Kate swallowed audibly. ‘I’ve not looked. And when you find him, what then? Because he won’t stop whatever he’s doing just on account of you throwing a maddy.’
‘I might accidentally run over him.’ She bit her lip. ‘And Angela says she can get me a gun. I’ll not leave this world till he’s dead, only I have to catch him hurting a girl.’ She stared through the window. ‘Oh no, Kate. He’s out there somewhere, and if I’m dying, so is he. I’ll not leave him behind to carry on killing, damn him.’
‘But Eve—’
‘But nothing. I’ve decided. Give me that Daily Post and fetch a cup of tea, please. I’m on me last legs, and my final gift to the world will be to try and make it a safer place for working girls.’
When Kate had left the office, Eve scanned the front page of Liverpool’s morning paper. It was her turn to swallow hard. ‘Blood and bullets – I do not trust that flaming man. Look at him, standing there like butter wouldn’t melt.’
It said nothing about suspicious death, but there he was in the doorway of a small Victorian house that was typical of poorer areas of the city. Neil Carson. He’d been living with a Joseph Turton and his mother, and the old dear had died suddenly. On the morning after his mother’s death, Mr Turton had been found by Mr Carson hanging in the hallway. So to all intents and purposes, Joseph Turton had committed suicide by killing himself just a matter of hours after his mother’s death. ‘And you were there, you slimy bastard.’ Had Carson helped the poor bereaved man on his way?
Eve placed the paper on her desk. There was something nasty about Carson, and she had neither liked nor trusted him. Just suppose he needed somewhere to live? The aged lady was dead, so the house should have passed to her son, but Carson might have had other plans for the old place – it would be just a small matter of changing a name on the rent book. What if he’d smothered the bloke before hanging him up like a rabbit in a butcher’s window? No. Poor Mr Turton would have been a real dead weight, too much for one person. Oh, this bloke made her flesh crawl, and she had more flesh than most. Was her intuition getting stronger as she neared her end? Perhaps this might be compensation for the fact that she wouldn’t reach her mid-fifties.
Kate returned with tea. ‘I put a spoon of clear honey in that,’ she said.
Eve made no reply as she took the mug. She offered the newspaper in exchange. ‘Have a gander at that, Kate. Look and learn, because I told you I never trusted that postman bloke. The devil’s in him, and don’t look at me like that. Leave the d off devil, and that’s what Carson is, bloody evil.’
The older woman sank into the chair opposite Eve’s. After reading, she looked across the desk at her best friend. Eve looked so well today, so normal that no one would have guessed how ill she was. ‘What are you thinking, Eve?’
‘No idea. I’m waiting for the goose bumps to settle down. There’s something in his eyes . . .’ She took a sip of tea, grateful for its heat, since she needed to warm up from the inside. ‘No, he’s like an empty house, nobody in, and there’s bugger all in his eyes; he’s like something with no soul, no heart, no care for anything but himself. I reckon his eyes leave space for Satan.’
Kate shivered and blessed herself hurriedly. ‘Has Angela said anything about him?’ she asked. ‘Because she’s seen him a few times.’
Eve released one of her famous huge sighs. There were clients and there were weird creatures, and this one was as weird as they came. ‘He can take a lot more pain than most. I suppose that’s because he feels nothing in his body, either. He’s just not right, Kate; he begs Ange to draw blood, and you know that’s a step too far for her. Well, he may want to bleed, but I reckon that snake could draw some other poor bugger’s blood to save himself. Oh, and she said he’s angry about her staying here till I die, because the flat would have been more private. I think Angela wants rid of him. Like me, she senses something horrible in the bloke.’
‘So?’
‘So we get rid. Next time he comes, I’ll tell Angela to send him to me for a word or ten. She has a strong stomach, our Miss Whiplash, and if she doesn’t want him, he has to be a real shit. So he’s out. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had something to do with that man’s death, the one whose mother passed away the day before.’ She pondered. ‘He wants watching,’ she added, almost to herself. ‘There’s something . . . Kate, you know I’m a woman with what they call intuition, and that intuition is on red alert. I’m not sure I know why.’
Kate nodded. There were times when it was best to keep her counsel, and this was one such occasion. She changed the subject. ‘Babs and Sally will be here in a while with a surprise for you to look at. She phoned yesterday and said they’d—’
Eve groaned. ‘Not that bloody horse. Oh, for God’s sake, Kate, tell me it’s not Mad Murdoch.’
Kate nodded, then shook her head. ‘But I didn’t tell you. Just remember that and be overcome with joy, else I’ll thump you.’
‘Can I not be ill instead, Mother?’
‘No. You can be excited and grateful and pleased to see them.’
Eve, muttering and grumbling under her breath, walked out of the office and went to tidy her hair and change into something decent. Horses? What the hell next? With the Gilroy sisters as clowns, Angela with her whip, and now a mad horse, they had the makings of a small circus.
Left to herself, Kate enjoyed a short, rare and welcome rest. Eve had trouble in her liver, pancreas and intestine. The C word was seldom used by Kate, because it frightened her, but her best ever friend had the big C and would take no treatment beyond pain control. As ever, Eve viewed the problem pragmatically. It was there, it was going to kill her, but she would decide when. ‘Well, she’d better not ask me to help her come the day, that’s all I can say.’
A vehicle pulling a huge horsebox was trundling its way slowly up the uneven path. Kate watched as the driver jumped down, opened the back of the trailer and walked a beautiful animal down from the box. Babs, in full riding gear, climbed out of the passenger seat and helped the short, handsome man saddle the horse, a process that took several minutes. Boy, that was a good-looking horse, and the man, albeit a short-arse, wasn’t bad, either.
Kate watched as he threaded his fingers together and bent so that his hands could act as Babs’s mounting block. Sally flapped about excitedly when Babs urged Murdoch to walk on. Meanwhile Angela, at the kitchen window, studied her erstwhile rival as she rode up the side of the house – Babs looked as if she’d been born in the saddle.
Kate joined the others in the kitchen. ‘She’s happy,’ she muttered. It was as if rider and horse were one, made for each other. ‘I didn’t know there were women jockeys,’ she said to Eve when the big woman returned from the hair-tidying and clothes-changing session. ‘I know they can be showjumpers, but our little madam’s training for races, or so I’ve been told.’
‘Who said that?’
‘Belle did. They still talk on the phone. Women are allowed to ride in some races, and in a few years they’ll be able to ride in the National.’
The whole household, wrapped in coats or cardigans, assembled outside the kitchen to watch as Babs put Murdoch through his paces. She got him to walk, trot, canter and gallop.
‘Bloody hell,’ Mo said, ‘she couldn’t even ride a bike. How many times has she come home bruised and bleeding, jeans ripped and hair looking like an abandoned bird’s nest?’
Angela laughed. ‘I think our little Baby Girl’s found her gift. Look at her standing in the stirrups with her arse in the air. Doesn’t she make it seem easy?’
Gordy joined the onlookers. ‘She’s brilliant.’ There was pride in his tone. ‘First time she saw him, she tumbled head over heels in love, climbed a fence, lay across the back of a horse that could have killed her, and walked him. I knew then. She owns him; they own each other.’ He looked at Eve. ‘You were there; you saw it.’
‘I was there all right,’ Eve replied. ‘Frightened me to death, she did.’
Angela stared hard
at him. ‘Are you two going out together?’
‘We are.’
‘That’s nice,’ Eve said. ‘She needed settling. I’ll just warn you now, when she starts throwing stuff, duck. She’s a crack shot with pots and pans. And words. She has a very sharp tongue.’
‘I’m Irish,’ he answered as if this fact served as sufficient explanation.
Judy laughed. ‘We can tell.’
‘So I’m used to most things. My mother had a deadly aim with rabbits and hares, so we had to be quick getting out of her road. Daddy always said not to worry if we weren’t clean at the table, for Mammy couldn’t see a thing close to. She could see for miles, but. Because of that, we had to avoid standing mid-distance between near to and far away when she had the gun, as we weren’t sure about where one ended and the other began.’ He shook his head. ‘A mortallious troubled childhood for sure, we had. Her cooking was . . . interesting. But she was a lovely woman in her own way. Like Babs. Babs is a one-off, only in a different sense. She cooks well. She knows the difference between salt and sugar, which helps no end.’
‘Babs is a gifted girl who avoided school like the plague,’ Eve said.
Sal piped up. ‘I do better cakes and pies, but she makes good dinners.’ She turned to Eve. ‘If you want a little break in Southport, Mr Crawford would be delighted to let you stay. We know you’ve got . . .’ Her voice died.
‘Cancer. It’s just a word, Sally. It scares the daylights out of Kate, but it’s just a word. Yes, I might enjoy Southport, so I’ll think about that.’
Murdoch finished his display, nodding when his audience applauded.
Babs slid down the horse’s side like a true professional.
‘Get him,’ Babs told Gordy.
Gordy disappeared.
‘Get who?’ Mo asked.
Babs patted her horse. ‘Nicholas Nye, of course. Just wait a couple of minutes – we’ve a two-horse box.’
The blind donkey stole the show. Even the life-hardened Eve seemed moved by the relationship between the two beasts.
‘Inseparable,’ Gordy said. ‘Can you imagine when we go to racecourses with this pair? There we’ll be in the winner’s enclosure with a sweat-lathered horse and a scruffy little Nye. Without his friend, Murdoch might refuse to run. He’s temperamental.’
‘Like his jockey,’ Eve said wryly. ‘They should do well together, cos they’re a right pair of loonies.’
‘You’re right enough, Miss Mellor. I took her for a meal she didn’t enjoy, so it was the chef they brought to the table while she educated him in the art of cookery. I can’t take you anywhere, can I, sweetness?’
Eve chuckled – he knew exactly what the man meant.
‘No, you can’t.’ Babs watched her colleagues making a great fuss of Nicholas Nye. Placid as ever, the patient little beast stood while he was kissed, stroked, patted and told he was an angel. Angela had changed, Babs decided. There was a softer side to her, as if the knife’s edge had been blunted. Eve’s illness was probably responsible for the shift in Angela’s behaviour. On impulse, she hugged her ex-enemy. ‘Sorry for all the fights,’ she whispered.
A red-faced Angela responded, ‘No problem,’ before extricating herself from the shorter woman’s strangely powerful arms. ‘So you two gave up the lesbian bit, I take it?’
Babs nodded. ‘We did. But she’s greedy – two boyfriends, if you please.’
‘Never!’
‘One’s younger than she is; the other’s the same age. They’re both nice in their different ways, and they both love the bones of her. She’s a good girl, Angie, but we’re expecting a fight between the two lads.’
‘We’re all good – well, most of us are. People assume that we’re bad because of the job we do. Underneath all that, we’re as good as anybody else.’
Babs nodded her agreement. ‘One day, probably long after we’re all dead, the law will change and prostitution will be supervised and legalized. Until then, we can’t do anything except keep safe. That killer’s still out there, I’m sure.’
Eve listened to their conversation, but said not one word. There were plenty of vehicles parked in the dock-side area, and she would be one of them. It would soon be three weeks since the last killing, and the murderer would be hunting again any day now. The pattern belonged to a shift worker, she felt sure. If she knew that, the cops, too, would be aware. But an extra hand at the pump was always useful; for the first time in her life, Eve Mellor was on the side of the law.
Postmen did shift work, didn’t they? Central post offices never closed, because mail needed sorting night and day. He fitted the profile, and Eve was on to him.
He picked up the Biro. If he wrote it, he might remember more accurately.
I’m sure I didn’t do anything. The bolt was on my bedroom door, and I remember fixing that and making sure the door was shut – I even stuck a chair under the handle like I’ve seen them doing in films. My clothes were still on me when I woke, so I took them off and hung them up. The house was very quiet, though the outside world was making noise – I could hear vehicles on the move. It was just after one in the morning, I think.
In pyjamas, I went down to the bathroom. Joe was sitting in the middle room drinking. There were six or more Guinness bottles on the table, and a half bottle of Scotch on the floor. He was mixing his drinks, and I’ve never known him do that except on special occasions like somebody’s birthday party or the Christmas do at work. I said nothing and he said nothing. It was the same when I’d finished in the bathroom – not a word spoken, so I just went back to my room, shot the bolt home, put the chair under the handle and lay down.
I couldn’t catch my sleep. Hearing Maude talking to me when she was dead must have made me jumpy. I caught the sound of him sobbing and clinking bottles down below. He’s no friend of mine, I told myself. He’s a nancy boy, I kept repeating in my head. He likes me, and always thought I’d felt the same way about him, but where did he get that idea? Just because I left my wife, he thought he was in with a chance. We were just different from the other blokes, odd men out, and we got together for that reason, because neither of us has much to say for himself.
Then I heard him climbing the stairs. He stumbled a lot, and he swore a few times before reaching the landing. Very suddenly, he went still. I got up, crept across the room and put my ear against the door, keeping a careful hand on the chair to stop it shifting. I could hear him breathing. Then he tapped on my door and started going on about how he loved me and how I mustn’t leave him. His tongue stumbled over words, and I knew he was very drunk.
I felt sick. I was imagining what they do to one another, and I almost understood my mother and the way she used to carry on. In my book, there’s nothing wrong with making love, but two men? Then I knew I had to get out of the house, because I wouldn’t be able to look at him, eat with him – could I even work with him? Why wouldn’t he give up and go to bed?
He went all legal after a while, telling me in mixed-up words that the new law accepted a relationship between consenting adults over twenty-one unless they were in the armed forces. His speech was slurred, but I got the gist. What was I supposed to do? Let him in and let him get on with whatever he wanted from me?
I waited until he’d gone away before creeping back to my bed where I lay as stiff as a board listening to him crying in the room across the landing. The crying changed to snoring, and I fell asleep. In the morning, I got up and prepared myself for work. I’d changed shifts for one day and was on earlies. And I found him. He was just hanging there with his tongue sticking out and the rope digging into his neck.
He looked terrible. It hadn’t been a quick death, or so I assumed. There’d been no Albert Pierrepoint in attendance to make sure things moved swiftly, correctly and as humanely as possible. This looked like a case of slow strangulation.
It wasn’t me, it wasn’t. I was asleep, wasn’t I? And the bolt was still on, and the chair was stuck under the handle, so I hadn’t walked in my sleep. I think
I heard a cry at some point, but it probably got buried in my dream. Well, I had to phone the police and the ambulance, then tell work that Joe and I wouldn’t be in and why. I left Joe’s body where it was, since he was clearly dead.
The police came. An ambulance arrived. Photographers and journalists, tipped off by God alone knew who, turned up and waded in. How long had I lived here, how long had I known Joe, where did I work, had Joe seemed depressed, had the sudden death of his mother affected him? It felt like I was in the dock at the Old Bailey, but I didn’t kill him, did I?
They searched the house and found photos of naked men on top of Joe’s wardrobe. So I lied. No, I had no idea about his sexual leanings, and I’d been staying here to help with Maude. Yes, I’m a postman, no, I wasn’t here when Maude died. Why was there a bolt inside my bedroom door? I lied again. Joe had put it there so that any lodger might have a degree of privacy – another fib that can’t be disproved. Yes, I’m married, yes, I have children, no, I’m not divorced because I’m Catholic, blah, blah, blah.
I got a bit scared, worrying whether they would talk to Laura and whether she would mention the cross and chain. Thinking about it, I concluded that she will keep it all to herself for the sake of the children, who don’t deserve to be taunted about a criminal father. I was glad when they all left, because I prefer to deal with people one or two at a time.
Thinking more clearly today, probably because I’m writing it all in my notebook. I’m remembering more events, though timescales can be confusing. A double funeral is next. Both bodies are now with McManus the undertaker. Well, I think they are, though they might want a post mortem on Joe. And I’m in this sad little house with old wallpaper, chipped paint and furniture fit for Bonfire Night. It’s clean, but shabby.
Poor Maude. She had a pervert for a son, and she never knew it. Perhaps she knows now. So, can I stay here with his ghost and hers hanging about like a smell on the landing? I suppose I can. It’ll stop once they’re buried, and I’ve heard nothing more since Maude passed over.
Midnight on Lime Street Page 29