Johnny Swanson

by Eleanor Updale

  ‘Well, no, Johnny. That’s what I thought at first too. But that gentleman out there is a newspaper reporter, and he’s told me the police are sure that Dr Langford died last night.’

  Johnny thought back to the lights he had seen; then his mind started running on. ‘What did he die of? Where’s Mrs Langford? Was she there too?’

  Hutch silenced him. ‘Calm down, Johnny. I don’t know many details yet, but I think it’s right for me to tell you this. According to that reporter, the police think that Dr Langford was murdered.’

  ‘Murdered? How? Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. The detectives are still up at the house. But I thought that since you knew Dr Langford well, you should hear the news from me.’ Johnny was staring ahead. Hutch wasn’t sure whether he had taken everything in. ‘Would you like me to come home with you to tell your mother?’

  ‘She won’t be there. She’s working at the sanatorium at Emberley today, and she’s going to go straight on to her job at the pub tonight.’

  ‘She’ll probably hear about it there, poor woman. I’m so sorry. I know the doctor was very kind to you both.’

  Johnny was stunned. He could hear his blood pumping round his ears, and his arms and legs were tingling. He remembered that he was supposed to be doing his paper round. ‘I’d better go,’ he said, jumping up and strapping on the bag. ‘People will be waiting for their newspapers.’

  ‘Only go if you’re sure you’re all right,’ said Hutch. ‘But Johnny, I think it will be best if I do the round in the morning. There’s nothing in tonight’s paper, but this business is bound to be all over tomorrow’s. I wouldn’t want you to have to handle the … the details … if you see what I mean.’

  Johnny left with the newspapers, and Hutch went to talk to the reporter again. The news was already sweeping the town, and as Johnny passed from house to house, more people spoke to him than usual. Some even came to the door to take the paper from him rather than waiting for it to drop through the letter box. They were all disappointed that the discovery of Dr Langford’s body had come too late to get into print, but they gave Johnny titbits of gossip, and he passed on the rumours as he went. By the end of his round he knew a little more: there were four police cars and an undertaker’s van up at the house; the body still hadn’t been removed; and the neighbours were being questioned.

  Even though it meant breaking his promise again, Johnny couldn’t resist climbing the hill to see what was going on; but a constable was holding back a growing crowd, and it was too dark to see the Langfords’ house at all. So, since he’d finished his deliveries, he turned back towards the shop. He was overtaken by a bicycle racing downhill at speed. For a moment he thought it was Dr Langford, and he recalled those thrilling early morning lifts, perched on the crossbar. But it wasn’t Dr Langford. It was a policeman. That was when it hit him. The charge of shock and excitement that had carried him through the past half-hour drained away. It was replaced by a sad emptiness he had never known before. He would never see Dr Langford again. There had been a murder. Here. In Stambleton. And the victim was someone he knew.

  Chapter 20

  QUESTIONING

  When Johnny got to the bottom of the hill, the policeman’s bicycle was outside the shop. Hutch opened the door and let Johnny in. The reporter was leaning on the counter. The constable was standing stiffly, with his helmet under his arm.

  Hutch spoke first. ‘Johnny, the officer wants to have a word with you. Strictly speaking, your mother should be here, but I’ve explained that she’s at the sanatorium. They’ve sent a fast car for her, but I don’t think she’ll arrive for a while. Would you like me to stay with you while the policeman asks you some questions?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Johnny, taking off his bag. He turned to the officer. ‘Do you know who killed the doctor? Is Mrs Langford all right?’

  ‘I’m the one asking the questions, son,’ said the policeman. He coughed, and gestured towards the reporter. ‘Would you mind waiting elsewhere, sir?’ he said, and the reporter grumpily went out to sit in his car.

  Hutch bolted the door behind him. Then he brought out the high stool from behind the post office grille, and helped Johnny up to sit on it. The policeman put his helmet on the counter and took out his notebook.

  ‘Now then, Johnny,’ said the policeman, ‘I’m told you knew Dr Langford well?’

  ‘All my life,’ said Johnny. ‘And my mother is their cleaner.’

  ‘Yes, your mother. We’ll get to that.’

  Johnny wondered what he meant.

  ‘When were you last at Dr Langford’s house?’

  Johnny could feel himself blushing with guilt. ‘Last night,’ he said, looking at his shoes. Hutch let out a sigh. Johnny hoped he wouldn’t tell the policeman that he’d forbidden him to go there.

  ‘Were you there with your mother?’ asked the officer.

  ‘No. I was on my own. I was on my way home from the shop.’

  ‘What time was this?

  ‘About half past five. I thought I saw a light inside.’

  ‘A light? Where?’

  ‘Upstairs at first, just for a moment. And then downstairs, I think. I went to look, but there was nobody there.’

  ‘You’re sure of that? You didn’t see or hear anything else?’

  ‘It was raining, and windy. I might have heard a car.’

  ‘You might have heard a car. A big car? A small car?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Johnny. ‘It was just a noise really. I’m not even sure it was a car.’

  ‘And where was your mother while you were at the Langfords’ house?’

  ‘At home. She was already there when I got back.’

  ‘And you both stayed at home for the rest of the evening?’

  ‘Yes. Well, I did. She went out.’

  ‘Where did she go?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  The policeman looked up from his notebook. ‘You don’t know? She didn’t tell you? She doesn’t tell you where she is when she goes out?’

  ‘Yes, she does usually. But last night was different. I don’t think she knew where she was going. She was angry. We’d had a row.’

  ‘A row. What about?’

  Johnny didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t explain all about Auntie Ada, especially with Hutch sitting there listening. But he knew he should tell the truth, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. ‘It was about money. And I was cross because she was going to work at the sanatorium.’

  ‘And why were you cross about that?’

  ‘Because she might catch a disease there. But she said she had to go, because we need the money now that she’s not getting paid by the Langfords.’

  The officer licked his pencil and started writing again. ‘So the Langfords had sacked her?’

  ‘Oh no. But they went away. They’ve been gone for about a month. But they didn’t say they were going, and Mum hadn’t been paid when they left.’

  ‘And she was angry about that?’

  ‘Well, a bit. But not just angry. Worried. We both were. And she needed her basket and her apron. She’d left them at the Langfords’ house, you see.’

  ‘An apron, you say. What was it like?’

  ‘Pink. And embroidered with flowers. She made it herself.’

  The policeman paused to make some more notes, then he asked, ‘And what time did your mother go out last night?’

  ‘I don’t know. It might have been about seven o’clock, I suppose.’

  ‘And she was angry when she left?’

  ‘Yes. Very angry.’

  ‘And what time did she come back?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I tried to stay awake, but I’d fallen asleep.’

  ‘So it was late?’

  ‘It must have been. I was lying there for ages, till long after the wind died down. I know I’d heard the clock strike ten.’

  ‘And this morning? Did she tell you where she’d been?’

  ‘No. I didn’t see her. She had to leave early for her
new job.’

  They were distracted by the bell of a police car speeding along the High Street.

  ‘That will be them bringing your mother here now,’ said Hutch. ‘We’ll soon get all this cleared up.’

  But the car sped past the shop and onwards up the hill. The reporter started the engine of his own car and followed it.

  Johnny turned to the policeman. ‘Was my mum in that car?’

  ‘Probably,’ said the policeman. ‘I think the detectives up at the doctor’s house want to speak to her.’ He turned to Hutch. ‘This is a serious business, Mr Hutchinson. The investigation may take some time. We’ll have to make arrangements for this young chap to be cared for.’

  Johnny was horrified at the thought of being taken away, but Hutch told the officer that wouldn’t be necessary.

  ‘The lad has an aunt at home,’ he said. ‘I’m sure she’ll keep an eye on him.’

  Johnny knew he should speak now. He should tell Hutch that he’d never had an auntie. But then he would have to explain about the postal orders and the adverts, and he couldn’t do that in front of a policeman. And if the officer knew there was no one at home, Johnny might be sent away to be looked after by strangers until Winnie got back. His mouth was dry, his chest was heaving with every breath. He jumped down from the stool and raced for the door. ‘I want to see my mother,’ he cried, tugging on the handle. It was no use: the door was locked. ‘Can’t I go where she is?’

  ‘No,’ said the policeman firmly. ‘That’s out of the question.’

  Hutch could see that Johnny was getting distressed. He put his arm round him and moved him back into the middle of the shop. ‘I’ll give you the makings of supper for you and your Auntie Ada,’ he said. ‘It’s best that you wait at home for your mother to come back. Have you finished with Johnny, Officer?’

  ‘For now, yes,’ said the policeman. ‘But think hard, Johnny, and see if you can remember anything else about last night. If you do, tell Mr Hutchinson here, and he can phone us at the police station or up at the Langfords’ house. And don’t talk to anyone else, Johnny – especially that reporter I saw here before. Make sure any information comes straight to us.’

  Hutch saw the policeman out, then did as he had promised, gathering together the ingredients to make supper for two. Johnny started the speech he had memorized at school, relieved at last to have the chance to explain what he had done: how there was no Auntie Ada, and how he would be alone at home without his mother. ‘Hutch,’ he began, ‘Hutch, there’s something I’ve got to tell you—’

  A car zipped to a halt outside. It was the reporter, back again from the crime scene. He battered on the door, asking to be let in to use the phone. Johnny’s confession would have to wait.

  Hutch and Johnny listened in as the reporter rang his news desk. He was twitching with excitement, holding the receiver between his shoulder and ear as he tried to light a cigarette while jabbering to his editor. Clearly some of the policemen had broken their own rule about not talking to the press. ‘It’s better than I thought,’ the reporter panted down the phone. ‘There may be two victims. They’ve got a suspect who had a motive for killing both the Langfords. They’re ransacking the house, and they’re going to search the garden in the morning. The suspect’s denying everything, and refusing to say where the second body’s hidden, but they’re going to question her all night … What? Yes, that’s right: her. The suspect is a woman.’

  At that moment Johnny realized why the policeman had been asking him so many questions. His mother was in very deep trouble indeed.

  Chapter 21

  THE SUSPECT

  It was clear the reporter had no idea that Johnny was the suspect’s son. Before Hutch could steer Johnny out of earshot, the man rattled out his story for the next morning’s paper to the person on the other end of the phone.

  ‘OK. If you’re ready, I’ll start dictating,’ he said. ‘It’ll need a good headline: BARMAID QUIZZED IN BLOODY DOUBLE MURDER, or something like that.’ He took a drag of his cigarette and began, occasionally consulting scribbled notes, but obviously composing his article as he went along:

  ‘Mystery surrounds the discovery, in Stambleton yesterday, of the corpse of retired doctor Giles Langford. At first light today police begin the grim search of the Langfords’ garden for the remains of his wife, Marie, feared to be the second victim of a savage double killing.’

  He paused to let the typist catch up.

  ‘Dr Langford was found in a pool of blood yesterday afternoon, after a neighbour observed a broken window on the first floor of his house. She suspected a burglary, but when police arrived at the scene they found that the hole in the window was too small and too high to climb through, and that there was no sign of forced entry elsewhere. They believe that the Langfords may have let their killer into the house. Both front and back doors were locked from the outside, suggesting that the murderer might be someone, such as a domestic servant, who had access to a key. A barmaid, who was once the Langfords’ cleaner, was being questioned by police last night.’

  Johnny lurched towards the phone box, trying to interrupt the man; to say that Winnie wasn’t really a barmaid and had never been given keys to the Langfords’. If she had, she would have gone inside weeks ago to see if everything was all right. But Hutch grabbed hold of Johnny, stopped him speaking and pulled him into the stockroom as the reporter flipped to another page of his notebook and continued:

  ‘Giles Langford (seventy-two) was well respected in the area for his work during the tuberculosis outbreak in 1916. Trained at St Bartholomew’s Hospital in London, and Lille University in France, he …’

  Hutch closed the door. ‘You mustn’t talk to that man,’ he whispered. ‘Remember what the officer said.’ He handed Johnny the bag of food. ‘Now, you get home to your auntie. I’ll stay here to close up.’

  ‘Hutch …’ said Johnny, thinking that he really should say that there was no aunt, and that he would be going back to an empty house. ‘Hutch …’

  But Hutch shooed him out of the back door. ‘Go now, Johnny, before he gets off the phone. You don’t want him asking you any questions.’

  So Johnny ran home, and sat at the table with food enough for two but absolutely no appetite at all. There was nothing unusual about him being alone – these days Winnie was often out working in the evenings – but Johnny felt her absence more than ever. His mind raced over what he had heard. He tried desperately to persuade himself that the evidence didn’t point towards his mother, but he could see that it might. And yet never, not even for a second, did he believe that Winnie was guilty of the crime. When he closed his eyes, he imagined Dr Langford on the floor surrounded by blood. He was worried about Mrs Langford too. Was she lying somewhere in the garden? Poor Mrs Langford. Had she already been there when he went up to the house in the storm? Had he walked past her body? Had he seen the murderer silhouetted against the light?

  He went upstairs to his room. He needed something to do, to take his mind off the horrors up on the hill and the image of his mother in a cell. Usually, he’d have had a clutch of replies to PO Box 9 to deal with, but Hutch hadn’t given him any that night. He understood now why Winnie fell to cleaning and sorting when she was worried. He tidied up his few possessions and made his bed. He unpacked his satchel. He’d already done his homework (during a History lesson) to give himself time to write out some new adverts at home. On any other night, that would have filled the hours till bed time. But he couldn’t do it now. He couldn’t think up silly jokes to trick people out of money. Because it was all his fault. Johnny could see that. If he hadn’t invented Auntie Ada; if he hadn’t done the adverts; if he hadn’t lied, Winnie would never have stormed off that night, and none of this would be happening.

  He opened the door to his mother’s bedroom. These days he hardly ever went in there, but he remembered how he used to climb into bed with her when he was little, and how she would cuddle away his nightmares and kiss away his fears. The room was perfectly
tidy. There was nothing to do in there. Winnie’s nightdress was hanging on the bedstead. It still smelled of her. He spread it out on the bed and lay down alongside it. Then the tears came. He cried till he ached.

  And suddenly it was morning. Johnny was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, the pattern of Winnie’s bedspread was imprinted on his cheek, and it was time to get up.

  Chapter 22

  GUILTY

  He went to the shop even though Hutch had told him not to, but Hutch wouldn’t let him deliver the papers. While Hutch was out doing the round, Johnny read the copies kept on the counter for sale. Most of them had brief versions of the story that added nothing to what he already knew. Several ended with a phrase he had seen in papers before. He’d always thought it rather comical, but today it had an ominous ring. A woman is helping the police with their enquiries. That was his mother they were talking about.

  He desperately wanted to see her: to tell her that he knew she was innocent, and to find out whether she needed anything. It wasn’t far to the police station. He was sure he could get there and back before Hutch had finished the paper round. He felt bad about leaving the shop unlocked, but he thought Hutch would understand.

  *

  Johnny had never been in the police station before. From time to time he’d seen people going in or out, but the doors always swung shut behind them. He’d imagined the scene beyond those doors: rows of cells, with frantic prisoners shaking at the iron bars, and fierce guards snarling, truncheons at the ready, making sure that no one escaped. So it was a bit of a disappointment to discover that the inside of the police station looked rather like the office at the Stambleton Echo. There was no sign of any criminals at all.

  Johnny found himself in a small room with a dark wooden counter. There was no one behind the desk, just a silver bell and a sign saying: RING FOR ATTENTION. Johnny rang the bell. Nothing happened. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to get into trouble for ringing it twice, but what if no one had heard it? He decided to wait, and sat down on a hard wooden bench, reading a poster about the penalties for riding a bicycle without lights.