The Bells of Scotland Road

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘Oh, there’s a sin to it, all right,’ Flash replied quietly. ‘Just about the biggest sin going.’

  A feeling of unease visited Sam’s stomach. He had known Flash for years. Flash was not one for getting himself worked up over nothing. ‘You’re making a big mystery out of this,’ he said. ‘Open the bloody thing.’

  ‘I’d rather you did. I’ve been carrying it round for ages, ever since I found it. Course, they asked questions down the police station, but I kept a lid on this. I mean, it’s not normal, is it? You can’t walk into the copshop and show them something like this. Where would it all have ended?’

  Sam strode to the table and ripped open the paper bag. A length of green silk tumbled out. ‘Where?’ he asked, the word emerging strangled from his parched throat. He coughed. ‘You’d better tell me all about this, Flash. Where did you get it?’

  ‘I picked it up next to little Maureen Costigan. It’s been stretched to buggery, Sam. I reckon it was used by whoever attacked her. That man tried to kill Maureen with a priest’s stole.’

  In that moment, Sam’s world stopped moving. He heard the ticking of a clock, the rattle of a tram, some hissing from the fire when pockets of air freed themselves from within the coals. But all these sounds seemed to be coming from a different place, from another dimension.

  ‘Sam?’

  No, no. None of it was true. Anthony had exaggerated all his life, had blamed Liam for the least thing. And for the bigger things, too. Sam had stood by a hospital bed and watched the almost drowned Anthony coming back to life. He had consulted dentists about Anthony’s broken teeth, had visited doctors while limbs had been set. Anthony had been a clumsy child. Anthony had always blamed Liam.

  ‘Sam?’

  The shopkeeper swivelled and looked at the storeroom. Liam had sworn repeatedly that his twin brother had locked himself in there before pushing the key under the door. Broken toys, broken friendships, Anthony silent and unsmiling, Liam grinning covertly in a corner. ‘He’s a priest,’ said Sam now.

  ‘What?’ Flash was beginning to worry. Sam Bell looked ill and pale.

  The stole was Liam’s. It came from a full set of vestments that had been stitched by some retired Augustinian sisters in the city convent. The crosses on the garments were ornate and unusual, had been crafted lovingly in celebration of the new priest’s ordination.

  ‘I’ll leave it with you,’ mumbled Flash. He rose to leave.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Sam. ‘Say nothing. I want you to swear that no matter what happens, you’ll tell nobody about this stole.’

  Flash looked hurt. ‘You know me better than that,’ he said. ‘I’ll say nothing to nobody.’

  ‘Swear,’ insisted Sam.

  ‘I swear, all right? I swear on my own life that I’ll never breathe a word.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Sam Bell lowered himself into a dining chair. He listened while Charlie Costigan and Flash Flanagan passed the time of day, waited until he was truly alone. Then he reached and picked up the stole. It was creased and squashed where a pair of strong hands had held it firmly, was stretched to bursting point along its narrowest part. Stitching had broken so that the cream-coloured lining had parted company with the layer of emerald green silk. This was a murder weapon.

  He closed his eyes in an effort to shut out the sights of normal life. There had been trouble. Always, always, there had been trouble. From the periphery of memory, sounds and pictures crept into his head, so that the inside of his eyelids formed a screen against which the past played itself. Things he had half-seen and half-heard, comments Muth had made, angry words scalding the air between Liam and Anthony – all these filled his brain until he thought he might just explode. The angry words had usually come from young Anthony, as Liam seldom got riled.

  After several moments of stillness, Sam opened his eyes, picked up the stole and stared at it. He folded the silk, took a key from his pocket, then locked the offending item in a part of the storeroom known only to himself. No-one in the world knew about this secret hiding place. He had to think, had to collect more information. With a heavy tread, he walked to the bottom of the stairs and picked up the phone. Moments passed while he waited for the connection to be made. ‘Edith?’ he said at last. ‘Send someone down for Anthony, please. I’ll call back in half an hour.’

  Thirty minutes was a dreadfully long time. Sam checked on Charlie, left him in charge. He brewed tea, threw it away, smoked three cigarettes. There was something wrong with the clock, he felt sure. It ticked very slowly, seemed sluggish and in need of winding. But the six-day mechanism had been tightened only yesterday. The fire flickered. Bridie had made the room so nice, so cheerful. Bridie had married a man whose son was a . . .

  A priest. ‘I’m blind,’ he announced to the mirror. ‘I’ve always been bloody blind.’ He had blinkered himself deliberately, he decided. ‘Such a good little lad, Liam seemed. It was as if Anthony wanted to get his brother into trouble all the time. Why didn’t I see? I should have listened to Muth.’

  At last, the half-hour was over. Sam threw a fraction of cigarette into the fire and returned to the phone. For the first time in ages, he was going to give his full attention to Anthony.

  Father Liam Bell let himself into the presbytery. A creature of habit, he followed the same routine as ever by removing his shoes and easing his feet into sensible brown slippers. He hung up his cloak, stood the biretta on a hall table, tapped the nearby barometer. Father Brennan was hearing confessions tonight. As few of the congregation wanted to open their hearts to the younger priest, Liam had been given the night off.

  The barometer promised rain. Liam walked into the kitchen and took a covered plate from the top shelf of the meatsafe. Michael Brennan’s dinner sat on a pan of water on a gas ring waiting to be reheated. Father Brennan loved his stomach, but Liam stuck to salads, vegetables and a small amount of meat or fish. The sins of the flesh should not be committed, especially in a presbytery. He carried his meal through to the dining room, whispered his grace, began to eat slowly and without pleasure.

  Maureen Costigan had landed on her feet, it seemed. There had been gossip about her staying on with Aunt Edith and Uncle Richard. She would be near Anthony, of course. Perhaps Liam should abandon his twin to whatever fate lay in store for him. Perhaps marriage to the little madam was what Anthony deserved. Yes, that situation was best left alone for now. Let Anthony find his own way into the bottomless abyss.

  Liam chewed on a piece of ham, tasted nothing. The Welcome Home project was doing him a lot of good. Even the bishop had remarked upon how well the young priest was doing. Yes, Liam had proved something. He could save souls. He was capable of sitting down amongst the lowest of street women and persuading them to mend their ways. That was preferable to the other kind of penance, he supposed. Punishing people by demonstrating physically the error of their ways had been an untidy business.

  The door opened. Feeling a slight draught, Liam turned. His father was entering the room. ‘I wasn’t expecting you,’ Liam said, voice and face expressionless.

  Sam steadied himself against the sideboard. This was his son. Even now, Sam tried to turn from the inevitable. Surely not? Surely Liam was not a killer? ‘You forgot to lock the door,’ was the best he could manage. As if seeing Liam for the first time, Sam studied his son’s face. There was no warmth, no humanity in the features. Liam was a good-looking man with a bad-looking soul. He had empty eyes and an unyielding jaw.

  ‘Are you ill?’ asked Liam.

  Numbed almost to the bone after the lengthy telephone conversation with Anthony, Sam simply stared at the other twin. Gooseflesh rose on his arms and a cold sweat bathed his brow. God, why hadn’t he noticed before? Why hadn’t he cared enough to notice? Bridie, he told himself inwardly. Since her arrival in his life, Sam had become more perceptive.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘I’ve come . . .’ Sam’s voice failed him, so he cleared his throat. ‘I’ve come to confess,’ he managed finally.

  L
iam dropped his napkin onto the table. ‘Father Brennan’s in church. He’s hearing confessions.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’

  Sam advanced and stood next to the table. ‘I’ve a very big sin to tell,’ he said. ‘And I have to tell it to you, because you will understand it. Well, you might understand it.’ Split personality, Anthony had said. Sam wondered who Liam was at this moment. Was he the Liam who could absorb information, or was he the one who killed? The unspoken question answered itself. The other Liam, the murderer, was the unseen man, the one who crept up from behind and . . .

  ‘Ah.’ The younger man pushed himself away from the table. ‘Just wait until I get my stole,’ he said.

  Sam sighed. ‘The green one? Will you use the green one? I remember the sisters making those vestments for you, Liam. The needlework was beautiful. I was so proud of you. So proud and so damnably stupid.’

  Time ticked away a few seconds, then the mantel clock chimed the hour.

  ‘Remember the green one, Liam?’ repeated Sam.

  The priest made no reply, but a small warning arrived, a soft voice telling him to beware.

  ‘Where is it?’ Sam asked.

  Liam shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve several green ones, of course—’

  ‘Cream lining. The crosses outlined in real gold thread. Gold and green fringe on the ends.’

  ‘I’ve mislaid it, unfortunately.’ The hairs on Liam’s neck stood on end as he walked into the hallway. He opened his case, took out a stole, kissed the central cross and placed it around his neck. Something momentous was about to happen.

  Sam was waiting for his son. ‘Bless me, Father,’ he began.

  Liam raised his hand and formed the sign of the cross.

  ‘The biggest sin, the worst sin,’ said Sam. ‘That’s what I’ve come to talk about. You see, I had no time for my children. If I had made time, I would have noticed what was going on.’

  The priest mumbled a blessing.

  ‘Anthony was always in trouble,’ continued Sam. ‘Broken toys, bruises all over him, missing teeth. I took the easiest way by listening to you and not to him. My mother tried to tell me what a bad lot you were, but you were so quiet and angelic in the house. You didn’t interfere with business, you see. Your brother’s complaining kept me from my shop, so I lost patience with him, then ignored him. I had a living to make.’ He paused, took a deep breath. ‘It is three weeks since my last confession, Father,’ continued the penitent. ‘My biggest sin is that I bred a monster. You are my fault, Liam. I take full responsibility for what you are.’

  Liam dropped into the chair he had recently vacated. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  Sam stared into those familiar dark eyes, noticed that his son scarcely flinched. ‘Valerie. Little Maureen Costigan. Those street girls in Liverpool. I’m talking about rape, murder and attempted murder.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ snapped Liam. ‘You’ve been in touch with Anthony, I take it?’

  Sam nodded.

  ‘He’s hated me right from the start. How do you think I felt when he threw himself into the river and blamed me for the incident? He used to go into the cupboard and push the key under the door. He broke his arm and said I’d done it. Everything that goes wrong for him is my fault, or so he insists.’

  Sam clucked his tongue. ‘You’ll fool me no longer,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve seen the light.’

  ‘What light?’

  ‘The stole.’

  Liam picked up his cutlery and laid it neatly on the plate. ‘I told you earlier – the stole went missing from the vestry. Anyone could have taken it. Perhaps one of the altar boys, or—’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Dad, I am a priest. Being a priest is difficult enough without all this. I have done nothing wrong. Anything I do is for the good of the Church and her members.’

  Sam walked across the room and stared through the window. He looked at the school where Anthony had taught until recently, where young Cathy had enjoyed herself since arriving in Liverpool. St Aloysius’s was a marvellous school with an excellent reputation. ‘Anthony’s a good teacher,’ he said, almost inaudibly.

  Liam heard the words. ‘That has never been in doubt.’

  ‘Then why did he leave?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Sam swung round and faced his son. ‘Because of you. He left because he can’t stand to be near you. He’s been reading some medical books, stuff about mental cases, says you’re ill. Are you ill?’

  ‘No.’

  The pawnbroker inclined his head in thought. ‘Then why do you hurt people? What the hell gives you the right to go round raping women and murdering them?’ He held up a hand. ‘No, don’t deny it. Anthony put me straight this afternoon. There’s no way he could have made all that up. Too many coincidences, you see. I should have known without needing to be told. Perhaps I did know, only I didn’t want to face what you are. Because I’m a failure as a father, Anthony has been forced to carry the weight of your sins without my help. It’s been a heavy burden for the lad.’

  Liam glanced at the clock. Depending on the number of customers, Father Brennan might be back within half an hour. ‘You should sleep on this.’ There was a steely edge to the words. ‘After all, you can’t go running around with accusations of this nature, can you? I think you should—’

  ‘Don’t think for me,’ snapped Sam. ‘Don’t treat me like a child whose fingers have been in the collection plate. I’m sick of your patronizing attitude. You killed Anthony’s girl. You tried to squeeze the life out of Diddy’s daughter. When Billy hears about that, you’d better be in a different country or a different bloody galaxy.’

  Liam’s eyes were fixed on his father’s face. Never before had he seen Sam Bell in a temper. Sam had been a placid man, one who usually followed the easiest course through life. It was the Irish bitch who had changed him, of course.

  ‘Why, Liam?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Why did you kill?’

  Liam’s face was devoid of expression. ‘I followed orders,’ he answered at last.

  ‘From God?’

  The young cleric nodded.

  ‘Voices?’ Anthony had mentioned voices, had told Sam that many diseased minds played tricks.

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Then you are ill,’ Sam said. ‘You need help. And those around you need to be kept safe.’

  Liam did not understand any of this. Other saints had followed orders straight from God. St Joan had persisted until the flames had swallowed her. St Stephen had been stoned to death. Many apostles had been martyred because they had obeyed the voice of the departed Jesus. ‘I do what has to be done,’ he announced clearly. ‘The punishment must fit the crime.’

  Sam nodded rhythmically for a few moments, as if deliberating over his son’s words. ‘Then you must hang. If the punishment is to fit, you must feel that noose tightening around your throat. That’s what Maureen felt. The only difference was that her noose was holy and made of silk.’

  Liam’s head shook in disbelief. ‘Maureen was throwing herself at Anthony and—’

  ‘And that’s no business of yours.’

  Liam jumped to his feet. ‘It is, it is!’ His tone rose in pitch until it resembled the wailings of a spoilt child. ‘Anthony is the other half of me. I have to save him.’

  Sam Bell feared for his own sanity. He was watching his son dissolving before his very eyes, as if the man’s face were melting into an unrecognizable shape. The eyes were burning like coals, and his mouth kept twisting as if something nasty rested on the taste buds. ‘You’re crackers,’ breathed Sam. ‘You are one hundred per cent off your bloody head, Liam.’

  Liam checked himself, literally pulling himself together until he felt taller and stronger. ‘Yes, it is your fault,’ he breathed. ‘If you had taken better care of my mother, she would have been there to care for me. Instead of a mother, I had that old dragon. She always despised me, always
loved Anthony. My mother died because of your neglect.’

  Sam staggered back as if he had just been hit. Liam had struck a nerve. Poor Maria. He closed his eyes and saw her, a little waif of a thing with a belly swollen in pregnancy. Maria had had no family to take care of her. Sam, busy making ends meet, had found little time for his exhausted wife. Muth had tried her best, of course, but Maria had still slipped away quietly. Maria had done everything quietly, and Sam had not appreciated her. ‘I wish I’d done more,’ he admitted. ‘I wish I’d got to know your mam better.’

  ‘Then that’s the sin you should be confessing,’ snarled the priest.

  The older man’s eyes flew open. ‘Whatever I’ve done or failed to do, my behaviour was nothing compared to yours. I suppose you’ll kill me now. But before you do, remember this. Others know about you.’ He nodded jerkily. ‘There is no way of silencing all who know the truth, Liam.’

  ‘Who? Who are they?’ Panic trimmed the words, causing Liam’s voice to rise yet again. ‘Who?’ he screamed.

  ‘Apart from your brother, who has always known your guilt, the rest are not family members.’ There was only Flash, Sam told himself. No, no. There was Richard. Anthony had spoken to him, and the good doctor had agreed. According to Richard Spencer, Liam Bell was probably a lunatic. Had Anthony told Bridie? God, were they all in danger?

  Sam swallowed the rising panic. ‘Anthony has left the decision-making to me. He tried five years ago to have you arrested for killing Valerie. Now, he feels that no-one will ever believe him. But there’s proof at last, Liam. There’s the stole. Once that’s given to the police, they’ll start listening to your brother.’

  ‘Where is it?’ The priest spoke through gritted teeth. He had to find that wretched stole.

  ‘In a safe place,’ replied Sam. It was locked in a box behind a loose brick in the storeroom, hidden while Sam decided what to do next.

  ‘Anthony? Is he going to have me arrested?’

  Sam shook his head wearily. ‘Anthony, strangely enough, is on your side. He’s been thinking about . . . doctors. You should go into hospital for treatment.’