He nodded. Murdoch nodded. Eve nodded. Apart from the fact that two humans, one of them at death’s door, were discussing a monster, this was fit for a Three Stooges farce. ‘He told the nurse about the notebook; all the details were in it.’
‘Thank God,’ Eve whispered.
‘Amen to that, Miss Mellor.’
‘Eve.’
‘All right, Eve. I’m Bert.’ He placed an envelope on the windowsill. ‘Deal with that when you’re ready, then. I’d better go.’
Hearing this, the horse backed out of the room.
‘They do reverse,’ she exclaimed.
‘They do indeed.’ He shook her hand. ‘Goodbye, Eve. I wish you all the best with as little pain as humanly possible.’
Alone, she felt tears gathering, but she hung on. This was it; this was the day she had long awaited, and her job was done. But she didn’t want to die here. The idea of seeing herself off in somebody else’s house seemed impolite.
Kate entered with a tray. ‘I’ve got your soft boiled egg with soldiers – best butter and all.’
Eve smiled at her Lancastrian friend. ‘Your accent’s gone worse, Kate. Sit down.’ She delivered the tale. ‘And he’s been in our house,’ she added at the end. ‘We’ve had a bloody killer at the farm.’
Kate shivered. ‘Jesus,’ she mumbled, her eyes closed as if for prayers.
Eve nodded sagely. ‘Two kids, he had. Imagine the state of them when this hits the headlines. His poor wife, too. What on earth has she done to deserve a thing like that as a husband? She talked to Belle, you know.’
‘Yes, you said.’
‘Laura, she’s called. Nice name.’
‘You already told me.’ Kate unfolded the legs of the breakfast trolley and propped it on Eve’s bed. ‘Eat what you can, love. Our girls are all in the kitchen having breakfast served up with laughs by young Sally. She’s got a boyfriend – the lad whose mate got killed by them drugs people. He’s learning to be a plasterer. Them other boys are here, too – they hid in the scout hut, remember?’
Eve nodded.
‘They slept here too, last night. There’s all kinds of camp beds and whatnot up the stairs here. Mr Macey’s got the date for Crown Court – March, he said. The monks are civilians now, and they have to report to a cop shop every day. I thought Babs and Gordy might have Dove Cottage to themselves, so there’ll be four lads and Sally stopping here. Oh, well; it never rains but it pours, eh? I’ll go and have my brekky.’
Alone, Eve struggled to eat bits of boiled egg, though she didn’t attempt to tackle her toast.
When the tray had been removed, she turned, wriggled to the edge of the mattress and placed her feet on the floor. The windowsill was close by, and she reached for Bert Heslop’s bill, which seemed rather bulky for a single sheet bearing lists of expenses. It wasn’t a bill. It was a card with a bunch of flowers on its front. Inside, there was no printed message. Instead, a hundred pounds in new notes nestled with a handwritten line. For a cancer research charity of your choice. God bless you, Hubert Heslop.
And that was when she began to cry.
Sisters Mary Veronica and Helen Veronica were in a public house enjoying a lunchtime shandy with DS Eddie Barnes. Nelson sat under their table waiting for gifts of potato crisps and pork scratchings.
‘I hope you’re right this time, Eddie,’ Helen said. ‘And no more beer for Nelson, thank you. He’s daft enough when not on duty.’ She looked at her watch. ‘So we have just about eleven hours.’
‘Yes. Corner of Crosshall Street and Victoria Street.’
‘At a quarter to midnight?’
Eddie shrugged. ‘That’s what we were told.’ He spoke to Mary. ‘So this new drug boss trusts you? Are you absolutely sure? After all, Holy Mary did run errands for Shuttleworth.’
Mary grinned and winked in a very unholy manner. ‘I’m in it for the money. They all know I won’t carry drugs, but I’ll deliver messages. But isn’t that meeting place a bit busy?’
Eddie shrugged again. ‘Maybe they want to look normal, just two blokes on a night out.’
Helen gave her opinion that it felt wrong. ‘They always stay hidden,’ she said. ‘They’re the most invisible of all this city’s invisibles.’ She patted Nelson almost automatically; with his head on her lap, he was clearly begging for treats, but no one was forthcoming with titbits. He withdrew, curled up under the table and fell asleep.
‘I’ve changed my mind; I want you and Nelson to stay at home tonight,’ Eddie advised Helen. ‘We don’t want him doing a turn because he can smell drugs.’ He focused on Mary. ‘Dress in your Holy Mary clothes, but I’m hoping we won’t need you either.’
‘Right,’ she replied. ‘One more shandy, then we’ll return to being brides of Christ.’
Eddie grinned as he went for three more drinks. These two nuns were excellent police officers, better than many who’d been trained for the job. They were prepared to break smaller rules for the greater good, and therein lay their strength. There was a God, and He was benign.
When they returned to Meadowbank Farm, Eve, Kate and the girls were greeted by Belle, Tom and Max. Liverpool was buzzing with news of the crash, though nothing had been heard so far about Neil Carson’s having been the serial killer of working girls.
Belle threw her arms round Eve’s neck. ‘Was it him? Was Laura right? Were you right?’
Eve delivered a weak smile. ‘We were right, babe. I’ll just go and get clean, put me nightie on and throw meself in bed. We’re closed tonight; business as usual soon enough.’
‘Shall I help you?’
‘No, you’re all right – Kate does it. She’s used to me, love. Getting me changed can be complicated.’
Belle lingered with Tom and her ex-colleagues, watching as Eve and Kate went slowly into the bedroom they had shared. While the girls fussed over Max, Belle stared blankly into the near distance. The light in Eve Mellor’s eyes had died; it was almost as if she had stayed alive until Carson had been caught. ‘She’s going, Tom,’ Belle whispered to her beloved husband.
‘Yes, love,’ he mumbled, ‘but wear a brave face for her sake. She won’t take treatment apart from painkillers, and that’s her prerogative. Act normal.’
‘I don’t do normal, and neither do you.’
He raised his shoulders for a split second. ‘Then just be yourself.’
‘OK.’
Belle gave herself a silent lecture. For the sake of Eve and the girls, she needed to stay strong. Kate brought Eve to her bed in the kitchen and pulled the covers over her before going to the other side of the huge room to make cocoa. Belle followed her and helped with the task. Looking over her shoulder, Belle noticed that Eve was writing in a notebook. ‘What’s she writing, Kate?’
‘Her memoirs. She’s been at it a while now.’
‘Yet she seems sleepy, closes her eyes a lot.’
‘Yes, she does that, too.’
‘She’s lost a lot of weight, hasn’t she?’
Kate sighed. ‘You should see her naked – just loose flesh hanging from her bones. I’m scared, Belle.’
‘So am I, love. So am I.’
The girls drifted off to bed, leaving just Tom, Belle, Kate and Max in the kitchen with Eve, who was already asleep. Belle glanced across at Eve. ‘Go and get in your own bed, Kate,’ she said. ‘She’s settling nicely, so I’ll stay with her tonight.’
‘What about Tom?’ Kate asked. ‘He can’t drive home.’
‘I’ll stay,’ he said. ‘You’re weary, Kate.’
She had to agree. ‘Sleep in the spare next to the office,’ she advised him before going to look at Eve, who was snoring.
Tom left the room, blowing kisses at his wife as he went.
Kate grinned and took herself off to the bedroom.
Alone with Max, Belle stretched out on a long sofa. The dog, sensible as ever, lay flat out in front of the fire. It was a quarter past eleven, and Belle drifted off almost immediately – even Eve’s snoring failed to kee
p her awake.
But a wet, doggy tongue woke her. She patted Max, sat up and looked to her right. Eve’s bed was near the window. ‘What is it, boy?’ she asked.
He whined quietly and walked to the bed.
Belle followed after glancing at the clock; it was just ten minutes to midnight – she had slept for no more than half an hour.
Eve was warm, but she wasn’t breathing. Had the snoring been the rattle of death? ‘Find Tom,’ Belle told Max. He ran.
When the covers were pulled back, she noticed the open notebook, a ballpoint pen and an empty pill jar. Eve had done as she had promised from the day of her diagnosis: she had seen herself off. Switching on the bedside lamp, Belle read the final words.
I have had a lovely couple of days and am happy watching you all playing with Tom’s daft dog. While you’re distracted, I’m swallowing saved pills. Please, no ambulance. Don’t try to revive me, because I have a few crabs inside me, and they’re taking lumps out of my guts. It’s hurting now, especially as I saved many painkillers for this purpose.
I thank and love you all. Please, just let me go. Eve Mellor.
Belle gulped hard. The woman in the bed had probably been swallowing pills a few at a time all evening. It was possible that Eve might be brought back through medical intervention, but she hadn’t wanted that. ‘Sleep well, my friend. I always knew there was a good woman behind all the bluster.’
Tom arrived.
‘I think she’s dead,’ Belle murmured.
‘Shall I get an ambulance?’ he asked.
For answer, his wife pushed the notebook into his hands.
‘Ten minutes won’t make any difference,’ Tom whispered. ‘Let’s make sure she’s gone before waking Kate or sending for an ambulance.’
At midnight Tom would use the telephone while Belle roused Kate.
For Meadowbank Farm, this Sunday night marked the end of an era.
In town, a different tune was nearing its climax. Shops and offices were packed with police in plain clothes. DS Eddie Barnes, in charge of the operation, was dressed in tattered garments and clinging for support to a lamp post. Delivering a mangled version of Danny Boy, he kept his eyes open beneath the neb of a flat cap. Tonight, Old Drug Boss would meet his successor with a view to joining forces.
It was cold. Air expressed by passers-by hung in the air like small clouds. A pale silver moon sat against a huge map of faraway stars; there was frost tonight. Late revellers left clubs and wandered about in search of night buses. A loud woman berated her partner for looking at other women at a dance. ‘You made a show of me,’ she screamed, clattering his ear with her handbag. ‘I was ashamed.’ The man shielded his face; he was clearly used to such performances.
Another couple joined them, and the fighting ceased immediately.
Eddie, whose pipes were still calling from glen to glen and down the mountainside, tried not to be distracted. He sang on determinedly and tunelessly about sunshine on meadows, valleys under snow and Danny coming home.
Shuttleworth slipped out of a recessed doorway. With his head down, he approached the chosen meeting place, but there was no sign thus far of the new drugs baron. He stilled and lit a cigarette. He was taking a huge chance by being here, and he knew it.
Before Eddie reached the end of sunshine and shadow, chaos invented itself. While members of the force watched from first floor windows, civilians arrived from every conceivable direction, running at Shuttleworth. Whistles blew. Police decanted themselves from shops and offices. They arrested at least a dozen of New Drug Boss’s minions, but Shuttleworth was not among the detainees. Eddie barked orders. ‘Put this lot in the wagon. After that, you four go left, the rest turn right at the corner. I’m going up Lime Street.’ He stood for a few seconds and watched while offenders were stored in a large van.
‘Right – go!’ he shouted before making for the station. Why was he going to the station? He had no bloody idea. Bloody. Dave’s blood. Eddie shivered. Running fast, he crossed the main road and reached his destination. People were screaming; a porter came out and grabbed Eddie’s arm. ‘He’s been stabbed,’ the employee of British Railways said. ‘You used to work here in uniform, didn’t you?’
They entered the station together. Eddie retrieved his arm and walked slowly across the area. This was karma; it was perfect. He bent down. ‘Hurts, does it?’ he asked.
Shuttleworth clutched at the handle of a knife whose blade was buried in his abdomen. ‘Fuck off,’ he snapped.
‘Oh no. I’ve waited months for this.’ While the felled man removed the weapon from his body, Eddie made no comment. The removal of the knife would mean a complete bleed-out; had it remained buried, there might have been a small chance of survival.
‘Pig,’ the dying drugs boss spat.
‘Goodbye,’ Eddie whispered.
As Shuttleworth breathed his last, an ambulance arrived. Eddie allowed himself a tight, grim smile. While blood bubbled in Shuttleworth’s final exchange of gases, a clock chimed. It was midnight on Lime Street, and the world was now a better place.
Post Scriptum
1974
Well, the big day’s finally arrived and I’m stood at our bedroom window looking out at Wordsworth House where I work part time, like. I’m a lot of things part time, I suppose. Wife, mum, jockey, RSPCA receptionist/animal feeder/guilty party when things go wrong in this house or Don’s; he left it to the animal protection as long as Sally and Bill can live in.
Yes, Don died, and I miss him something awful. I knew he was a dirty old man, but he used short women instead of kids, so he done the right thing. There was that time he wanted to watch us with other men, but I soon put the stoppers on that idea – it was a couple of miles too far. God bless, he was no trouble when he died, but Sally was. Oh my God, she was in a state worse than Blackpool beach on a hot Sunday.
She come fleeing down here in her nightie screaming her head off cos Bill had already gone to work, and she set Gordy off crying like a bloody kid, then I joined in too, just to keep them company. I got a passing RSPCA girl to come and sit with our Ellie. Then we went back with Sal to Wordsworth, the big house called after Don’s favourite poet (he was a soft arse when it come to poetry) and there he was, all white and still and cold, gone in his sleep, no trouble to nobody. That was when my husband started keening like one of them banshees what they talk about in Ireland. So I thumped him. Not hard, like, but enough to make him breathe in proper.
Don’t get me wrong, I adore my Gordy – best man in the world, but he’s one of them emotional types, can’t keep nothing inside. Reminds me sometimes of Murdoch – mad, but in a good way. It’s a bit like living with somebody what’s on cloud nine one minute and knocking on hell’s door the next. I think it’s called being Irish, so there’s bugger all I can do about that, right?
It’s been a sad and happy few years. In 1968, Eve never even seen Christmas, cos she done herself in one night in November while all the girls was sat there with Belle and Tom and their dog. We thought poor Kate wouldn’t be able to forgive herself, but she soldiers on looking after the girls and cooking dinners just like she always did, says Eve’s spirit’s with her. Angela never left, so she’s in charge, too, cos she’s getting a bit old for collaring folk and kicking the shite out of them.
Belle and Tom have a little lad called Thomas, and they’re really happy even though Max passed away. Straight off, they got another baby dog the same as Max, and they called him Max till he ate the stair carpet, so he answers to Trouble as well. Speaking of dogs, we have a load of them here now, plus cats and even parrots what people have got fed up with. I don’t know why some folk bother with pets, cos they don’t deserve them, do they? Bloody morons.
We also have a string of bays, some red like Murdy, some brown. We take them down the beach and walk a long way to the sea some days – you know what Southport’s like, all sand and no wet, but salt water’s good for horses’ leg bones and ankles, so we walk till we find the Irish Sea, usually j
ust a stripe across the horizon.
When I give him his head, Murdoch runs like a gale force wind, took me breath away till I got used to it. I lie low to keep him streamlined. We leave miles between us and the rest of the stable. Well, not real miles, but you know what I mean. He’s fast – that’s the long and short of it. Haha – he’s long and I’m the short arse.
Oh, I do miss Eve, you know. In her own way, she was like a mam to me. I knew underneath all the orders and the bad-mouthing she was a good-hearted soul. Like me, I suppose she was, all gob and always right. The girls will be there this afternoon, but I’ll miss Eve and Don. Don wanted more than anything to watch Murdy in the National.
Here comes my Trouble, am I all right and the odds have shortened again what with me and Murdy winning a few other races. I tell him to go and look after our Ellie and to calm down, cos it’s just another steeplechase. Well, I realize that’s not true, because it’s an overcrowded field with jumps like bleeding Everest, but I know it will be what they call a breeze for my horse. He is mine now. Lippy Macey owns a back leg or something, but the rest of Murdy is mine. ‘Go on, Gordy,’ I say, ‘and play with Ellie.’ He goes. He knows I need some me-all-by-myself time – not as daft as he looks. There again, nobody could look as daft as he does when he’s chasing horses – runs like a ruptured duck, and his hair favours a burst pillow.
That school’s still open – Woodside, it’s called. They have a few women teachers and a nurse and some good monks. Two of the baddies are still in jail, and one got murdered in there. My Gordy calls that karma, whatever karma means. Fatso Drug Boss copped it on Lime Street near the spot where he killed the copper – I suppose that’s another piece of karma.
I’m looking at me silks, purple and silver; they remind me a bit of my lovely wedding day. Not long after we got wed, Belle told me that the serial killer of working girls was done for – done to a turn in a fire by all accounts, with his gob inside a chippy and his backside on fire. Belle’s friends with his wife. She’s called Laura, I’m told, and she emigrated to Canada with her kids and a new husband what used to be a jeweller.
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