by June Francis
‘Excuse me!’ she called. He appeared not to have heard her, so she raised her voice. ‘Hey, love, could you give me a hand here?’
His fair head turned and he looked her way. She signalled for him to come over. He left the bridge and came towards her. She had a feeling that she had seen him before but that wasn’t important now.
‘What is it, Missus?’ he asked.
‘I need help with my grandmother. She’s died.’
He stared at the old woman and Lynne with a stricken expression in his brown eyes. ‘What … what d’you want me to do?’
The sight had obviously upset him, thought Lynne. ‘It’s all right, love. She’s not going to harm you. It’s only the living that can hurt you. Could you find the park keeper for me, and if you can’t, could you go to the police station and explain the situation? I can’t leave her, you see.’
The youth swallowed and then nodded and took off at a run. She watched him go, hoping he would do what she asked and not just abandon her.
Within half an hour, she heard the ringing of an ambulance bell in the near distance. Five minutes or so later, a middle-aged policeman approached her, followed by two men carrying a stretcher.
‘Are you all right, Missus?’ asked the police sergeant.
Lynne recognized him. ‘You’re Hester’s father!’ she blurted out.
He stared at her. ‘And you’re …?’
‘The dressmaker. I’m Lynne Donegan and this is my grandmother! She …’ Tears welled up in her eyes again and she couldn’t go on.
Immediately the three men took over and did all that was necessary and later Lynne was taken home in a police car.
She found Roberta outside the house talking to a neighbour and her daughter seized hold of Lynne’s arm as soon as she stepped out of the police car. ‘What’s happened? Where’s Nan?’
Lynne told her the sad news and Roberta cried in her arms.
The following days were difficult ones and it was not until a week after the funeral that mother and daughter experienced any semblance of normality in their lives. They had a visit from Jeanette who brought condolences and letters from Emma and Hester, and Sam called round. He sat with Lynne in the kitchen, drinking tea and eating jam tarts.
‘I’m sorry I never met your grandmother,’ he said. ‘Jeanette and Hester said that she was quite a character.’
‘She was and I’m going to miss her terribly,’ said Lynne huskily, absently breaking a jam tart in half. ‘She had a very interesting life but there was sadness in it, too. She married late and lost her husband within a few years. My father, her son, died in his thirties and that grieved her deeply. He was a hero, though. A fire bobby, he rescued some children from a fire, only to lose his own life. At least Nan lived to a ripe old age. She was always there when I needed her.’ Lynne blinked back tears.
Sam put down his cup and took out a large white handkerchief and offered it to her. ‘She was also fortunate having you to take care of her in her old age.’
She mumbled a thank-you and wiped her eyes. ‘I’ll wash it and return it to you,’ she said, placing it in her pocket.
They were both silent for a few moments and then Lynne said, ‘You know I had to make a real search for her birth certificate. Fortunately I found it in a box with all kinds of memorabilia to do with the theatre. She was nearly ninety-one.’ She gave him a watery smile.
He took her hand and squeezed it gently. ‘You were fortunate getting on so well with your grandmother. I never knew mine but my great-aunt has lived with us for years and she and I never have got on. Now she’s going senile I can’t believe that I actually feel sorry for her. I could do with Jeanette living back home but, maybe when Dorothy returns …’ He sighed. ‘But that wouldn’t be fair on her.’
Despite finding real comfort in the feel of his strong but sensitive fingers holding hers, Lynne withdrew her hand. ‘You mean the pair of you will be getting married when she comes home?’
His brow furrowed and he toyed with his fingers, bending them back and forth. She watched him, fascinated. ‘Are you double-jointed?’
He nodded but didn’t expand on the subject. Instead he said, ‘I don’t know anything for certain where Dorothy’s concerned. She has a mind of her own and makes no pretence that it won’t be difficult for her to give up her career. She’s talked about producing and directing a film about women of Liverpool, so maybe she will stay in Liverpool for a while.’
‘I should imagine a lot of Liverpudlians would find such a film interesting,’ said Lynne. ‘It’s a pity she had to cancel her visit to Nan. I’m sure she would have found more material for her film.’
‘Yes, it was a nuisance that she had to leave in a rush.’ He frowned.
She remembered what Betty had said about Dorothy seeing Lenny that day and wondered if Sam knew about it but decided it was none of her business. ‘You’ll have heard from her, of course,’ said Lynne.
He nodded. ‘A couple of postcards and she telephoned the other evening. Apparently she met Stuart Anderson and Betty Booth and they had a great time watching scenes being played out.’
‘So I heard. How long will it be before the film hits our cinema screens?’
Sam’s brown eyes met hers and he gave a wry smile. ‘Now you’re asking me something! I’ve no idea. I doubt she knows herself.’
They both fell silent and then Lynne remembered what her daughter had told her to mention to Sam. ‘Do you mind me asking you about one of your cases?’ She did not wait for his answer. ‘The shopkeeper who was murdered … his son … did you know he was adopted and that his uncle is planning to send him to South Africa?’
‘It’s news to me,’ said Sam, frowning. ‘How did you get to know?’
‘My daughter told me and she had it from a friend of the boy. I assume the uncle must have told him he was adopted after he went to live with him.’
‘Why should he want the lad to go to South Africa? If he didn’t want to have him live with him, his friend’s parents would have fostered him but he turned their offer down.’
Lynne hesitated before saying, ‘My daughter thinks he wants him out of the way. Something to do with the uncle and the boy’s father arguing over a house that had been left to them.’
‘I see,’ murmured Sam, remembering how he had thought the victim had most likely known his murderer. ‘Thanks for this information, Lynne. I must admit I felt sorry for the lad. I had a feeling he wasn’t fond of the uncle but my superior didn’t see anything wrong with that.’
‘Glad to be of help.’ She smiled. ‘Another jam tart? I find baking relaxing when I’m stressed out.’
He smiled. ‘Your pastry’s good. Our Hester’s got light hands with pastry, too. You should go up and visit her in Whalley sometime.’
‘I have had an invitation. Perhaps when I’ve finished all the sewing I have on at the moment.’
He hesitated before saying, ‘Are you all right for money, Lynne? If things are tight we do have a fund …’
Hastily she replied, ‘I’m fine. I had no difficulty paying for the funeral. Nan had paid tuppences and sixpences for insurance weekly with the Liver and the Pru over the years and there was also some money in her post office savings book. If I’m careful I’ll have enough to pay for coal and gas and electricity for a year or more, as well as have the odd day out.’
He nodded and then left, saying that he hoped to see her again before too long. ‘I’ll let you know when I find out more about the Rogers case.’
She thanked him and, after he had gone, found herself hugging the thought of seeing him again to herself. She washed his handkerchief and hung it on the line, considering his handsome face with his thick mop of fair hair, brown eyes and charming smile. He seemed so strong and caring. She told herself she should not be thinking about him in such a way but then he and Dorothy were not officially engaged, although a wedding definitely appeared to be in the offering. Even so, she could not wait until their next meeting and hopefully it would not be
too long before he discovered more about the boy, Nick, and the so-called uncle.
Twenty-Three
The following morning, after telling his inspector what he had discovered and asking what his superior had found out after speaking to Kenneth Rogers’ solicitor, Sam consulted a couple of maps, filled up with petrol and headed for the Mersey Tunnel. Shotton on the Dee was approximately an hour’s journey away, as long as the traffic kept flowing and he wasn’t caught up in the notorious bottle neck that was Queensferry. Fortunately, the bank holiday was not yet upon them and the roads were not overly busy. Eventually he took the turning for Shotton and drove along Chester Road West and turned into a street on the left of what he took to be Victorian terraces. He drew up at the kerb in front of the address he had taken from the files. There was a notice in the garden saying ‘Sold, subject to contract’. It took only a couple of strides to reach the front door and ring the doorbell.
A woman working in the front garden next door glanced at him. ‘He’s not there,’ she said.
‘Do you know where he is?’ asked Sam.
‘I’ve no idea.’
Damn! thought Sam. ‘What about his nephew?’
‘Kenneth’s boy? Me and my husband thought he’d be staying here until he left school but we haven’t seen him for about a fortnight.’
Sam frowned. ‘What about Mr Rogers?’
‘It was a couple of days after we stopped seeing Nicholas that he vanished. It’s all very strange.’ She stared at him. ‘What’s your interest? Are you a debt collector? If so, you’re not the first.’
‘No, I’m a detective with Liverpool Police Force.’ Sam produced his ID.
She gasped. ‘Is this to do with the murder? I’ll help you if I can. I liked Kenneth. He was a really nice man.’
‘So I’ve been told,’ said Sam. ‘I’d like to get into the house – do you have a key?’
‘I do that, but Dennis has probably forgotten about it. His father gave me it a while back. I used to go in and do a bit of cleaning when his wife took ill.’
‘I can see you’re a good neighbour,’ said Sam in a friendly voice. ‘You can accompany me if you like to make sure I don’t steal anything.’
She laughed and told him to wait a mo’ and returned with the key shortly after. She opened the door and he stepped inside with her hot on his heels. ‘Dennis has been out of work for a while. According to my husband, who works at the steelworks too, he was sacked for going in drunk and being belligerent. His mother would have been so upset if she’d lived to see it. His father had worked there most of his life, too.’
‘You’re talking about the Shotton steelworks, of course?’ said Sam, pulling on a pair of gloves.
‘That’s right. The works prospered during the war, making corrugated steel sheets for Anderson air-raid shelters. They saved many a life during the Blitz. But there was a shortage of the zinc they needed to galvanize the sheets, so they had to stop making them and that’s how the Morrison indoor shelter came into its own.’
‘That’s very interesting, Mrs …?’
‘Gertrude Williams.’
She told him of the layout of the house in a hushed voice as they went into a back room. The furniture was heavy and dark. Probably belonged to the parents, thought Sam. Newspapers were piled up next to the hearth and a window overlooked a yard containing a narrow flower bed that had been allowed to run wild. There were ashes and cinders in the grate and charred paper. The mantelshelf held a photograph. The couple were dressed in what was probably their Sunday best, circa the Edwardian era. The man had a carnation in his button hole and the woman held a posy.
‘That’s Mr and Mrs,’ whispered Mrs Williams.
Sam nodded and went over to an ornate sideboard, which had a half circular mirror set at the back of it, and opened a drawer. Unlike the room, which was tidy and well swept, its contents were higgledy-piggledy. Obviously Dennis or maybe Nick had been looking for something in a hurry. The other drawer was in the same condition. The hunch he’d had earlier was growing and he hoped he was right. He opened the cupboard doors but they contained only crockery and finely embroidered tablecloths.
‘I’d like to take the papers and documents with me,’ he said. ‘I’ll write you a receipt which you can give to Mr Rogers if he should return.’
‘D’you think you might find a clue to the murderer in all that?’ she asked.
He smiled. ‘Possibly. Is there a sideboard in the parlour?’
‘No. Dennis was pawning stuff after he lost his job at the steelworks and got rid of it.’ She hesitated. ‘He was a bit of a gambler and my husband suspected he got in over his head.’
Sam believed it. Single man, living with his parents and working that long, should have had some savings to show for his time at the steelworks.
He went upstairs and found the drawers turned upside down on the bed, their contents scattered on the bedspread in the front bedroom. There were no clothes in the wardrobe. One of the other bedrooms was completely bare, whilst in the small box room boy’s clothes hung in the wardrobe, including a school blazer. There were also some underwear, shirts and jumpers in the chest of drawers. If Nick was still alive, he had left in a hurry.
‘I wonder what he was looking for?’ asked Mrs Williams.
‘Is there a cellar to this house?’ asked Sam.
‘No, there’s a coal bunker in the yard.’
Sam was relieved. One of his fears was that he might have found Nick’s body buried in the cellar. ‘I’ve seen all I want to see here. I just need a bag for the papers downstairs.’
‘I’ve a brown paper carrier bag you can have,’ she said.
He thanked her and while she was fetching the bag, he took out his fingerprint equipment and set to work on a few likely objects.
When she returned with the bag, she asked if he would like a cup of tea. He thanked her but said he had to be on his way. He wrote down his name and phone number on the back of a card and handed it to her. ‘Do let me know if Mr Rogers or his nephew returns.’
She nodded. They shook hands and he thanked her again.
As Sam drove back to Liverpool, he knew that he needed to revisit the site of Kenneth Rogers’ murder. He glanced at his watch. If he was quick enough, then he would have time to make it there and be home in time to have a word with his father before he left for work.
Out front of the hardware shop there was a For Sale notice as Sam expected after visiting the estate agent to get the keys. Once again he took out his fingerprinting equipment, believing now that he was dealing with no professional thief but one who had seen enough films and read enough crime books to know to wipe clean the handle of the murder weapon and the surface of the till if he was not wearing gloves. Hopefully he had not thought of the edges of shelves and beneath the racks holding the chisels. He tried for prints and … Bingo! If they proved a match for those he had taken in the house in Shotton …
Sam put everything inside the bag he had brought for that purpose and then inspected the back of the shop to see if there was any sign of another attempted break-in. Upstairs there was a sash window that was slightly open. He went back inside and upstairs. The bed had been stripped but there was an army blanket folded neatly at the bottom of a single bed in the smaller room, as well as a change of clothes. In the bathroom he also found a recently used tablet of soap, a damp flannel and a hand towel but no sign of shaving equipment. In the kitchen there were a few crumbs on the floor and a couple of tins of baked beans in a cupboard.
He would bet his bottom dollar that Nick had climbed over the wall and shinned up the drainpipe and somehow managed to get through the partially open window. But why had he come to Liverpool and not met up with his friend Chris? If Nick suspected his uncle of murder, why hadn’t he come to the police? Of course, he might have thought they wouldn’t believe him. Or maybe he didn’t suspect his uncle of murder but just wanted to get away from him?
But where was Nick at this moment and where was the uncle? Cou
ld Dennis Rogers possibly have left the country? Would he have done so without getting his hands on his share from the proceeds of the sale of the house and the shop premises? Sam decided to go back to headquarters and return later. He didn’t want a constable on watch, in case he frightened off Nick.
He doubted the youth would return before dark, so he should have time to reach headquarters and be back here before then. It was then he thought of checking the time and realized his father would have left for work, having expected Sam to return home to keep his eye on Ethel. He decided to give Jeanette a call and ask her to do him a couple of favours.
‘So who am I looking for and what are the dates he might have sailed?’ asked Jeanette, chewing on the end of a pencil. ‘I won’t be able to do it until tomorrow, by the way. I’ll be leaving in ten minutes.’
‘A Dennis Rogers and it will have been some time in the last ten days if he has left the country but you might not find anything; he could just be lying low somewhere,’ said Sam.
‘OK! See you when I see you.’
‘I’ve another favour to ask,’ said Sam.
She gave a sigh. ‘What is it now? If you want me to go and look after the old witch this evening you’re not on! I’ve a date with Davy. I’m meeting his ship.’
‘Damn!’ There was a silence and then he said, ‘Could you drop by at Lynne Donegan’s as soon as possible and ask her if she could keep Aunt Ethel company this evening until I get home?’
‘Lynne! Why should Lynne keep the old witch company? Why can’t you or Dad do it?’
‘Dad will have left for work and I’m still at headquarters but I’m heading for the hardware shop on Prescot Road,’ said Sam. ‘Could you accompany Lynne to the house if she agrees? Thanks, kid.’
She groaned. ‘I’m meeting Davy’s ship at eight! It’s going to be a bit of a rush.’
‘Well, get a move on and you’ll still make it,’ said Sam, putting down the phone.