashing in his absence. That was so unfair, really, because as far as James was concerned, the doctor was doing a really great job. But try telling that to Robert. No, he would never try telling the man anything. Just go with the flow, best way, really.
CHAPTER 16
James averted his eyes from the glass case. How anyone would want a stuffed fox in their sitting room was a mystery to him. Taxidermists had a lot to answer for. How they could do that kind of task was beyond him. It was cruelty to animals; alright, so they were dead, but that was no excuse. Imagine if they started doing that to human beings, there would be public outrage.
“That is your property, is it not?” Robert asked.
Miss Kneeshaw barely glanced at the contents in the cardboard box.
“I expect it is,” she replied.
“The money, is that yours too?” James intervened.
“No, the money is not mine.”
“We will have to hold on to it so,” Robert said.
James, taking the hint, removed the money and stuffed it in his pocket.
“Can you do me a favour?” Miss Kneeshaw said, addressing James.
“Of course,” James answered.
“Could you please take the box out to the shop. You will see a drawer under the counter; if you could just tip the stuff into it, I would be grateful. You might tear up the box, if you don’t mind. I have a recycling bin in the corner.”
James picked up the box and made for the shop. Older people were so much better at recycling than the younger generation. Now, where had he heard that? he wondered as he carried out the instructions.
“I am wondering why you haven’t asked us where we located your property, Miss Kneeshaw,” Robert said.
“The Dillons stole it,” Miss Kneeshaw replied.
“So, you knew?” Robert said.
“Does Mrs Dillon know you found it? I presume it was hidden in the house somewhere,” Miss Kneeshaw asked.
“No, she doesn’t know we found it. It was in Dick’s bedroom as it happens, but we managed to keep it from her. At least I think we did.”
“She didn’t know what those two scallywags were up to half the time,” Miss Kneeshaw said.
“You are very fond of her, aren’t you? And you wouldn’t want to hurt her,” Robert said.
“She has the key to this place, that’s how they got in. They took it without her knowing, sneaky brats.”
“Would I be right in thinking you didn’t press charges against them because you didn’t want to upset her?” Robert asked.
“I feel so sorry for the woman. She had a hard life with her two sons, and that father of theirs. He was a drunkard. A selfish man who didn’t appreciate the woman who made so many sacrifices.”
“Have you always lived here?” Robert was asking Miss Kneeshaw when James returned. She looked a bit annoyed, Robert had obviously managed to get on the wrong side of her. What insensitive thing had he said to her? There were times when Robert sounded a bit too pushy when he was interviewing people, which didn’t go down well with the misfortunate at the other end.
“All done and dusted,” James said.
Miss Kneeshaw acknowledged James’s presence by nodding at him, and then she turned her attention back to Robert. Looking him square in the face, she said: “Well, now I reckon you know all there is to know about me. Someone will have queued up to inform you about the German Jew who came riding into town with her father to take over the place.”
She was right about that. The desk sergeant had imparted all he knew about Miss Kneeshaw. He hadn’t referred to her status, though. In fact, he was very much in praise of her. He said she was an expert at fixing watches and clocks, and that her many customers were grateful for her service at such a low cost. She was an unsung hero as far as they were concerned.
�
�My father got out of Germany on time, unlike many others. I owe my life to his bravery,” Miss Kneeshaw said, with a sad smile.
“You must have only been a child when you came here, but you adapted, like children always do,” Robert remarked.
“My mother refused to come with us, and she ended up in the gas chambers for her folly.”
“That must have been heart-breaking for your father, and for you too, I would imagine,” James said.
“It was hard for my father leaving her behind. She was always stubborn, he used to say when I asked him about her. He didn’t tell me about the way she died until years later. You know, sometimes he used to blame himself for not forcing her to come with us, but he always finished up by saying, sometimes you have to take drastic measures, even if it hurts someone, to survive.”
“We will take our leave,” Robert said as he stood up.
“Nice to have met you both,” Miss Kneeshaw said.
“Likewise,” Robert replied.
James felt they should stay on and let the woman talk. He got the impression she was in need of a listening ear. She had worked herself up to the point of disclosing some personal information, which must have been a huge thing for her, and obviously she had more to give.
Robert was out of the door like a shot, James noticed. There were times when he wondered if the man had any heart at all.
“Nice to have met you,” James said.
“He’s a sad man, isn’t he, that boss of yours,” Miss Kneeshaw said.
“I’ll come and visit you sometime, if you like,” James offered.
“That would be nice.”
James had to run up the street to catch up with Robert.
“Managed to tear yourself away, did you?” Robert said.
James decided this was one of those times when it was best to remain silent. No comment should apply.
“I couldn’t be listening to that dribble,” Robert said.
No comment, James thought.
CHAPTER 17
“You look really nice, Lilly,” James said, smiling.