The last thing Jimmy wanted to do was spend the night in any hostel. ‘Thanks, chum,’ he said, ‘but I expect they’ll be closed up by now. I’ll be fine, don’t you worry about me. Want to get an early start.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ said the cop. ‘They’ll open up for us. Hop in, we’ll take you there.’
There was nothing for it. Jimmy clambered into the back of the police car... the last place he wanted to be, but at least they hadn’t queried his story. He could almost have laughed if he hadn’t been so scared.
It was only short drive and three minutes later they pulled up outside the hostel. It was, as expected, in darkness, its front door closed.
Jimmy quickly climbed out. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ he said. ‘I’ll see if I can get them to open up.’ But the policeman in the passenger seat was already out and striding up to the door. There were two bells on the door jamb, one of them labelled ‘Night’. He planted his thumb on the bell push and gave it a long blast.
‘Really,’ Jimmy said. ‘I’ll be fine now, you don’t have to wait. Thanks for the lift.’
‘Just see you inside the place,’ smiled the copper. ‘I know Sister Agnes quite well.’
For a while there seemed to be no response to the bell, but just as the policeman started to press it again they heard movement from inside. Still the cop didn’t leave; he simply waited while someone unchained and unlocked the heavy door and Jimmy had to wait with him.
Finally the door was opened and there, standing in the doorway, was the most diminutive nun Jimmy had ever seen. She made a strange figure, dressed in a blue dressing-gown, her head covered in her starched white headdress. Jimmy stared at her, but she greeted the two men standing on the doorstep with a smile.
‘Well, now, gentlemen,’ she said in a lilting Irish accent. ‘Isn’t it very late to be knocking at our door?’
‘It is, Sister,’ replied the policeman. ‘But I knew you’d never forgive me if I left one of our brave soldiers to sleep out in the street.’
‘And you were right, Constable Walsh,’ the sister said. ‘You’re more than welcome...?’ She raised her eyes to the newcomer’s face as she waited for him to supply a name.
‘John, John O’Connor.’ It was the name of a mate he’d served with in the army and it was as good as any; Jimmy certainly wasn’t going to offer his own.
‘There’s a good Irish name,’ beamed the nun, ‘and I’m Sister Agnes. Come along in and we’ll find you a bed. It’s not a night to be sleeping under the stars, beautiful as they are,’ she added, looking up at the sky. The nun turned her attention back to Constable Walsh. ‘Good man yourself to bring him in,’ she said.
Constable Walsh wished them goodnight and Sister Agnes waited to see him drive away before she closed the door, trapping Jimmy Randall inside.
‘Now, then, young man,’ she said. ‘We’ll find you a bed, but before that, are you hungry?’
Jimmy admitted that he was. He hadn’t thought about food since Mavis had told him there was no dinner. When he’d got home he’d been too drunk to care after his initial surprise at her temerity. Since then he’d been too stunned by the turn of events to think about food.
Sister Agnes was well used to dealing with vagrant men, be they soldiers or tramps, and she’d at once smelled the alcohol on him. She was surprised that Constable Walsh hadn’t, but then again perhaps he had, which was why he’d got her up in the middle of the night. He’d realised that this soldier needed somewhere to sleep it off.
She led him into the small kitchen at the back of the house and taking a loaf of bread from the pantry, she cut a couple of slices and put them under the grill to toast. A saucepan stood on the side of the old range and she pulled it onto the hot plate to heat.
‘Soup and toast’s the best I can do at this hour,’ she said, ‘but we can give you a better breakfast in the morning.’ She looked at him, a big man with the powerful shoulders of a soldier, rough hands, used to hard manual work and with a brooding expression in his dark eyes. Not a man you’d want to cross, she thought as she turned the toast.
‘You on leave, John?’ she asked casually as she put the toast onto a plate and spread it with marge.
‘Yeah,’ Jimmy grunted.
‘Heading for London? There’s an early train.’ She passed him the plate of toast.
‘No, Edinburgh.’ Jimmy had no idea where that had come from, he’d simply plucked it from the air, but he certainly wasn’t going to tell her he was going to London.
‘Edinburgh?’ Sister Agnes sounded surprised. ‘That’s a beautiful place, I hear.’ Jimmy didn’t answer and she went on cheerfully, ‘Now, soup coming up, John.’ And she ladled some thick, steaming broth from the pan into a bowl and set it down beside him.
The man grunted his thanks and attacked the food hungrily.
He really was hungry, Sister Agnes thought as she watched him spoon the broth into his mouth, eating the toast at the same time. Within three minutes he’d polished off the lot and wiping his mouth with back of his hand, he pushed the plates away.
‘Better for that,’ he said by way of thanks.
‘Good.’ Sister Agnes spoke briskly. ‘Now I’ll show you your bed and then I’ll leave you to get some rest. Come along.’
Jimmy picked up his kitbag from where he’d dumped it in the hall and followed her up the stairs. A landing ran the length of the house and off it were several doors. The passage was lit with a night light, but otherwise the house was in darkness. She pointed out the bathroom and toilet and then pushed open one of the doors. The room beyond was dark, but Sister Agnes pulled a small torch from her dressing-gown pocket and shone it inside. There were six beds crammed into the room, three on each side. All but one were occupied, and the nun shone the beam onto the empty one and whispered, ‘That’s your bed, John. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning. God bless.’
She didn’t see him in the morning. By the time daylight filtered in between the curtains and the other inhabitants of the room began to stir, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, the sixth bed was empty. John O’Connor had disappeared. Sister Agnes wasn’t particularly surprised, it had happened before that a man slipped away in the night, but it was quite unusual, they usually stayed for the breakfast. Few could afford to pass up a free meal of egg and bacon to start their day. She doubted his name was John O’Connor and she doubted he was on his way to Edinburgh, but she was used to such deceptions. They meant nothing. Few of the men who made use of her hostel used their real names and she calmly addressed them by whatever name they offered.
Jimmy had caught a couple of hours’ sleep, but he knew he had to be up and away from Belcaster before Mavis’s body was discovered and the hunt for him was up. In the early hours he had crept back down the stairs into the kitchen and using the ladle, had drunk some more of the now cold soup. It was better than nothing. He’d taken the rest of the bread from the pantry and a rather tired-looking heel of cheese and stuffed them into the top of his kitbag. Then he’d unchained and unbolted the door and let himself out into the pre-dawn mist. A final glance back at the dark and silent house assured him that his departure was unobserved, and once again he walked through the chilly streets, this time heading for the main road that led south.
It wasn’t long before a lorry driver, seeing a soldier trudging along at the side of the road, took pity on him and pulled up in answer to Jimmy’s raised thumb.
‘Where’re you headed, mate?’
‘Birmingham,’ Jimmy said.
‘Hop in, then, just chuck you kitbag behind the seat.’
The driver had been a talkative bloke, who probably picked up hitch-hikers to give him company on his long journeys. On this occasion he was out of luck. Jimmy had no intention of getting drawn into conversation. Having answered a few general questions, he shut his eyes and pretended to fall asleep.
The journey was slow, the driver keeping his speed down over the icy roads, but at last they reached the outskirts of Birmingham and he d
rew up in a lay-by.
‘Far as I can take you, mate,’ he said.
‘Thanks, pal.’ Jimmy grabbed his kitbag and dropping down from the cab, stood at the side of the road and watched the lorry disappear in a cloud of exhaust.
What to do next? Head for the station, he decided. Should be safe enough to catch a train from Birmingham.
When the London train came in he waited, watching until the guard was about to blow his whistle before scrambling into a third-class carriage and slamming the door behind him. A young woman and her baby were already in the compartment but, ignoring them, he heaved his kitbag up onto the luggage rack and flopped down onto a seat in the opposite corner. As the train drew out of the station, he closed his eyes and drifted off into a fitful sleep. He was woken some time later by the cries of the baby and for a split second he thought it was Ricky, then his eyes sprang open and the events of the night came flooding back to him.
‘Sorry if she woke you,’ said the young woman. ‘She’s hungry. I got a bottle for her here.’ She was delving into a large handbag and finally pulled out a feeding bottle, offering it to the wailing baby, who latched onto it greedily. Jimmy looked across at her, assessing her, as he did every woman, as if she were for sale. Not bad looking, he thought, in a faded sort of way. She had thin blonde hair in drooping curls round a rather wan face, enlivened by a pair of bright blue eyes.
‘There, that’s better, innit, darling?’ cooed the young woman as she settled the baby more comfortably in her arms. She glanced across at Jimmy. ‘It’s hard travelling with a baby,’ she remarked, ‘’specially on yer own. I just been up to visit hubby at RAF Belcaster. Takes for ever getting round the country these days, don’t it? This train’s half an hour late, an’ all!’
With a jolt of horror, Jimmy realised that he must be on the Belcaster to London train,
maybe the very train he’d have taken if he’d decided to go to the station, instead of hitching as far as Birmingham.
‘Suppose it is,’ he said. ‘There’s always hold-ups.’
‘Yeah, well, sommat was up at Belcaster station. There was loads of coppers about.’
‘Really?’ Jimmy tried to sound disinterested. ‘Wonder what they was up to.’
‘Dunno. Looking for someone maybe. Someone or something. All I know is that it made the train late and I’d got on the afternoon one special, ’cos the early one’s always so crowded and I wanted to be sure I got a seat.’ She smiled at Jimmy. ‘Like I said, it’s difficult for a woman on her own, ’specially with the baby.’
‘Yeah, ’spect it is.’ Behind the casual exterior, Jimmy’s mind was racing. He’d picked up a Belcaster to London train. From what this woman said they’d probably found Mavis already. Jimmy looked at his watch. Half past two. They hadn’t caught him at the station, but it didn’t mean that they wouldn’t be looking for him at Euston. They could well be waiting for him when it arrived. As the woman fed her baby, chatting on about living with her mother, a plan began to form in Jimmy’s mind.
‘Your husband stationed at Belcaster, then?’
‘Yeah. Course we couldn’t stay there, Betsy and me, not at the base. We had to stay at a guest house. But Ted had a couple of days’ leave, so we had time together, and little Betsy got to see her daddy properly, didn’t you, poppet?’ The woman glanced down at the baby, still taking her bottle. ‘We’re living with my mum till he gets his demob,’ she went on. ‘He signed on for another five at the end of the war. Seemed to make sense at the time, but I wish he hadn’t now. It ain’t easy coping alone.’ She glanced across at him and said, ‘You married, then?’
‘No,’ said Jimmy, and then almost laughed at the irony of it. No, he wasn’t married... he was a widower! A widower of his own making. ‘No,’ he repeated, ‘I ain’t married.’
‘Never mind.’ The woman gave him a dimpled smile. ‘Won’t be long before some lovely girl snaps up a handsome bloke like you.’
As the train chugged its way to London the woman, whose name he learned was Elsie Tarrant, chatted away about her husband, her mother and much else. Jimmy, while apparently listening, paid scant attention to what she was saying as he planned how this chance meeting might work to his advantage. Her moaning on about how difficult it was to travel on her own with the baby had given him an idea,
‘You being met at the station?’ he asked.
‘No,’ sighed Elsie, ‘We got to take the bus, well, two actually. It ain’t easy with the pushchair and the case, I can tell yer.’ She gave him a brave smile, a smile that lit her face and made her eyes sparkle. ‘But I’m getting used to it now. At least Mum’ll have dinner on the table when we get there.’
This sounded good to Jimmy. If the police were looking for him at the station, they wouldn’t be looking for a soldier with his wife and family.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ll give you a hand with your luggage and that, as far as the bus stop.’
‘Will yer?’ Elsie beamed at him. ‘That’s ever so kind!’
The train drew into the station and Jimmy lifted the pushchair and the suitcase down onto the platform. Once Elsie had settled Betsy into the chair, they all set off along the platform, Elsie pushing Betsy and Jimmy walking beside them, carrying her suitcase, his kitbag on his shoulder. At the barrier there were two uniformed policemen, watching as the passengers gave their tickets to the ticket inspector. As they waited to take their turn, Jimmy bent down to the child in the pushchair and said, ‘I’ll bet your grandma’ll be pleased to have you home again.’
Elsie smiled at him. ‘Yeah, she will. She adores little Betsy.’
Police Constable Archer watched as the soldier stroked the child’s cheek. Lovely to see a dad so fond of his kiddy, he thought as they showed their tickets and passed through the barrier. Then he turned his attention back to scanning the crowd for the face of a man travelling alone, a man who’d almost certainly murdered his wife in Belcaster.
Jimmy walked with Elsie out into the street. ‘Where do you have to get your bus?’ he asked.
‘Just round the corner.’
That was good, Jimmy thought. They’d walk away as a family until they were out of sight.
When they reached the stop Elsie said, ‘Which way do you go?’
Jimmy shrugged. ‘Dunno, haven’t decided yet.’
‘Ain’t you got nowhere to stay?’
‘Not yet,’ admitted Jimmy. ‘But don’t worry about me, I’ve got mates here in London, I’ll find somewhere to doss down.’
Thinking of the journey on two buses with pushchair, suitcase and baby, Elsie said, ‘Why don’t you come home with me to Mum’s? You’ve been ever so kind to help me, least we can do is give you some dinner.’
Jimmy looked at her in genuine surprise. He hadn’t expected this, but it suited him very well. Still, he played it cagey.
‘What’ll your mum say, you turning up with some bloke you met on the train?’
‘I’ll tell her I couldn’t’ve managed without you,’ answered Elsie airily. ‘Won’t be a problem.’
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Jimmy, instilling uncertainty into his voice.
‘Course I’m sure. Come on, here’s the bus.’
They got on and as Elsie prattled away, Jimmy considered this new turn of events. Once he’d got his feet under the table, Jimmy was pretty sure Elsie and her mother wouldn’t turn him out into the street, for tonight anyway. It would give him breathing space to decide what his next move would be. If he was going disappear he’d need new papers, identity card and ration book. He didn’t know where he was going to get them, but he knew they would be available on the black market somewhere in London.
Elsie’s mother, Edna Carter, was indeed surprised to see her daughter arriving back from visiting her husband with another man in tow. She was a small woman, thin and bony, wearing a wrap-around apron over a sagging brown skirt and yellow jumper. A pair of shrewd brown eyes stared out from her creased face and these she turned on Ji
mmy Randall.
‘Who’re you?’ she demanded as he folded the pushchair and carried it in through the front door.
‘Mum!’ cries Elsie. ‘This is...’ She paused awkwardly as she realised that she didn’t actually know the name of the soldier who had been so helpful. ‘This is...’
‘John O’Connor,’ supplied Jimmy, using the name he’d given to Sister Agnes the night before.
‘An’ he’s been ever so kind, helping me with the pushchair an’ case an’ that on the train an’ on the bus.’ Elsie, looking at her mother’s stern expression, added a touch defiantly, ‘I brought him home to have his dinner with us. It was the least I could do.’
Her mother shrugged. ‘Well, you’d better come in, then.’
Jimmy, already in the house, simply turned round and shut the front door. Less than twenty-four hours since he’d walked out of the chill of Ship Street he had his feet under the table in a snug little house in London.
*
The morning after the discovery of Mavis Randall’s body, Detective Inspector Marshall called Detective Sergeant Stanton into his office in Belcaster central police station.
‘Well, Stanton, bring me up to speed on our murder. What have we got so far?’
‘The dead woman, Mavis Randall, was married to James, known as Jimmy. She was a widow with two daughters by a previous marriage. Those children were put into the EVER-Care children’s home in Russell Green. She and Randall have a baby son, Richard, who’s now in his grandmother’s care, a Mrs Lily Sharples.’
‘Have you talked to her?’
‘I spoke to her briefly yesterday. It was she who found her daughter’s body.’
‘Ah, yes, I remember. She was at the house when we got there. And what did she have to say?’
‘She’s adamant that Mavis was killed by her husband. She hasn’t a good word to say for him. Says he’s a violent man who often knocked Mavis about.’
‘I’m afraid lots of men do that,’ said Marshall wearily. ‘Doesn’t mean they’re killers.’
Her Missing Husband Page 2