It was loud and bustling as soon as they were through the door. Lights blazing, plenty of life. Men and women in civvies and uniform. People smiling. This had possibilities. But there was a desperate edge to all the joy. It felt forced, every moment a last chance at pleasure. Things had never been like that before. This was what the war had done, she thought. It had made life urgent.
Lottie was wearing the Utility dress she’d bought after work; her second piece of new clothing in as many weeks. Splurging, she thought. Seven coupons. Like the other, it fitted surprisingly well, flattering her, and she’d been pleased by the quality of the material and stitching when she inspected it. No problem with the coupons; she still had plenty. With her good stockings, careful touches of the little make-up she still had, she’d felt stylish when she’d met Ellison in town.
She was flattered that he’d agreed to come. But did he want to help, or simply to spend time with her? Perhaps the motive didn’t matter so much. And so far he’d been a gentleman. Holding doors, buying her glasses of lemonade, making easy, genial conversation.
As he queued at the bar she had a chance to examine the faces around her. No sign of Hilliard. None of the women seemed to be admiring new rings. They’d give it half an hour and see if he showed himself. If not, try somewhere else then call it a night.
All the chairs were taken, and she leaned against a pillar. The air was heavy with smoke. Ellison joined her, lighting up a Lucky Strike.
‘Do you see him?’ he asked.
‘No. There’s plenty of time yet.’ It was only half past eight, the pubs would be open for quite a while.
‘How many people does John have doing this?’
‘Us and three other couples.’
‘To cover all the pubs in downtown Leeds?’ He gave a disbelieving whistle.
‘I know. I told him, believe me. It’s ridiculous, really. I should never have agreed.’
‘Well, I’m glad you did.’ He raised his glass in a toast to her.
‘You’re a policeman,’ Lottie said. ‘What do you think of the idea?’
‘Honestly?’ He thought before answering, ‘I reckon it’s nuts. This guy’s armed, we know he’s killed…’
‘You’re armed too, remember.’ Her glance moved to the holster on his hip.
‘And you asked me not to draw my gun unless there was no other choice,’ he reminded her.
‘I know.’ She glanced around at the press of people, all enjoying themselves and forgetting the war for a few hours. ‘Start shooting in a place like this and people will die.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ve only ever shot someone once.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve told you, it’s not the Wild West. Or gangster movies.’
‘So Seattle’s very law-abiding?’
Ellison shrugged. ‘It has its moments, the same as anywhere. Back before the war there was always something happening down at the port. It’s still pretty raw. You know how long Seattle’s been around?’
She didn’t have a clue. But it was America. That was a young country, wasn’t it?
‘Two hundred years?’ she guessed.
He smiled. ‘Try less than a hundred. The first white people sailed into the bay in 1851.’
It seemed an impossibly short stretch of time. Just over ninety years. Half the buildings she knew in Leeds were older than that. She couldn’t imagine fashioning a big modern city in nine decades. It showed how different America really was. That energy. That desire.
‘The climate’s pretty similar to here, actually.’ Ellison continued. ‘I told you that, didn’t I? You know what they say about Seattleites? We don’t die, we just rust away.’ He grinned at the joke but she wasn’t paying attention. Someone had come into the pub.
No coat, a suit that looked as if he’d slept in it, a bulge in the jacket pocket. It was Hilliard. He must have popped in to see a barber; he was neatly shaved, his hair cut and combed. Without even ordering a drink he began moving from couple to couple. Showing something glittering, pulling up a sleeve to display three watches.
‘Let’s move to the door,’ Lottie said quietly.
‘He’s here?’ Ellison looked around. ‘Yeah. Got him. It doesn’t look like anyone’s interested.’
Lottie’s heart was hammering in her chest. Her palms felt clammy.
‘He’ll probably stop and try to sell us something before he leaves.’
They picked their way through the crowd until were standing by the entrance.
‘How do you want to play this?’ he asked quietly. The pair of them glanced at Hilliard as he worked the room. No success yet and his face was looking pinched and haunted.
‘Let me talk to him,’ Lottie said. ‘You pin his arms from behind, make sure he can’t move. I’ve got a pair of handcuffs here.’ She patted her old patent leather handbag.
‘You have cuffs in that thing?’
‘The boss lent me a pair for this.’ The auxiliaries had no power to make arrests. But if she brought in Hilliard, no one would make a fuss. ‘Look out, he’s heading back this way.’
‘What if he doesn’t stop?’
She didn’t know. They’d have to make something up.
‘Just grab him on the way out,’ she said.
Hilliard was close enough for her to smell his hair tonic. He spotted her and turned on his false smile. Did she really look like an easy mark, Lottie wondered?
‘Sir,’ he began, ‘Madam.’ It was strange to see his face, to hear his voice, to stand so close to a murderer. ‘You look like someone who likes one or two of the nicer things in life.’ A quick wink in her direction.
Inside, she was shaking, but Lottie tried to sound casual.
‘Can’t really find them these days, can you?’
He winked again. ‘Depends if you know where to look.’
‘And you do?’ she asked.
Ellison was edging behind the man, both hands ready.
‘Course.’ Hilliard grinned and opened his fist to display six or seven rings. ‘See?’
‘Those look expensive.’
‘Bargain of the year, love. All real stones, too. Genuine article. None of that costume junk.’
‘Really?’ She tried to sound surprised and disbelieving. ‘Let me get my specs.’
Lottie gave a short nod as she opened her bag. It was the signal. Ellison clamped his hands on Hilliard’s arms as she reached for the handcuffs. The American was bigger and stronger.
‘Got you, asshole.’ He seemed to smile as he spoke.
But Hilliard had fear on his side. Desperation. He lashed out with his foot, catching her on the left knee with the hard tip of his shoes. Lottie let out a cry as her legs crumpled. The rings dropped from his fingers with a quiet tinkle. He twisted and slid and lashed out until Ellison couldn’t keep hold of him any longer. It had all taken no more than three or four seconds. As soon as he was free, Hilliard banged the door open with his shoulder and dashed out into the night.
The American went straight after him, drawing his gun as he disappeared. And Lottie was left in the pub, everyone suddenly silent and staring at her. She retrieved the rings scattered around the floor and painfully climbed to her feet. She could barely put any weight on the leg he’d kicked, blinking back tears at the pain and her failure. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe Cliff would catch him.
But she knew what the odds were. It was pitch black on the streets and Ellison didn’t know his way around Leeds. Lottie limped outside, standing by the door with no idea where to go. In the cold, out where no one could see, the tears began to fall.
Somewhere in the distance she heard the crack of a gun.
THEY were sitting in her office at Millgarth when McMillan arrived. Lottie had asked the desk sergeant to ring him when they stumbled into the station. She was hanging on to Ellison, barely able to walk; her knee had ballooned after the kick. And Cliff was bleeding, his cheek sliced open.
‘Christ,’ McMillan said when he walked in, standing with a hand still on the doorknob. ‘What happened
to the pair of you?’
‘We found Hilliard,’ Lottie replied. McMillan’s mouth opened and she knew what he was about to ask; but he stopped himself. Instead he said, ‘There’s a report of a weapon being discharged.’
‘I chased him,’ Ellison explained. ‘He took a shot at me. Hit a building. A piece of brick came off and hit me.’ He pulled the handkerchief away from his face to show the wound.
She went through it all for him. The rings lay on her desk, seven of them, gold and gems glittering under the light.
‘I’m sorry,’ she finished. ‘I really thought we had him.’
‘He’s a slippery son of a bitch,’ Ellison said. ‘I couldn’t keep hold of him. Once he was outside he just took off. About all I could do was make out his footsteps and run after him.’
McMillan listened carefully, chewing on his top lip. ‘Do you know where you were when he fired?’
Ellison shook his head. ‘Haven’t a clue. I know there must have been a few people around. Someone started screaming.’
‘From the reports it was behind the Corn Exchange. You hadn’t gone too far.’
The American shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I was just following. I couldn’t even see where I was going. I’ll tell you something: that guy’s either lucky or one hell of a shot.’
Lottie could see everything in McMillan’s face: the frustration, the anger, the pain. She’d let him down.
‘I’m sorry,’ was all she could say.
He shook his head. ‘You did your best.’
But she couldn’t help hearing a judgement in his words. Their best hadn’t been good enough. Maybe she was just imagining it. But it was how she felt: her best really hadn’t been enough. ‘You might as well go home,’ he continued, then to Ellison, ‘And that cheek looks like it needs stitching.’
‘I’ll have one of the medics look at it when I’m back on base.’
Ellison drove the Jeep slowly, crawling along so the sliver of headlight could pick out the white bands on the poles to guide him on the road. Finally, he parked in front of the house and Lottie winced and gave a small moan as she climbed out.
‘Come here, I’ll help you.’
He had an arm around her, taking her weight as she hobbled. Inside, the blackouts drawn, she switched on the light and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. God, she looked a sight. Her make-up had run, mascara trailing down her cheeks. Like a clown.
Ahead, the stairs loomed like a mountain. The way her knee felt, it would take an hour to climb to the bedroom.
‘How about a hand?’ Ellison asked. As she stared at him, he raised his hands, palms out. ‘Strictly to get upstairs. That’s all I meant.’
Lottie smiled. He must have read her mind. ‘Then yes. Thank you.’
It was awkward and painful, even with his arms to help her.
‘You should really get some ice on that.’
He was right, it would stop the swelling. But who had ice in this country?
Up on the landing she clutched the bannister. ‘I appreciate it, Cliff.’
‘It’s nothing.’ He smiled, showing those large, even teeth. ‘About tonight…’
‘We did what we could. John understands that.’
‘That doesn’t matter. I’m a cop. I shouldn’t have let him get away. And shooting like that? I meant it; he’s crazy.’
‘No, he’s not. He’s scared.’
‘If you say so.’ He dabbed his cheek with the handkerchief again. ‘Felt more crazy and dangerous to me.’
Of course he was. Hilliard was deadly. And he knew exactly what would be waiting for him when he was caught. Hanged by the neck for the murders of Kate Patterson, Anne Goodman, Pamela Dixon, and Lily Kemp. She felt as if the names would stay with her forever.
Her knee began to throb hard, bringing her back to the present.
‘I’ll be fine now,’ she told him with a gentle smile. ‘I appreciate this, Cliff.’
‘I’m just sorry we didn’t catch him. I should have—’
‘Should and would don’t really matter, do they?’ Lottie could hear the sadness in her voice. The regret.
‘No.’ He leaned forward, giving her a small hug, then went down the stairs, not looking back. As she heard the Yale lock click into place, she breathed deeply.
Her left knee was huge the next morning. An ugly purple flower of a bruise blossomed just below the cap. Lottie tried to bend the leg but it was too painful. Even moving around the house was going to be difficult.
No work today. She wouldn’t be able to drive like this. Dressing herself seemed to take hours, then the slow, painful descent of the stairs, holding on for dear life.
She pottered. It was all she could do. She took everything slowly. Sat with her leg up on the pouffe. At least it didn’t look any worse, she decided by dinnertime. But no better either. The knee still hurt when she put weight on it.
A little after one o’clock she heard a knock on the door and shuffled out of the dining room to answer it.
‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ she shouted.
McMillan, holding a bunch of early daffs and looking stupid. She grinned at the sight, looking beyond him to the Humber. A man driving him, one of the Specials to judge by his uniform. At least he hadn’t picked another woman for the job; that was heartening.
‘Come on in. Don’t just stand there.’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t stop.’ He glanced at her leg. ‘How is it?’
She raised her hem to show him, watching as he winced.
‘A day or two and it’ll be a lot better.’
‘I’d say don’t rush but I need you back.’ He seemed suddenly aware of the flowers, thrusting them on her. ‘That lollop they’ve given me is useless. I’d be better off driving myself.’
‘Nothing new on Hilliard?’
‘Gone to ground. I’ve had men on the railway station and bus station since last night. We’ll just have to smoke him out somehow. There’s a reward, everything.’
‘Maybe you’ll have him by tonight.’
‘And pigs might fly.’ He looked weary, the stubble showing on his face; he probably hadn’t been home after being called out last night. But she could see there was something more. Something he wanted to say but didn’t know how.
‘Come on,’ Lottie told him. ‘Spit it out. We’ve known each other too long.’
He breathed in, uncomfortable at being put on the spot.
‘It’s… I don’t know, it’s been bothering me since you told me what happened with Hilliard.’
‘Go on.’
He kept his eyes on her as he spoke.
‘Do you think Ellison could have deliberately let him go? I know, he’s your friend and all that. But he’s lied to us before, don’t forget.’
For a long minute she didn’t say a word, replaying every moment of the evening in her mind. No, it was impossible. Hilliard had dodged and squirmed. He’d shot at Cliff, almost hit him. But the more she thought, the more questions came. Ellison was a policeman, used to keeping hold of suspects. He was big, strong. He shouldn’t have let the man get away. And yes, she’d heard a shot, but she only had his word for what happened. She’d simply never doubted it.
Had he recognised Hilliard? At the time she didn’t think so. She hadn’t noticed anything between them when the man came close; she’d swear to that. And Ellison seemed to relish the idea of catching the man.
No, it was all above board. It had to be.
‘I don’t think so.’ She answered slowly. ‘Everything happened so quickly. It was like Hilliard was greased. And my knee was killing me,’ she added.
‘I just wondered, that’s all.’ He sounded forlorn. Overwhelmed. ‘Come back when you can drive again.’
‘You can catch Hilliard as a get well present for me.’ She smiled but it didn’t cheer him.
‘Let’s hope, eh?’
She’d barely put the flowers in water and set them on the table when there was another knock on the door. Had he forgotten to
tell her something? Muttering to herself she hobbled back down the hall and pulled the front door open.
‘Hi.’ Ellison stood, cap under his arm, smiling bashfully. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I just wanted to see how you were doing.’
‘Muddling through.’ It was the best answer she could offer. And for once, the words were completely truthful. ‘Do you want to come in?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m supposed to be on my way to a meeting.’ It seemed like it was her day for gentlemen callers who didn’t get past the door. He brought his hand from behind his back and held out a box wrapped in colourful paper.
‘Candy,’ he told her. ‘I thought it might make you feel better.’
Lottie took it, looking into his face, trying to see if something was hidden behind his eyes. Until McMillan’s question she’d never doubted a thing about the night before. She’d seen it happen. She’d been part of it. Now just a tiny bit of her was left wondering.
‘Honestly,’ she said, warmth in her voice, ‘you shouldn’t have.’
She didn’t like him bringing her gifts; it made her feel beholden. A few flowers from John McMillan was one thing; they’d known each other for donkey’s years. This, well, it was kind and generous. But…
‘I appreciate it,’ Lottie said.
‘It’s nothing much.’ He made it seem like an apology. ‘From the PX.’
‘It’s a lovely thought. You know, I can’t remember the last time anyone brought me chocolates.’ She chuckled. ‘I can’t even remember the last time I saw anything like this in the shops. Feels likes centuries.’
‘How’s your knee?’
‘Big. Colourful. Stiff. It’ll mend.’
‘If there’s anything I can do…’
‘You helped me last night and now you’ve brought me these,’ Lottie told him. ‘I’d say that’s ample.’
‘I feel guilty about it all. I didn’t expect him to start moving like that. It took me by surprise.’
She wanted to believe him. Part of her did believe him. But out on the edges a few small doubts niggled at her.
‘You did your best. Did the medic look after your cheek?’
‘Butterfly bandage. I took it off when I shaved this morning. Made me look too much like a soldier.’
The Year of the Gun Page 18