The Lazarus Secrets

by Beryl Coverdale

  “So that’s the vicar then who’s there at the village church now, the Reverend Longfield?” confirmed Jessie. “Well, I knew he was related to them but because he had a different name I didn’t realise he was Mr Petersen’s son.”

  “Yes, it was a bit of a scandal at the time but with the war on I suppose folk had other things to think about and that Clive grew up to be a lovely chap and his wife, Carol, she was the daughter of the previous vicar the Rev Kenneth Donaldson and his wife Margaret who was always gossiping and getting the facts wrong. Not that Carol is anything like her mother, never has anything unpleasant to say about anyone. She’s a right nice girl.” Jessie was thinking what a disappointment that must be for Annie as Annie went on with her story.

  “The Petersens were married for a long time, and then she died suddenly, which was a surprise really because she was a good few years younger than him. That must’ve been just before you came to live here. Ruby and I went to the funeral, of course, us having a connection with the family,” she said importantly, “and my arthritis wasn’t so bad then and I could get about a bit easier. The Reverend did a lovely service for his mother and she’s buried there in the churchyard. It was very upsetting though and I always think Mr Petersen has had a sadness about him since he lost her.”

  Jessie sat back digesting all the information gleaned from her neighbour and then said casually, “Mind you Annie, I still say I’m surprised they let that Max Darrington into the police force after him having been in a mental hospital.”

  Annie scowled at her, “Well, he got better. During the war, lots of people had difficulties like that and he’d suffered more than most for such a young man. He’s a fine policeman now, everyone says so.” Her tone was angry. She didn’t like Jessie, a newcomer to the village, having the nerve to pass an opinion about people she knew well. “The sun’s gone in now so if you don’t mind giving me a hand I’d like to go inside now.”

  Chapter Four

  New Year’s Eve 1967

  The interview was unusually brief. Calway was guilty and aware that Detective Chief Inspector Max Darrington knew he was, having carried his burden for twelve months he was more than ready to lay it down. After a caution and a few preliminary questions, Darrington asked him formally, “Ivor James Calway did you rape and murder Sally Wilson?”

  The young man sat forward on his chair, parted his lips and looked forlornly from the female sergeant scribbling in a shorthand notepad to the impassive chief inspector as if they should provide the words, then he slumped back, “Yes.”

  “Will you tell me about it?” Darrington asked calmly.

  After a brief pause, Calway sat up rigidly and detailed his horrendous crime, while Sergeant Jean Morrison took notes. “On the 26th December last year I was walking across Benchley Common when I saw a young girl about ten years old riding a red bicycle along the pathway. She was crying and calling out the name Ben. She asked if I’d seen a small, white dog. She said she’d put him in the basket on the front of the bicycle to take him for a ride but he’d seen a rabbit and jumped out and run after it. She said she’d been looking for him for a long time. There’s a wooded area on the common and she thought he might have gone in there and couldn’t find his way out so I said I’d go with her and look for the dog. I had absolutely no intention of harming her, I really didn’t.” Calway stopped.

  “Go on,” Darrington said quietly but insistently.

  “I swear I never intended to hurt her in any way,” Calway begged for understanding but Darrington’s face was impassive and the sergeant looked up and glared at him. “I really didn’t,” he protested, “but we couldn’t find the dog and she started crying again. I knelt down and put my arm around her, to comfort her and I promised to keep on looking; she put her arms around my neck and hugged me. She was smiling. She was so very beautiful, so pure and innocent, there in the woods, it was like a dream. I don’t know what happened. We seemed to be in another world. I’ve always been so lonely and her warm little hands touched my neck it was so sort of wonderful. I don’t know what happened,” he repeated.

  “Perhaps everything just went black,” sneered the sergeant then nodded an apology to the scowling Darrington. He didn’t want the flow interrupted.

  Calway continued, “I realised she was crying because I was holding her too tightly, she tried to pull away but I couldn’t let her go. She was too perfect, too precious. I just wanted her to stay with me a little longer, but she got frightened and began screaming really loudly. I panicked and put my hand over her mouth and in the struggle we fell to the ground. I fell on top of her. I can’t believe I did what I did.”

  “You raped her?” Darrington said.

  Calway put his head down and wept bitterly, “Yes.” For a few moments he covered his face with his hands while his accusers watched in stony silence, then brushing aside the tears, eyes fixed on his long fingers now interlocked in his lap, he continued in a flat unemotional voice. “She didn’t move and I thought she was dead. I was horrified. I was going to run away but suddenly she did move. She wasn’t dead and she would tell everyone and I was so scared, I didn’t know what I was doing. Her eyes opened and she began to scream again so I put my hands on her throat and mouth, just to keep her quiet. She seemed to die instantly.”

  “What did you do next?”

  “I sat with her for ages just holding her in my arms. I think I was hoping she would come round again, that she wasn’t really dead, but I suppose I knew she was. I picked her up, she was as light as a feather, and I put her underneath a thick bush and pushed the bike in beside her and covered her with branches and then I left.”

  “Did you see anyone else on the Common?”

  Calway was calm almost detached as he described his monstrous actions lucidly and with precision. “I saw the Reverend Phillips in the distance, I used to go to the youth club at his church when I was younger and I thought he might recognise me. He had his head down and I couldn’t be sure if he’d seen me. So, I took off across the Common, out of his line of vision and I ran and ran until I was almost home, at the other side of the town. I went into the supermarket and Averill Platt was at the checkout, I knew her from school so I got into a conversation with her. I thought if anyone had seen me on the Common, Averill would say I was in the supermarket around that time. I told her I’d been looking for black shoe polish for ages to give the impression I’d been there for a while.”

  Darrington breathed out heavily, that was exactly what had happened. Calway was interviewed at the time of the murder, as someone possibly seen on the Common. He had been most helpful and even with his suspicious policeman’s mind Darrington had not regarded him as a serious suspect.

  Calway looked relaxed. His confession discharged he was at peace with himself. They always are, thought Darrington bitterly, when they’ve passed on the horror.

  Known in police and criminal circles as ‘Red Max’ for red his hair and bad temper, Darrington had a tough reputation, but still had not managed to harden himself to crimes involving children. The perpetrators usually ranged from pathetic specimens who had been headed toward the eventual sick conclusion since birth, to the ignorant and unrepentant who, after denying and threatening, pleaded a variety of mitigating circumstances purely to negate their punishment. Either way it was easy to dislike, even hate, such people but not this young man. Ivor James Calway reminded him of his own sons, a fact he found deeply disturbing.

  Sergeant Jean Morrison read back the statement in a voice barely concealing outrage. It was usually Darrington who took the role of aggressor while she, totally belying her true nature, coaxed and cajoled suspects to unburden to her and be saved from wrath of the frightening ‘Red Max’. More often than not the tactic was successful but there were no motherly tones for the child killer.

  Calway was formerly charged. Sergeant Morrison handed him two sheets of typed notes, “Is that a true statement as given by you today 31st December, 1967?”

  Calway read the statement tho
roughly, “Yes, it is.” His voice, like his looks, was pleasant and cultured.

  “If you agree it’s correct, sign it,” snapped the sergeant.

  She snatched the document from him, checked the signature and handed it to Darrington.

  It was over. Twelve months to the day when a man walking his dog had found the missing Sally Wilson’s body on Benchley Common, Darrington had caught the killer on his day off and virtually in his own backyard.

  “They should never have done away with capital punishment, then they could hang that bastard,” the sergeant hissed as she and Darrington left the police station together. She had no trouble hating him.

  “Well, that’s not for us to decide Jean, we’ve done our bit and now I’m going home.”

  “What about the Wilsons?”

  “I’ll call and tell them on my way,” said Darrington walking toward his car.

  “But it’s not on your way.”

  Darrington turned and looked back, “I told them their daughter was dead last New Year’s Eve, so I should tell them her killer has been arrested. Of course, it will make me late home, yet again, but I’m sure Sarah will understand, at least I hope she will.”

  “You mean she’s used to it,” laughed the Sergeant.

  “Probably, but I’m in so much trouble already today it won’t make any difference. On my first day off for weeks, I went to see my son compete in a race and ended up arresting the winner. I did ring and tell Sarah what had happened. I left her to explain to the vicar, who just happens to be my cousin, why he had no winner to accept the trophy but she didn’t sound too impressed.” He smiled grimly, “But at least we’ve got Calway behind bars.”

  The sergeant nodded, “Well, have a good New Year’s Eve sir, although if you are anything like me you won’t be very good company.”

  Darrington smiled but didn’t reply. He would be good company, he knew he would. He had been taught by an expert to imprison life’s horrors to be dealt with at another time. It was an accomplishment he had perfected over the years but never could decide if it were a good or bad practise. For the first time in many years he thought of Leon Bauerman, the doctor who had certainly saved his sanity, but had also taught him how to lock away the darkness in his life — to stand firmly on the trapdoor where the demons of his past urged to be let out.

  Chapter Five

  The Oak Hathern cross-country race was held every year at 11am on the 31st of December and David had an excellent chance of winning it for the third year in a row, an unequalled record. Sarah had pleaded with Max to take just one day off especially as it was his birthday and he had finally agreed.

  Over the years the race had become as much a social event for the spectators as a competition for the runners. In fair weather or foul, almost the entire population of the village and many outsiders crowded the green to watch. The Mothers’ Union served hot chocolate in paper cups and the crowds milled about stamping cold feet and chatting to friends and neighbours.

  From the starting point, Max’s cousin, the Reverend Clive Longfield, waved to him and then after looking steadily at his watch for a few seconds, fired the starting pistol into the air. A cheer went up and the runners, bunched together and exhaling steamy breath at the starting line, sped off on the five-mile circuit around the outskirts of the village and back to the green. Sarah clutched David’s tracksuit certain he would win and happy that, for once, his father would witness his achievement.

  Clive and his wife Carol came to wish Max a happy birthday and were not the first to jokingly remark on his unusual appearance at a social event. He was beginning to feel uncomfortably guilty that Sarah normally fronted up to these occasions alone; so much so that everyone they met found his presence cause for comment. Taking her hand, he mentally vowed to forget about work and make this a special day. They sipped hot chocolate as they wandered along the green and he felt at peace with the world. He worked in Southampton, but Oak Hathern had been his home for almost thirty years. He had never had any desire to live anywhere else, although he could have furthered his career by doing so. He had met Sarah very near where they now stood.

  It was 8th May, 1945, VE night and the Reverend Donaldson had led the village in prayers of thanksgiving and then the night had erupted into celebrations. A length of coloured lights was strung in the trees, beacons were lit, and the owners of the houses around the green, after six years of cowering behind blackout curtains, defiantly pulled them back letting light spill out into the spring night. The older children were roasting potatoes on a bonfire and three old timers who usually played in the pub wandered among the revellers with violins and an accordion.

  Liberation from war and a barrel of ale provided by the local pub, set the crowds free and inhibitions were cast aside with unusual avidity as they sang and danced in the firelight and young couples moved into the shadows but Max, even with his family around him and his precious son in his arms, had never felt more alone. His mother and Uncle Alexander were there and Uncle Charles and Barbara, who were concerned about Clive, who seemed to have disappeared. Max had seen his young cousin and the vicar’s daughter holding hands as they sneaked into the vicarage garden but said nothing. Dr Edwin Scott appeared with a tray of beer, only halves, but no-one cared and Max stood Jules down beside him while he supped the welcome brew. They raised their glasses to toast the peace and not for the first time, Max, thought he caught just a flicker of something between his mother and Edwin.

  The musicians struck up a lively rendition of ‘Knees Up Mother Brown’ and to the delight of the crowd two old ladies pulled the vicar onto the makeshift wooden dance floor where he good-naturedly joined in. His dance partners frolicked to the music lifting up their long skirts and showing glimpses of thick flannel knickers.

  Alexander roared with laughter and the whole family joined in amused as much by his display of glee, as by the dancers. “You just wait until Margaret gets the Vicar home,” he choked, “I reckon he’ll need divine intervention alright.”

  “You’re not dancing tonight Edwin?” Charles asked.

  “No. I can’t find Annie Rudge.” The tired old joke still evoked smiles.

  “There she is,” said Barbara.

  Pushing her way through the crowds Annie Rudge grabbed the arm of one of the old ladies, apparently her mother and dragged her away. “You’re drunk!” Annie admonished loudly, “showing yourself up in front of the whole village,” she turned back to the Reverend Donaldson, “and you ought to be ashamed of yourself vicar, encouraging her.”

  The smile fell from Max’s face when looked down at the empty space where Jules had stood, fear struck through him and he swung around searching the crowds and calling out his name.

  “It’s all right, I can see him over there by the tree,” called Barbara pointing to where Jules and a little girl stood looking shyly at one another.

  As Max reached him, a young woman took hold of the girl’s hand and breathed out in relief, “Heather, I thought I’d lost you!”

  Max smiled and picked up Jules, “Me too. Frightening isn’t it?”

  It was a chance meeting at an unexpected moment but for Sarah and Max it was the beginning of friendship, love and a new start.

  Sarah was a war widow and everything Claudine was not. Her feet were firmly on the ground and while everyone who met her warmed to her, she was a strong woman with firm ideas of her own. Not classically beautiful, she had a dazzling smile and twinkling blue eyes hinting at the humour that was so much a part of her personality.

  “She reminds me of sunshine,” Alexander declared after he had proudly walked her down the aisle to Max six months later, “and that’s what Max needs in his life, sunshine.” As usual Alexander either liked very much or didn’t like at all. He liked Sarah and always would.

  Douglas Hood, who had been instrumental in Max becoming a special constable and then a regular policeman, was best man and after something of a false start, his adult life began again.

  Heather and Jules grew
up as brother and sister and twins Jane Eloise and David Xavier completed the family. Max and Sarah bought a large, old house primarily because it faced onto Oak Hathern Village Green and spent years pouring money and love into it.

  Max looked at the house. It was the finest on the green now and a meeting place for all family members, his mother and uncles who still lived at Top Cottage and the youngsters who had now moved on to live their own lives.

  “What are you thinking about?” Sarah asked, rubbing her cold hands together.

  “I was just admiring our lovely house and thinking how lucky we are to own it.”

  Sarah nodded in agreement, “Yes, but I wish we were lucky enough to be in our lovely house where it’s nice and warm. I shouldn’t be surprised if we get snow today.”

  The race was an important event in the area having first taken place some 60 years earlier when an argument during a lunchtime drinking session on New Year’s Eve had seen four drunken men run, walk or stumble around the green for a wager. By the time they had completed their disorderly course, half the village folk were out watching the amusing spectacle. No-one now remembered who the men were or who won but certainly by the next New Year they were in the pub once again challenging one another. Over the ensuing decades the event evolved from a quarrel among drunks into a respectable tradition with a trophy for the winner.

  Competitors came from surrounding areas, some serious contenders others just joining in for the fun of it. The local boy scouts manned checkpoints en route to prevent any short cuts through the woods and the landlord of the pub where it all began served hot punch and meat pies through the pub window.

  Sarah anxiously kept watch. It was only a race, but David needed even a small win in his life to negate some of the failures he had notched up recently. Having played more than he worked, he had just scraped through university and then come to a grinding halt. It was difficult not to compare him to his twin sister Jane who had gained honours in history and politics and landed a plumb job in the British Embassy in Berlin.