The Lazarus Secrets

by Beryl Coverdale

  Max agreed, “You should’ve seen him when I went to get him at the pub, the landlord and I had to practically pour him into the car. I don’t think he’d ever been so drunk.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Clarissa lifted an eyebrow at Charles, “I seem to remember the two of you getting yourselves totally inebriated many years ago in London. She turned to Max, “They were missing for hours and then came rolling home singing a very naughty French song at the top of their voices in the street and in such a dreadful state. Your Grandmamma was furious and the two of us had to fairly carry them upstairs to bed.”

  “We’d been to the cinema,” said Charles remembering how he had found Alexander sitting in the row of empty seats after most of the patrons had left. He was sobbing and frightened after watching a documentary film on the First World War and convinced he had seen Michael in it. Charles had taken him to the pub and over copious amounts of drink had finally got him to talk. They had agreed to try and forget about the past and make sure that Clarissa and Eloise did not spoil their nephew. They made a plan to engage the boy in more manly pursuits and move him away from the precious attentions of his doting mother and grandmother.

  “Well, you said you had been to the cinema,” said Clarissa, “but Eloise and I didn’t believe a word of it.”

  Clarissa smiled to herself. Her thoughts were of the moment at the top of the staircase when she had grabbed hold of Alexander to prevent him falling backwards and he had held her in his arms and kissed her and told her that he loved her. He was drunk, of course, but she knew it was true and knew that she loved him.

  Max ate his lunch and watched their faces. Charles looked overwhelmingly sad and his mother as if she were dreaming of a happier time.

  As Max drove away from Top Cottage he watched them through the car mirror. They stood at door of the cottage door and waved, just the two of them now but the spectre of Alexander would always be at his mother’s side.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Yes Miss Bevis I shall be at work tomorrow at the usual time but I won’t need access to the red files, I’ll be working in my office.” Max hung up quickly giving her no chance to ask questions. Beside the phone he caught sight of a message scribbled in Sarah’s handwriting. “When did this arrive?” he asked sharply.

  “Last night,” Sarah answered flatly.

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me Sarah?”

  “Because you weren’t here Max remember, you were out with Douglas Hood, at least that’s what you told me and don’t raise your voice,” she snapped back.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, “but it’s rather important that I know when this message came in.”

  Sarah’s tone was flat and disinterested, “About seven last night, a woman rang and asked to speak to Max. I said you weren’t here and asked if she wanted to leave a message, but she hung up. She rang again just as I arrived home from Top Cottage and said to tell you Catherine called. I was asleep when you finally came home and this morning you went to see your mother and I forgot all about it. Anyway, Max don’t you think it’s a bit rich to expect me to take messages from your girlfriends.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me and I don’t know exactly what you’ve done to Catherine but she certainly wasn’t happy with you and she sounded very drunk.”

  “What exactly did she say?” Max demanded ignoring her accusation.

  Sarah remained silent. He crossed the room and held her arms roughly, “What did she say?” His eyes were menacing and for the first time since the day she met him he frightened her.

  “She called you a ‘Judas’.”

  Max released her and went to the phone and Sarah watched as he dialled a number he seemed to know from memory. Seconds later he swore and slammed down the receiver, grabbed his jacket and car keys and left the house without speaking to her.

  Driving Alexander’s Jaguar and ignoring all the speed limits Max got to Norma Gordon’s home in Brighton in record time. On the journey, he had gone over and over the events of the previous day wondering why she should think him a ‘Judas’. Only Douglas knew he was talking to her and he had said very little to him about their conversation and deliberately played down what she had to say.

  There was no answer to his knocking at the front door so he went through a side gate to the back of the house, a solitary sheet still hung on the clothesline and the rest of the washing was in a basket on the footpath. He peered in through the narrow sash window but could see no-one. It occurred to him if she was frightened she might be hiding so he returned to the front door and called her name through the letterbox several times.

  A hand on his shoulder made him jump. “She’s not in,” said the elderly man standing behind him. “I’m afraid she’s in hospital, she had an accident. I live next door, my wife found her and I called the ambulance,” he added with a hint of pride.

  “What sort of accident?” Darrington demanded.

  The man looked taken aback by his brusque manner, “I think she fell down the stairs. My wife looked through the letter-box and she could see her laid on the floor in the hall.”

  A woman joined the man and stood at his side with her arms folded and the pair eyed him with suspicion. “Are you a relative?” the woman asked.

  “No. I’m a friend, Norma asked me to call. Which hospital is she in?”

  The man gave him directions to the Brighton General while his wife sniffed disapprovingly and said repeatedly, “They won’t let you see her if you’re not a relative.” Max ignored her and walked quickly to the car.

  At the hospital, he flashed his warrant card and was shown to a side ward where Norma Gordon lay motionless and deathly pale on a narrow hospital bed.

  “I’m afraid she’s still unconscious,” said the ward sister.

  “Do you know what exactly happened?” he asked.

  “She appears to have fallen down the stairs and knocked herself out.” Max winced, had she fallen or been pushed. “But when we examined her we found she’d also had a heart attack. Whether that’s why she fell or the other way around, we won’t know until she regains consciousness. That’s if she does, she really is very ill.”

  Darrington nodded, “If it’s all right I’ll stay with her just in case she comes around and has anything to say?”

  “Of course, but there’s nothing suspicious is there?” The sister queried, “I mean it was an accident?”

  “We believe so, it’s just routine. Thank you, Sister,” Darrington said quickly.

  He sat at the bedside opposite a young nurse who smiled at him as she fiddled with the dials of a monitoring system attached to Norma, his mind again wandering over their meeting the previous day. Why had she called him Judas? If Sarah was right, her first call was less than two hours after he left her. She had seemed extremely reluctant to ring him at all so what had frightened her into doing so? Sarah was out between the two calls so perhaps there had been more and he had also given her the number of the archives in Winchester perhaps she had rung there as well. He went in search of a phone and rang the Winchester number. Alice Bevis confirmed there were two recorded messages for him to ring Catherine urgently, and added testily that she would have passed the message on earlier that morning had he given her the chance. He apologised and returned to the ward.

  Norma moved her head sideways and moaned. Her face was swollen and bruised and one of her arms was heavily bandaged to the elbow. The nurse leaned over her, “Mrs Gordon, it’s all right just lie still, you’re quite safe, you had an accident and you’re in Brighton General Hospital.” Norma opened her eyes and looked around and the nurse went to get the doctor.

  Darrington moved closer, “Norma, can you hear me? It’s Max Darrington,” he said quietly, “I’m so sorry this has happened.”

  She turned to him screwing up her eyes to focus on his face, “You betrayed me,” she said weakly.

  “No, I didn’t Norma. I swear I didn’t.”

  She closed her eyes, “He came back,” she sobbed
, “he was on the staircase again.”

  “Tell me who it was Norma and I’ll get him, I promise you.”

  The monitor at the side of the bed began to whine and flash and the doctor and ward sister pushed their way urgently through the curtains.

  Norma felt a needle go into her arm and seconds later the doctor, the nurse and the tall policeman floated gracefully around her bed. The fear had gone, the killer could do nothing to her here and she knew she wasn’t going to survive; she didn’t want to. The sooner it was over, the better. God would forgive her past sins and she would join her Bruce in a better world with no fear and no pain.

  Holding her hands on the doorstep at her front door, the policeman had promised to protect her and she had believed him. She was a good judge of character and thought she saw integrity in Max Darrington. After clearing away the teacups, she had gone into the garden to bring in the washing before the threatening rain arrived. Folding each item into the basket on the footpath and pushing it forward with her foot, she worked her way along the clothesline only noticing as she reached up to unpeg the last sheet that Darrington was sitting in a car parked on the road at the side of the house. Hands on the steering wheel, he stared vacantly ahead only moving when another man crossed the road and got into the car beside him.

  Smothering a cry of fear, Norma hid behind the sheet pulling the edge around her. How could she have been so stupid! She should have denied everything and refused to even let him into the house. Her mind raced and her heart thumped within her chest. Should she run to the house and lock herself in? Might they see her if she did? Were they sitting there waiting, planning to come back after dark? The car engine started and peeping from behind the sheet she saw they were both in it as it moved away.

  Fear, the old fear, was back in her life. For what seemed like hours she wandered from room to room checking and re-checking doors and windows, flinching at noises strange and familiar. As the daylight began to fade, she took the card from her pocket and stared at the name, Chief Inspector Max Darrington. She had known lots of men and would have bet money on him being straight. Perhaps he wasn’t involved, perhaps he was telling the truth, and in any case she had no-one else to turn to. She dialled the first number wondering if perhaps it wasn’t a real number just one he had made up to make her feel safe, but when she asked for Max, the woman who answered said he wasn’t in so she obviously knew him. She hung up quickly and tried the second number. There was a taped answer and never having used one she spoke hesitantly leaving a message asking for Max to ring Catherine.

  Darkness fuelled her fear and sobbing for her beloved Bruce she took a bottle of sherry from the sideboard. They were not drinkers and had opened it last New Year’s Eve when the neighbours came first footing, Bruce and Mr Hindle had a beer and she and Mrs Hindle had sherry. Now, in search of courage, she gulped down a large glass and then another. Nervously she switched on every light downstairs — who cared about the electricity bill! She had been afraid of the dark ever since that night in London and she was afraid of it now and dared not venture up to bed.

  In the hall, she glanced anxiously at the staircase and reached for the telephone again. She rang both numbers again, leaving another message on the tape asking for Max to ring Catherine. The other number had rung out several times but now the same woman who answered earlier told her again that Max was not there. She didn’t believe her, “Tell him it’s Nor … tell him it’s Catherine and he’s a Judas,” she slurred.

  Morning broke through and Norma woke cold and uncomfortable huddled on the sofa with the empty sherry bottle beside her. The fear was still there but in the daylight it was manageable and in spite of a hangover, something she recognised from the bad old days, she was thinking more clearly. It was time to get out, she had done it before and she would do it again. Taking it slowly, in deference to her aching head and stiff limbs, she went upstairs to pack. Gripping the banister rail she took one step at a time and was almost at the top before she raised her head.

  At first he was just a dark shape with the daylight from the landing window behind him but when he moved forward she recognised the face, the eyes were older and paler but still murderous and filled with hate. Rigid with fear and heaving to breathe she stared and stared willing the monster of her past back into her hangover or worst nightmare. She clasped her hand to her chest where pain criss-crossed back and forth sucking air from her lungs and before she tumbled painfully over and over she saw him smile — such a cruel smile.

  “I must ask you to leave now,” said the ward sister.

  Darrington stood up, but Norma beckoned him to her with an unsteady arm, the sister nodded and he leaned forward. “You brought him with you,” she whispered. Closing her eyes, she did not see his face turn deathly white.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The house was in darkness and the phone was ringing when Max arrived home. It was Jules telling him Sarah was in London and staying with him and Anna. “What’s going on Dad?” he asked his voice full of concern. “Mum rang me from the station and asked if she could stay here for a few days. She’s very upset, but she won’t talk about it.”

  “Let me speak to her,” said Max wearily.

  “No Dad she says she won’t speak to you, in fact, she’s gone to bed. Can’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  How could he explain to his son he had probably murdered his real mother in a jealous rage while he was a babe in arms and had been responsible for the serious injury of another woman that day? It all sounded so implausible and yet the repercussions for himself and his family could be horrendous. “It’s all my fault Jules, I’ve been moody and depressed since my illness and I’ve taken it out on your mother. When she wakes up please tell her I love her and ask her to come home so that we can sort it all out.” He replaced the receiver and caught sight of himself in the hall mirror, hating what he saw.

  After hours of tossing about in bed, Max finally slept only to be consumed by terror-filled nightmares about thrashing around in the sea and young girls with their throats slashed and their faces beaten beyond recognition. He woke up sweating and shouting with no Sarah to comfort him. Exhausted but frightened of sleep, he wandered the house wrapped in a blanket finally settling in an armchair by the window. He drank strong black coffee and watched the dawn come up over the village as order returned gradually to his troubled mind. He needed a course of action. Douglas Hood, his friend and mentor for almost thirty years, was the killer of Rona McLean and the other girls slaughtered during the Blitz and unwittingly he had led him to yet another victim. In spite of the promises he had made to Norma Gordon, he had been the instrument of her near destruction.

  Like all investigations, it was so easy to work backwards from the answer, the little bits clicking into place to display the true and horrific picture. Right from the start it had been a cover-up, an alibi. The kindness Douglas had shown him during the war was to cover his own tracks. Visiting him in the hospital he had subtly coached him about the things he couldn’t remember, leading him to believe they had met in Portsmouth not London and Max had no reason to doubt him. Even when Douglas admitted, just a week ago, that they were both in London, he had given a very plausible explanation for the deception and appeared reluctant to implicate Max. He had turned up in Winchester saying David told him about the archives, but David didn’t know about the archives. Citing concern for Max’s health and family, Douglas tried again and again to dissuade him from going further urging him to produce the whitewash report everyone wanted and only agreeing to help when Max wouldn’t be deterred. He had found Norma Gordon in record time and Max put that down to good police work by a clever and experienced copper, but perhaps he always knew where she was and had been watching her, making sure she wouldn’t one day return to accuse him.

  In Brighton he had given good reasons why they shouldn’t both confront Norma but being on hand while Max questioned her would have given him an insight as to whether or not she was still a threat and an opportunit
y to check the house for a way in. Max had kept Norma’s confidences, but Douglas hadn’t been fooled. He obviously believed she would eventually implicate him and had returned to frighten the poor woman so much she fell down stairs and had a heart attack.

  Thinking of Norma reminded him to ring the hospital. He replaced the receiver and covered his unshaven face with his hands — Norma Gordon was no longer in any danger she was dead. The news saddened and enraged him. He knew he should ring Rothwell and have Douglas arrested immediately but first he had to sort out his own problems, he had to know if Claudine had been one of his victims or if he had killed her himself.

  After showering and shaving he managed to force down more coffee and a slice of toast which he ate wandering around the kitchen, not wanting to sit across from Sarah’s empty chair. He was desperate to ring her, but it would have to wait. The phone rang just as he was about to leave and he thought it might be Sarah, but it was Rothwell’s secretary wanting to know if he was going to work at the archives as the superintendent was calling in to see him. That would save him a journey and give him time to confront Douglas Hood first.

  From the top shelf in the safe he took down the old pistol and the small box of ammunition left there by the previous owner of the house. He should have handed them in when he first found them but had never got around to it. Not sure if it even worked, he loaded the gun and thought it ludicrously dramatic to be arming himself but having gone this far he had no intention of allowing a cold-blooded killer to slip through his fingers.

  Arriving at the archives Darrington was late and distracted, he had driven to Douglas’s home to confront him but found the house empty and the car gone from the garage. Having activated the door to let him in, Miss Bevis sat ramrod straight at her desk but unusually didn’t acknowledge his greeting as his passed her, he stopped and looked back. “Is everything all right, Miss Bevis?” Slowly she looked across her shoulder as Fiona stepped out from the rows of shelving with Douglas Hood behind her holding a police issue revolver to her head.