Empty Vessels

by Marina Pascoe

  Frank Wilson looked upset. He lit another cigarette.

  ʻWhen Norman got older, the other kids used to take advantage of him. They used to make him steal from shops – even a collection box in a church once. They never gave him anything. He used to want to be in their gangs but they just used to laugh at him. He would always try to buy things for them – or steal things to give them, just to be in with them. I can tell you it used to really upset me. Anyway when Norman turned fourteen he left school. His parents had both died the year before and my mother took him in just until he could fend for himself, so to speak. I managed to get him a job in Mrs Williamsʼs tobacco shop – she owed me a favour and he was a very good worker. Of course, when he got his own money every week he used to spend it on daft comics and going to the pictures – he loved films. He was quite literally a simple boy, Mr Bartlett, and I shall miss him terribly.

  ‘Well, what about his older siblings?’

  ‘I think he lost touch with them – they were never really interested in him. I think the previous child must be getting on a bit now. Norman was born much later on.’

  ʻCan you tell us more about Ivy?ʼ Bartlett didnʼt tell Frank about the confession he had just heard from Norman before he died.

  Frank stood up and walked over to the window and looked out onto the street below.

  ‘I was very fond of Ivy Williams – in love with her I suppose you might say. Weʼd been knocking around together for a few months. I just felt sorry for her at the beginning but then I began to see the real Ivy. She was actually a very sweet girl. No one liked her – they always said mean things about her and she was really quite sad. Weʼd planned to go away together, start a new life. I didnʼt really have anything to keep me here and I was a bit lonely, if Iʼm honest. Anyway, you may know that Ivy had been asking the Hattons for money after having found out that one of them was her father?ʼ

  ʻYes, we know, go on,ʼ urged Bartlett.

  ʻWell, Iʼd been with them in France during the war and I suppose they thought theyʼd done me a favour. I was implicated in a murder and Algernon Hatton helped me through it. I didnʼt have anything to do with it anyway, but he convinced everyone that I didnʼt and luckily nothing more happened. Anyway, Hatton came to me, saying I owed him a favour and that he wanted Ivy got rid of – if I didnʼt do it they would drag up the whole murder case and everything, just when I was starting to make plans to expand my business and to get on in life for a change. She was starting to cost too much – mind you, it was the least they could do after the way they treated her mother and then put her in the workhouse to die. Well, on the night Ivy was killed, I arranged to see a slip of a girl called Ruby Pengelly – she was sweet on me and I thought that I could use her as an alibi for what I was about to do. Norman was very friendly with her – with all the Pengellys, in fact, and he saw her waiting for me. She was very upset because I didnʼt turn up. He later saw me with Ivy. He told me after what he did.’

  Frank sat down again.

  ʻDo you think I could have a glass of water?ʼ

  Boase fetched him one.

  ʻApparently, Norman saw me on the beach with Ivy. I knew I couldnʼt kill her. I had taken her there and then, all of a sudden, I couldnʼt believe what I had actually agreed to do. Naturally I didnʼt tell her about any of that but I told her I had just remembered that I was supposed to be somewhere else and that I couldnʼt stay. I arranged to meet her the next day and then I just ran off and left her. I didnʼt want to hang round in case the Hattons had someone watching me. Norman told me later that he had been following us and when he saw her alone on the beach he hit her on the head with a rock. His mother had always told him that prostitutes werenʼt nice women and that they broke up families. He hit her – to please Ruby Pengelly, can you believe? Then he couldnʼt stop. He didnʼt want anyone to recognise her.ʼ He was a strange young thing – very protective of the girls. He often followed them around, especially at night because he had some mad idea that they might be in danger. Sometimes he was just looking out for them, other times he could be quite wicked, well, mischievous; he’d actually follow a girl just to frighten her – he thought it was funny, they never did. Sometimes he’d call out their name or jump out at them from behind a bush. There was never any harm intended, I know. Norman was the most likeable kid I ever knew.’

  Ah, that explains a lot, Bartlett thought. I’ll let young Norma know she wasn’t imagining things.

  ʻDo you believe his story, Frank?ʼ Bartlett asked.

  ʻYes, Iʼm afraid I do, you see, I know itʼs true. I had got up onto the cliff path after I left Ivy and then I thought that I should go back for her. I felt I shouldnʼt leave her alone like that. When I got back Norman was still standing there with the rock in his hand, paralysed with fear. I looked down and saw Ivy and I just didnʼt know what to do – I could see she was dead. I didnʼt know whether to give him the pasting of his life or to help him. I donʼt mind saying, I could have killed him with my bare hands there and then, but then I looked at the state he was in and I just knew I had to sort it out for him. As much as I loved Ivy, Norman was like flesh and blood to me and I had to stand by him. He stayed with me on and off, on board the St Piran. I kept low because I knew I was your prime suspect. Norman kept me stocked up with food and drink and visited me after dark. I had planned to get away – maybe take Norman with me.ʼ

  Bartlett looked at Frank Wilson. So, all along he had been a good person, just helping out a simple kid. He didnʼt mention the toy gun and neither did Boase. There was no point now, it would only make Frank feel worse than he already did – if that was possible.

  ʻI think you should go and get some rest now, Frank. Itʼs been a long night for all of us and a big shock for you.ʼ

  ʻWhat about the rest of it, sir? The blackmailing and all of that business with the Hattons?ʼ

  Bartlett let out a long sigh.

  ʻWell, you were rather stupid there, if you donʼt mind my saying so – but, I havenʼt got the stamina or the inclination to bother with that just at the moment.ʼ

  Frank picked up his hat and coat. He shook Bartlettʼs hand and the older man patted him on the shoulder.

  ʻJust one thing, Frank – why didnʼt you pick up that money from the cemetery?ʼ

  ʻI got there, saw one of your men and ran as fast as I could in the other direction. It wasnʼt worth five hundred quid to get caught. I knew you wouldnʼt believe my story, and, if wasnʼt for poor old Norman, I donʼt suppose you would now – Iʼm guessing he confessed to you? Goodbye, Inspector, goodbye Boase.ʼ

  Boase sat down in his chair.

  ʻTrust Penhaligon to get seen.ʼ

  Constable Ernest Penhaligon knocked at the door of the Pengellyʼs flat in Killigrew Street. It was getting late and he was on his way home. The door was opened by Ruby.

  ʻHello, Ernie. What you doinʼ ʼere?ʼ

  ʻIʼm afraid Iʼve got some bad news – can I come in?ʼ

  Ruby led the way into the parlour. It was about a quarter to ten and Bill and Jack had already gone to bed in preparation for their long day ahead. Rose was sitting in her armchair.

  ʻMum, itʼs Ernie Penhaligon.ʼ

  Rose got up from her chair.

  ʻHello, Ernie, what brings you here at this time of night – evʼrything all right?ʼ

  ʻNo, Iʼm afraid itʼs not. I thought you should know that Norman Richards died this morning at the hospital.ʼ

  Rose slumped down into the chair and Ruby ran to her.

  ʻYou all right, Ma?ʼ Sheʼs got a bad ʼeart, she donʼt need a shock like this.ʼ

  ʻIʼm all right, Ruby. I canʼt believe it, that poor boy – dead? We only saw ʼim a couple of days ago. What ʼappened Ernie?ʼ

  ‘ʼE ʼad an accident and was knocked unconscious; he came round briefly but apparently it was all too much for ʼim. I thought you ought to know.ʼ

  ʻThanks, Ernie,ʼ said Ruby, ʻIʼll show you out. I canʼt believe this – does Kitty know?ʼ

  ʻI donʼt think so, Rube. I onl
y came to tell you since I was cominʼ by your front door.ʼ

  ʻE was very friendly with my sister – sheʼll be so upset. Iʼll go anʼ see ʼer tomorrow, I know sheʼs ʼavinʼ a few days off. Goodnight, Ernie.ʼ

  ʻNight, Rube.ʼ

  Norman Richardsʼs funeral took place on the nineteenth of March at the Falmouth Parish Church. Frank had paid for it and, to any onlooker, it seemed that no expense had been spared. It was a sunny spring day and, after the service, the funeral cortège made its way to the cemetery at Swanpool. Norman would have been surprised at how many friends he actually had. They stood in the sunshine around the newly dug grave. They were all there. George Bartlett, Archie Boase, Frank Wilson, the Pengellys, the Rashleighs, Mrs Williams sobbing her heart out, Gloria Hesketh, Mabel Roberts and the Berrymans. There were so many flowers too. Norman would have been pleased that all these people cared so much.

  As the mourners left the cemetery for the Seven Stars where Frank had paid for a magnificent wake, Bartlett walked over to Gloria Hesketh. She was putting flowers on Ivyʼs grave.

  ʻYou all right, Gloria?ʼ

  ʻYes, thank you, Iʼm fine. I wish Iʼd known her. I should have made the effort sooner; she didnʼt even know I existed.ʼ

  ʻYou know that your father has been asking to see you?ʼ

  ʻYes, Inspector, I do, but Iʼve decided I donʼt want to see him – is that too awful of me? It would bring everything back – Ivy, my mother, all of it.ʼ

  ʻItʼs entirely up to you, a decision only you can make. No one will think any less of you. What will you do next?ʼ

  ʻI suppose I shall go back to London now. I havenʼt really got much else to do here.ʼ

  Bartlett saw Frank Wilson waiting by one of the cars at the top of the cemetery.

  ʻAre you quite sure thereʼs nothing here for you?ʼ he nodded in Frankʼs direction. ʻGo on, heʼs waiting for you.ʼ

  Gloria ran quickly to the car and Frank kissed her on the cheek. Bartlett smiled. As the couple stood talking by the car Bartlett nudged Boase with his elbow. They both looked up the road. Coming down Swanpool Hill was an enormous car, chauffeur-driven. It stopped by the cemetery gates. The chauffeur got out and opened the door behind his. He leaned forward to help the passenger out. It was Lady Cordelia Hatton. She stood in the sunlight looking around her for a moment, then she spotted Gloria with Frank. She walked over to where they were both standing.

  ʻHello, my dear, you must be Gloria Hesketh. Iʼm Cordelia Hatton – your grandmother.ʼ

  Frank already knew who this was. He took a step closer to Gloria.

  ʻI hope you wonʼt tell me to go away, although I wouldnʼt blame you if you did. I just wanted to let you know that youʼre the only family I have left now and Iʼd very much like to keep in touch with you – you and your young man, that is.ʼ She looked at Frank and he felt sorry for her. It wasnʼt her fault that her two sons had turned out the way they had. Now she had nothing left. Gloria leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

  ʻIʼd be very happy to keep in touch with you, very happy indeed.ʼ

  Bartlett and Boase made their way up the hill and walked to the Seven Stars on the Moor to have a drink for Norman Richards. They were enjoying the spring sunshine. Within the hour they had returned to the police station. Bartlett thought heʼd go home early tonight, Topper would enjoy a walk along the cliffs. Yes, heʼd ask Boase if heʼd like to come over and see Irene too. No doubt tomorrow would bring something new for them to worry about – it always did.

  Other titles in the

  Bartlett and Boase series

  For more information about Marina Pascoe

  and other Accent Press titles

  please visit

  www.accentpress.co.uk

  Published by Accent Press Ltd 2014

  ISBN 9781783754823

  Copyright © Marina Pascoe 2014

  The right of Marina Pascoe to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN