The Beachcomber

by Josephine Cox

  The officer’s voice took on an officious tone. “Sorry, sir. I’ll tell him you called.”

  The conversation was abruptly ended.

  Frustrated, Tom paced the floor. “Jesus! I’ll go crazy if I have to sit here waiting!”

  In minutes he was out of the door and into a taxi, heading for the station, all the while keeping his eyes peeled for a sight of Lilian or Dougie.

  Some way across town, the police were cruising the streets, searching for the woman who was to be taken in for questioning. They had her description; they knew she had been arrested once before for causing a public nuisance, and, having been given a detailed description, they would recognize her if they saw her. So far, though, they had seen neither hide nor hair of her. But they wouldn’t give up. This was a murder hunt. She must be found, and taken in for questioning.

  Oblivious to the fact that she was being tracked down, Lilian strolled along the street, talking to Dougie, pouring out her heart. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been a real problem to you.”

  “You’re not a ‘problem.’” Dougie was surprised at how much she now meant to him. He smiled. “Well, maybe just a little ‘problem.’”

  She laughed.

  Serious again, she confessed how it had been with Tom. “From the first minute he walked through the door of the office, I loved him. He’s such a fine man … so caring. When my mother was taken ill, he was wonderful … both him and Sheila.”

  She paused, thinking of Sheila and the children, and of what she had done. “I hurt them … Sheila and the children. I shouldn’t have done what I did,” she whispered. “That was so wicked of me.”

  Dougie had heard her say that over and over, and yet she would not admit to what she’d done. “Do you want to talk about it?” If he was to help her, he would have to know.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but then shook her head. “I can’t. But if I tell you something else … you won’t tell Tom, will you?”

  “Not if you don’t want me to.” He was shocked to learn how obsessed she had been with Tom. He had seen a side to Lilian that frightened him, and yet at heart she was just like a small child, needing love and reassurance.

  She went on. “I used to go and see his family. I took a lot of pictures of Tom; he didn’t know I was taking them. And when I was invited to his home, I took pictures of his children, and his wife.” Frowning, she momentarily lapsed into a deep, thoughtful silence. “Sheila was a really good friend to me.”

  “I know.” That much, at least, he had been aware of.

  “She was a lovely person, so kind … so pretty.” Her face hardened. “Tom adored her.”

  He nodded, a hard expression shaping his homely features. “I know that, too.” He smiled encouragingly. “But go on … you were saying … about the pictures?” Now that she was beginning to open her heart to him, he needed to keep her talking.

  “Well, Sheila invited me over a lot, and once I even went away for the weekend with them.” It gave her pleasure to explain. “I became almost part of the family. There were so many photographs, you see. I put them on my dressing table, and on the doors of my wardrobe.” She gave a nervous little laugh. “I even put them all over the walls. I needed to see him all the time … before I went to sleep, and when I woke up, I needed him to be there!” Tears of anger clouded her vision. “I loved him so much.” Quickly, impatiently, she wiped away the tears.

  “Lilian?”

  She turned. “Yes?”

  “What did you do to Sheila and the children that was so ‘wicked’?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Do you still love him?”

  “NO!” Vigorously shaking her head, she told him through gritted teeth, “He’s ruined my life. I HATE HIM!”

  “Do you hate him enough to kill him?”

  She turned to stare at him; in the growing twilight he imagined he saw the glint of madness in her eyes. “You’re trying to trick me, aren’t you?”

  “No.” He realized he would have to tread very carefully if he was to regain her trust. “I’m sorry.”

  “I want to go home now.”

  “That’s where we’re headed.”

  “Will you stay with me?”

  “If you want.”

  She slid her hand into his. “I think you’re like Tom.”

  “In what way?”

  “You’re kind. You take the time to listen.”

  “But you haven’t told me anything yet … not really.”

  “Only because I don’t want you to feel bad toward me.”

  For the umpteenth time, the police car nosed its way down a side street. “Look!” The officer pointed ahead, where Lilian and Dougie were strolling away from them. “Isn’t that her?” He checked his description. “Yes, long curly auburn hair, that looks like her. Best move in before she sees us.”

  Deep in conversation, both Dougie and Lilian were unaware of the police car until it stopped beside them. Flinging open the doors, both officers got out. While one of them stood guard on Dougie, the other confronted Lilian.

  “Are you Lilian Catherine Scott?” he asked.

  Calmer now, and knowing she must be punished, Lilian made no attempt to run. Instead, she verified her name and was quietly placed in the car.

  Seeing how frightened she was, Dougie declared that he was coming with her. “She’s told me things you should know!”

  “All right, sir,” they agreed, and he, too, was bundled into the car.

  Ensconced in the interview room with Inspector Lawson, William Aitken was visibly nervous. “I dunno what yer talkin’ about! How many times do I ’ave to tell yer? I don’t know nuthin’ about no hidden car.”

  Inspector Lawson was in no mood to be lied to. “Don’t give me that! We already know you were paid to conceal the car. What I want is a description of the driver: was he tall, short, nervous, arrogant …? I want to know every word he said, every move he made. You must remember how he left … was it on foot or by taxi? Was the driver on his own, or was there somebody else there, and if so, what can you tell me about the other person? Have you seen him since? Or maybe it was a woman. Was it a woman, eh, Aitken?”

  His questioning was relentless.

  The more Aitken claimed ignorance of the event, the more nervous he got and the more Inspector Lawson knew that it would only be a matter of time before he cracked.

  Having arrived in reception, Tom was told, “I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to wait. Inspector Lawson is not to be disturbed.”

  Tom asked again about Aitken but was given the same runaround. “If you’ll just be patient, I’m sure the inspector will be out soon.”

  So he waited, pacing the floor and willing the time to pass so that he could know what was happening. The big clock on the wall ticked the minutes away; with every passing second, he thought of Kathy.

  Why hadn’t he been able to get hold of her? Why hadn’t she rung the hotel? What was she doing? His mind was alive with her, his heart overflowing with love.

  It was an odd thing, he thought, that the nearer they got to finding out who had murdered his family, the more distant he seemed from it all; as though he was a stranger looking on.

  The love for his family was still there, but it was moving away, to that corner of his heart where he could put down the shutters and keep it safe for all time, without allowing it to overwhelm his life.

  The realization made him feel guilty, yet strangely relieved.

  Suddenly his thoughts were shattered when he heard the outer doors swing open. Into the reception area came two officers. With them, and obviously in custody, was Lilian, accompanied by his brother, Dougie.

  Dougie saw Tom there and nodded. Lilian, however, glanced once and afterward kept her gaze averted.

  The shame of what she had done to him was unbearable.

  Taken to the desk, she was duly charged in connection with the murder of Sheila Marcus and her children.

  When she heard th
e charge, she was riveted with shock. “No!” Shouting and struggling, with both officers holding her still, she vehemently protested her innocence. “You’ve got it all wrong. I wouldn’t murder them … they were my friends!”

  Appealing to Tom, she screamed, “Tell them! Tell them I would never hurt them. I’m innocent. Tom, please … tell them!”

  Torn by powerful emotions, Tom was out of his depth. “If you’re innocent, you have nothing to fear,” he said quietly.

  His gentle voice and quiet manner seemed to calm her, for suddenly the fight was gone from her and she was sobbing. “I wouldn’t hurt them, I wouldn’t.”

  Dougie spoke to her. For a moment she looked at him, then, as they took her away, she told him, “You believe me, don’t you, Dougie?”

  He nodded.

  She smiled. “You understand me, don’t you?”

  Again, he nodded.

  Now, as the officer urged her away down the corridor, she shocked both Tom and Dougie to their roots: addressing Dougie, she revealed, “I didn’t tell you before, but now I want you to know … I’m having your child.”

  As they took her away, Dougie stood stock still, eyes wide with amazement and something else: a look of horror on his face that Tom had never seen before. “Dougie, are you all right?” What Lilian had said was a complete and utter shock. Not for one minute had Tom imagined anything was going on between his brother and Lilian.

  And it wasn’t only that, because there was something here he could not understand; some dark business he could not quite get to grips with.

  Behind them, Inspector Lawson flung open the door of the interview room. “Charge him!” Having got the information he wanted, the interview was over.

  “Bastard!” William Aitken had not taken kindly to being interviewed.

  As he looked up at the inspector, standing there in the open doorway, his attention was caught by Tom and Dougie quietly talking beyond: one calm and reassuring, the other seeming to be upset and agitated.

  Without warning, Aitken was out of his chair and running across the room. “THAT’S HIM!” Surging forward, he was swiftly intercepted by the officer, who fought hard to hold him. “THAT’S THE GEEZER WHO PAID ME TO HIDE THE CAR!” Pointing and yelling, he struggled to escape.

  All eyes turned to Dougie, who by now was edging toward the door.

  To his horror, he had recognized the young man who had been at the breaker’s yard. The very same young man who had taken his money and hidden the car so well that it had never been found. Until now!

  Disbelieving, Tom looked at the young man, then he turned his gaze to Dougie. “YOU?” Unable to comprehend what was happening, he stared at his brother for what seemed an age, his brain echoing with what Aitken had said. It was too much to take in. He shook his head, a half smile creeping over his features, now gray with shock. “No!” The word was soft, almost gentle, then stronger as he asked, “Was it you who killed my family?”

  When he saw the guilt in his brother’s eyes, the truth hit him like the blow of a hammer. “Oh, God!” Lurching forward, he grabbed hold of Dougie, his voice escalating to a scream, his eyes swimming with tears. “NO … o … o … oo!” Tom’s heart-wrenching scream sent a chill through everyone there.

  In that split second, everything erupted: Dougie made a dash for the door, and Tom went after him, leaving chaos in his wake.

  Yelling for somebody to help, and taking along the only free officer, Inspector Lawson sped after Tom and his brother, but they had a head start, and with the smog closing in all over London they could be lost to sight in minutes.

  Outside, the fall of night mingled with the choking smog, lying like a dark blanket over everything: a real “peasouper,” the officer called it.

  They scanned the road ahead. “THERE!” The officer caught sight of Tom, relentlessly pursuing his brother along the narrow streets.

  “Quick! Get after them!”

  Sending the younger, fitter officer to try and head them off, Inspector Lawson stayed with Tom; through the railings on the far side of the street, then on, across the park, and toward the railway embankment. One minute he was there, the next he was gone from sight, dodging in and out; hidden where the fog was thickening, and visible again where it wasn’t quite settled. He could see Tom going like a crazy thing. “Leave it, Tom. We’re onto it!”

  His heart went out to Tom and, though he wouldn’t blame him if he closed his bare hands around his brother’s neck and squeezed till his eyes popped out, he didn’t want Tom to pay the price for what his brother had done. “TOM! LET IT GO!” And still Tom dogged his brother’s footsteps, closing in on him with every second, suffocated by hatred and confusion. It had been Dougie all along, he knew that now. Yet, how could that be?

  When the chase took them across waste ground, the smog had settled low and heavy; it was difficult to see a hand in front of your face, but Dougie was slowing down, stumbling and tripping, giving Tom the advantage he needed. Behind him, equally determined, the inspector kept sight of Tom.

  Ahead of them, the officer cut across, trying to hem them in, but several times they veered away and he lost them again.

  Tom had only one thing in mind. He had to look Dougie in the eye. He had to know the truth. Why did he do it? WHY? WHY?

  In his frantic mind he could see Sheila’s face, the way she had glanced back and recognized him. What was going through her head? Why didn’t she call out his name?

  As he ran, he could hardly see for the tears that ran down his face: tears of rage; tears of sorrow. As they trickled down his face, the cold night air dried them on his skin. He felt like a man broken – a man, yet not a man.

  The thick burning smog clogged his throat, yet he could feel none of it. All he could see was Sheila’s shocked face as she had glanced out of the back window. Then they were over the cliff and she was no more.

  For a minute Dougie disappeared. Frustrated, Tom paused and looked about. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Dougie. Suddenly he seemed to dip and fall, vanishing from Tom’s view, before Tom, too, fell over the edge, slipping and sliding, until now the two of them were on the railway track.

  As the dry, smouldering smog closed in about him, he could taste it on his tongue, feel the burning in his eyes. His vision was impaired. Negotiating the slim, hard tracks beneath his feet, he kept up, with Dougie slowing and stumbling just ahead.

  What happened next was so sudden it took the breath out of Tom.

  They didn’t hear Inspector Lawson’s warning as he called out, “FOR GOD’S SAKE, GET OUT OF THE WAY!” Nor did they see the train until it was on top of them.

  Frantic, Tom threw himself forward, at the same time screaming out a desperate warning to his brother. Dougie, though, was intent on escaping, his mind filled only with the horror of what he had done to his own brother. He thought of what Lilian had told him …“I’m having your child.” Oh, God!

  Thundering forward, the train bore down on him. At the last minute he tried to leap out of the way, but it was too late. His foot caught in the track and he was mown down. Unaware, the enginedriver shoveled more coal onto the fire. He had a timetable to stick to. The train sped on.

  Clambering forward, the inspector had seen it all. “Oh, Jesus!” Like Tom, he ran on, to find Dougie writhing in a river of his own blood, his leg severed at the thigh.

  Distraught, Tom knelt beside him. For a minute he couldn’t speak. All he could do was hold his brother, and listen.

  “You had them … all … not fair.” He gave a half smile, more sad than wicked. “I killed them … Sheila … mine.” Dougie’s life ebbed away, and with it his confession. “She wanted … me.” He gave a yell of pain that tore at Tom’s heart. “She … changed her … mind.”

  The look he gave Tom was filled with hatred. “You always … had everything! I wanted her … so much. She did … love … me.” Lying back in Tom’s arms, he closed his eyes. “Six years … together. Not … your … son.” He looked into Tom’s stric
ken eyes, and felt a measure of regret. “Forgive me.”

  His head lolled backward, that fragile, gossamer-like sigh telling Tom that Dougie was no more.

  Mortified, the sobs racking his body, Tom drew him close to his chest, then, tenderly, he raised his fingers and closed his brother’s eyes. But he couldn’t shake off the devastating impact of Dougie’s confession. He couldn’t let him go. Not yet.

  Not until the hatred had subsided.

  Gently, the inspector pried him away. “It’s over, Tom,” he whispered. “It’s over.”

  PART 3

  November 1952

  Going Home

  CHAPTER 21

  “GOOD GOD, MAN!” Inspector Lawson could see how the events of the past twenty-four hours had taken their toll on Tom. “You look terrible!”

  Tom nodded wearily. “I’m sure I do,” he acknowledged. “I can’t seem to sleep. I still haven’t come to terms with what Dougie did.”

  “Sit yourself down. I’ll get you some tea.” Waiting until Tom was seated, he added kindly, “It’s no use you punishing yourself over what happened. You’re not the Lord Almighty. You couldn’t have foreseen, or prevented the outcome.”

  Tom knew that. He also knew that, however long he lived, he would never forget Dougie’s confession. Every word was engraved on his mind.

  “Have you had any breakfast?” The older man’s voice cut through his thoughts.

  “No.”

  “I’ve got a couple of bacon sarnies. You’re welcome to one of ’em.”

  Tom thanked him. “I wouldn’t say no.”

  He heard the inspector go out, and he heard him come back, and it seemed to Tom as though only a minute had passed, so deep in thought was he.

  “Here!” Handing Tom a paper bag containing the bacon sarnie, he explained, “The wife always gives me more than I need.”

  Tom gave a half smile. “You’re a liar.”

  The older man chuckled. “Maybe, but you look as if you need it more than I do. So get it down you. We’ll talk while we munch.”

  He pointed to the mug of tea he’d placed in front of Tom. “That’s good strong stuff,” he said, adding thoughtfully, “I reckon you’ll need it.”