The Lazarus Secrets

by Beryl Coverdale

  Clarissa and Charles sat holding hands in the hospital corridor as Max approached the ward and he thought how fragile they looked. They were always so vibrant when the family was around but Charles was in his eighties and his mother in her seventies, it was easy to forget. Occasionally, if he arrived at the cottage unannounced, he would find one of them asleep in an armchair by the fire and their age and frailty would be more obvious.

  Clarissa held out her hand, “Thank God you’re here Max, he’s had a very bad attack; he was in such pain and couldn’t breathe. We got an ambulance quite quickly but he looked so very ill. We can’t see him yet, but he’s been asking for you.”

  Max sat down beside her and held her hand, “All right, Mother. I’m here now and Sarah’s just parking the car.”

  Sarah had insisted on driving well aware that if Max had a failing as a law-abiding citizen it was his inability to keep to the speed limit in normal circumstances let alone a crisis. She couldn’t decide if the blame lay with his days of legally dashing around in a police car or being the owner of a fast and furious MG in his youth.

  Sarah arrived and Charles stood up and hugged her. “He was raising hell in the ward when we left, buggering and blasting at the nurses and doctors. Well, you know what he’s like.”

  “Sounds like a good sign to me, if he was behaving himself I’d be really worried,” said Sarah.

  At last they were shown into a side ward to see a pale and heavily sedated Alexander. “I’m all right,” he said weakly, “don’t all look so bloody miserable, they’ve given me something for the pain and I’m fine. I’ll be home soon.”

  The doctor signalled to Max and he stepped back into the corridor, “Are you his son?”

  “No, his nephew, he has no family of his own, I’m his next of kin.”

  “Well, you know the situation, he should have a few more months left but he’s not an easy patient to deal with and he’s not doing as he’s been told.”

  Max smiled, “I don’t think he’s done that since 1918 and he probably won’t start now.”

  The doctor nodded, “Yes, I know what you mean, he’s already told me to bugger off. However, there are some things we can do to make his last months more comfortable and if he can be persuaded to do something for himself it will help. I’ll put him on medication and the dosage can be increased as and when needed. Try to get him to stop smoking and cut down on the alcohol.”

  Max nodded, “I’ll get my mother to have a talk with him, she’s the only one he takes any notice of.”

  Sarah and Charles left the ward as Max went in. His mother sat by the bed with both her hands clasped in Alexander’s, their faces were close together and they whispered then kissed intimately. Max was embarrassed and felt he was intruding but as he turned to leave his mother stood up and walked towards the door, she passed him patting his arm. “He’s anxious to talk to you.”

  Speaking breathlessly Alexander grabbed at Max’s arm, “Max, that horse doctor gave me a shot of something and I’m very sleepy but I need to ask you to please take care of your mother. Charles says he will, but he’s even older than I am. I don’t want her left alone not again, not ever. Promise me Max, everything I’ve got comes to you except my share in the cottage and that’s left to your mother and Charles, but take care of her.”

  “Uncle Alex,” Max rebuked softly, “you shouldn’t even have to ask but of course I’ll take care of her. You have my promise she will never be alone again. Anyway, from what the doctor says you’ll be home soon and on your best behaviour.”

  “Fuck that,” said the old man as his eyes closed.

  Driving home Max described the scene he had witnessed to Sarah. “Perhaps they are lovers,” she suggested.

  “I don’t think so, well not in the sexual sense, but they are in love. It’s so obvious and it’s an intense love that has gone on for decades since they were very young. They suffered so much over the death of my father and they became incredibly close. He saved her life and brought her and Charles back together again. I don’t know for certain, but it seems that neither of them could move on and marriage to each other would have been a sort of betrayal of my father and so they stayed together without marrying. For people like them I suppose that meant without a sexual relationship, so they settled for something different. I used to think it was such a waste but not now; they were free agents and made their choice and as far as I can see lived happily in each other’s company but it’s not a subject for discussion. Not that they owe anyone an explanation, but at the first hint of any enquiry Mother changes the subject and Alexander gets aggressive.”

  A week later Alexander was back at Top Cottage and his first visitor was Julia. Clarissa opened the front door and the embarrassed child stood silently in the porch her hands clasped nervously behind her back.

  “Do your parents know you’re here Julia?” Clarissa asked gently.

  Julia shook her head and bit her lip.

  “Do you want to see him?”

  “Please Aunt Clarissa, no-one knows I’m here but I really do need to see him.”

  Clarissa took her hand and led her through the house to Alexander, who lay on the sofa with a pillow at his head and a blanket over him. He turned and grinned at the sad, little face then reached out his hand. Julia ran to him throwing her arms around his neck and resting against his chest sobbed as if her heart would break.

  “Don’t ever leave me Grandpa Alex, I love you more than anyone in the world. I know I should love Mummy and Daddy the best, but I don’t. I love you. Please don’t leave me.”

  Clarissa went into the kitchen to cry and make tea and listened through the open door as Alexander placated the distressed child with a gentleness most people would find impossible to imagine.

  Julia didn’t move. Her slim body lay across his chest. Her head resting beneath his chin as he spoke quietly, “I don’t want to leave you because I love you too, but I must leave you some day, at least I hope that’s the case. I’m a very old man and you’re a very young girl. I’ve almost had my life, but yours is just beginning so it stands to reason I’ll go first. Isn’t that right?” The child’s head nodded reluctantly against him. “But I’m not going anywhere just yet so don’t you worry and I’m definitely not going back to that hospital ever. You wouldn’t believe what they serve up as food there and the way they speak to you. I had to tell one or two of them just where to get off and you know me Julia, I’m not grumpy or rude to anyone.”

  He felt the child’s body laugh gently against his and she lifted her tear-stained face, “You are grumpy and rude really,” she smiled. He wiped her tears and then his own. “Have I made you cry,” she asked guiltily.

  “I suppose so but that’s just because I love you more than anyone in the world as well and I hate to see you sad.”

  She rested on his chest again, “Vanessa says you only like me because I look like Aunt Clarissa.”

  She felt him snort, “Well that’s the sort of thing sisters say isn’t it? You shouldn’t take too much notice of her. Anyway, you’re much more beautiful than Aunt Clarissa, but you mustn’t say I said so, she gets very jealous and I would be in big trouble if she got to hear of it.”

  “You do tell such big lies Grandpa Alex,” said Julia softly.

  Listening in the kitchen, Clarissa smiled through her tears and wondered yet again how she would live out the rest of her life without him. She moved to the doorway and watched them, Julia was still cuddled against him, his arms enfolded her, his head rested on the top of hers and his eyes were full of sorrow.

  While hating his invalid status, Alexander was surprised and pleased with the concern shown by the family. He knew he was regarded as a cantankerous and bad-tempered old man, but he could always spot the disingenuous and it cheered him to think they cared so much as his life neared its close. He feared neither death nor pain, having looked both in the eye and triumphed, but he feared pity and hoped when the end came it would be swift and undramatic.

  Max
worked at home for a few days to spend time supporting his uncles and his mother. David came home on leave and to the consternation of the adults and delight of the youngsters, arrived on a huge motorbike, having travelled from Dartmouth in record time.

  Sarah watched from the window as he gave the Longfield children rides around the village green and had some anxious moments when he and Max took off together, aware neither of them was able to resist the temptation of speed, but it was good to see them communicating. They arrived back in one piece and David then roared up to Top Cottage reminding his grandmother of the days when Max would do the same in the MG.

  At the end of the week, David sped away on his motorbike after promising his mother he would drive carefully. Max went back to Winchester to read the final document in his possession, the findings of the enquiry carried out in 1945.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Date: 18th March, 1945

  CLASSIFICATION: CONFIDENTIAL

  The following report was compiled at the behest of the Home Secretary’s office to investigate the possible murder of six young women during the period from September 1940 – May 1941. The investigation was carried out by members of the security services assisted by officers of the Metropolitan Police Force.

  The report on the enquiry held during the last months of the war was succinct and well written but experience told Darrington it had been doctored and the author was not identified. Like much of the material he had already read, it reeked of adaptation and adjustment. He read it slowly and carefully, endeavouring to probe the mind of the unknown writer. The text encompassed police reports and witness statements and listed dates and times but failed to highlight or explain the many obvious inconsistencies. He could envisage a small committee of bureaucrats picking carefully through the words leaving much ambiguity and very little of the whole truth.

  The case of victim number one, Jenny Doig, was dismissed as unproven there being no witness statements and no police, medical or post-mortem reports.

  The other cases were detailed briefly, evidence was accepted at face value and inevitably the conclusion reached was that, given the limited resources available at the time of the murders, the investigations had been carried out adequately. There were no obvious suspects and at the time the report was written, some four years after the events, it was impossible to ascertain whether or not the murders were committed by just one person or even connected in any way. After such an elapse of time many of the original witnesses could not be found. Many had relocated from London due to the massive destruction of houses by the bombing or had been killed in subsequent air-raids or on active service.

  Darrington closed the folder containing the report and felt a mixture of resentment and anger directed as those who had covered up the monstrous crimes in the past and also toward those who now expected him to do the same. He examined the cover of the report and, as expected, found a red star affixed to the top right-hand corner. It was a summary of the report and he wanted to see the unabridged version.

  At lunchtime, he locked his office, smiled pleasantly as he passed Alice Bevis sitting at the reception desk and requested access to the red files. The nicotine smile vanished instantly replaced by something akin to anger. “You actually wish to see the red files, Chief Inspector?”

  “Yes, please, Miss Bevis,” he answered briskly, “I feel I can’t complete my report competently without perusing everything to do with the case. I trust you’ll make the necessary arrangements, so I leave it in your capable hands.”

  She hesitated as if deciding which way to jump, “Which particular red files do you require?”

  “Well, of course, until I know what’s available it’s difficult to say. Perhaps if I could look at what there is and then make a decision.”

  The nicotine smile reappeared but without a trace of good humour, “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Chief Inspector.”

  Darrington suddenly felt tired of the games being played around him and spoke abruptly, “Very well, I should like to see the red files on Paula James and Rona McLean and the complete report written in 1945.” Miss Bevis scribbled the file names on a notepad as if she were likely to forget. “And also the details on the other two victims.”

  “The other two victims?” she echoed.

  “Yes, the report refers to six possible murders I have green files on only four so I’m assuming the other two are in red files and I would like to see those files.”

  “I’ll see what can be done, Chief Inspector.”

  Her tone was terse and dismissive, but Darrington smiled and spoke pleasantly. “Thank you so much for your help Miss Bevis and I’m now off to lunch. I’ll be back in about an hour as usual.”

  As he left by the narrow staircase, Alice Bevis dialled an extra-long telephone number from memory and asked to speak to Chief Superintendent Rothwell.

  *

  Winchester was at its best. As in centuries past and no doubt for centuries to come, sun streaming from a cloudless, blue sky warmed the solid Norman walls and archways and Darrington felt a surge of wellbeing to be part of it. On a short stroll along the banks of the river Itchen he stopped to gaze at the cathedral in all its majesty, humbled by the infinitesimal span of his own existence in comparison to the enduring resilience of such rich history.

  Juggling a demanding job with the responsibilities of a marriage and a family hadn’t allowed him much time for contemplation but now he saw, smelled and wondered at these tangible witnesses to the past sturdily prevailing despite neglect, pollution and indifference, and revelled in their salience. He took off his jacket and carried it across his shoulder, the anger and uneasiness that had been agitating him in the fluorescent-lit bunker ebbing away into the warmth of the glorious sunlit day.

  Fiona was sitting at his usual table in the tearoom under the disapproving gaze of the waitress, who after taking his order went off without her usual courteous enquiries as to his health and chit-chat about the state of the weather.

  “I was hoping you’d be here today,” said Fiona.

  “It’s always nice to see you Fiona and you’re looking happier than when we last met in here.”

  She laughed, “Yes, well that’s because I am happier. After our talk I had a long think about the situation with Matt and I decided you were absolutely right, he was making excuses for not leaving his wife. He really has no intention of actually doing it, so I’ve given him the push, and it’s over for good.” As usual she talked loudly and the other customers either listened surreptitiously or looked on disapprovingly.

  “Well, I think you did the right thing, Fiona,” said Darrington lowering his voice in the vain hope that she might do the same.

  She bit into a huge doughnut and icing sugar settled on her upper lip and the end of her nose, “As of today, I’m fancy-free and naughty with it.” Her voice was deliberately louder giving rise to more disparaging looks and causing him to laugh in spite of his embarrassment.

  “How long have you and Matt worked together?” he asked. Still uncertain of those around him he was unable to resist quizzing.

  “Oh, Matt and I have known each other for about twelve months.”

  “And Miss Bevis?” he enquired casually, “I suppose she’s been there since the archives opened?”

  “No.” Fiona demolished the last of the cake and wiped her fingers with a napkin. “There was a Mr Bellwood in charge when Matt and I first started, in fact, Alice started working there just before you did. Mr Bellwood left suddenly, of course, he was a very elderly chap but we didn’t get to know whether he was sick or had retired and Alice turned up shortly afterwards.”

  As Darrington suspected, Alice Bevis was there to keep an eye on him and Fiona had cleverly skirted his question about how long she and Matt had actually been working at the archives.

  “Max Darrington!” Douglas Hood was standing beside the table and smiling down on him.

  Darrington stood up and warmly shook the hand of his old friend and mentor whom h
e had not seen for many weeks. “Douglas what a nice surprise.”

  Douglas looked quizzically at Fiona, who patted her lips with a napkin. Darrington made the introductions and asked Douglas to join them, but Fiona stood up and grabbed her large handbag from the spare seat. “I must fly now Max see you later.”

  “Well, you’re obviously feeling better,” said Douglas as through the front window of the cafe, they watched the long legged girl cross the street. “Is this something I should keep quiet about?”

  “That, my friend, is a colleague,” said Max. “The world is changing Douglas, very confusing for old duffers like you and me, but what brings you to Winchester?”

  “Oh, just a job. As you know, since I retired I’ve been doing private enquiry work and as I still have contacts in the force. I sometimes manage to pull in a few favours, but I know I can rely on you not to breathe a word about that. I heard you were in Winchester and thought you’d be at the local nick but when you weren’t, I thought I must have got it wrong so I popped in here for a coffee before driving back home and found you having a tête-à-tête with a young dolly bird. So, where exactly are you working?”

  Darrington hesitated. Was it appropriate to confide in an old and trusted friend who was also a retired police officer? “I’m working with records,” he said screwing up his nose, “very boring, collating statistics for a government department but hopefully I’ll soon get back to my own job and, believe me, I can’t wait.”

  Douglas accepted the explanation and ordered coffee and for the next half-hour they caught up with news about the family, the police force and the trial of Ivor James Calway scheduled to start in a few weeks.

  “Such a brilliant piece of detection, Max. I felt so proud of you and have to admit I went about telling everyone it was me who got you into the police force all those years ago, sharing the glory you know.”