Walking Back to Happiness

by June Francis

  Despite his disappointment, Tim accepted that he could not expect Lucia always to fall in with his wishes. After his first marriage being a failure, he wanted to make certain that he got it right this time – and not just for himself.

  A few weeks into his new regime of swimming and treatment, he had another visit from Isabella wanting to see if he had made any progress with his manuscript, reminding him that he had a deadline to meet.

  ‘I haven’t forgotten,’ Tim said.

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ said Isabella. ‘So how far off the end are you?’

  ‘A chapter and a half I reckon,’ he said.

  ‘Then you’ll have to go back to the beginning and check it through,’ she reminded him. ‘You don’t want to be leaving in stuff that shouldn’t be there. Perhaps you’d like me to copyedit it for you now?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’m feeling much better and I’ve actually had a friend giving me some help with it. I would rather finish it before you see it. I only wish I knew what you were thinking when you suggested I had a gun and forced Sid to escape with me. Who put the idea into your head?’

  Isabella ignored the question, only asking, ‘What friend?’

  ‘None of your business.’

  Her lips tightened. ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten we have a contract and I’m entitled to a share of the profits from the book?’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten.’

  ‘Good! So the ending – how have you decided to finish it?’

  ‘Hopeful that I have a happy future ahead of me. Isn’t that how most books should end?’

  ‘I presume you’ll need to carry on writing if you want to make a living.’

  ‘There are other ways of making a living, as I think I remember mentioning to you not so long ago.’

  Isabella looked taken aback. ‘I wouldn’t have thought there was much going for you. Unless you planned on turning to crime again.’

  ‘Now there’s a thought,’ Tim said, a pensive gleam in his eyes. ‘Time for you to leave, Isabella. I have somewhere to go.’

  ‘Sounds like you want to get rid of me.’

  ‘I don’t deny it, but I have somewhere I need to be.’ He gave her a nudge in the direction of the door.

  She had no choice but to leave, but she did not go far. Hiding behind a privet hedge, where she could keep an eye on the house, she didn’t have long to wait before she saw Tim walking in the direction of the bus stop. As soon as she saw him climb on to a bus she followed him. Seeing no sign of him on the lower deck she went inside, thinking he must have gone upstairs for a smoke. She would keep her eyes open for when he came downstairs and tail him, convinced that he had something up his sleeve that he didn’t want her to know about.

  The bus drew up at the stop nearest Marty’s house but Isabella noticed Tim did not leave the vehicle, and she soon realized that he must be going into town. She hoped her instincts were leading her aright when Tim left the bus in Lime Street. She followed suit and tailed him along Lime Street, past the Adelphi Hotel and into Renshaw Street, where he stood at a stop waiting for a bus that would take him to south Liverpool.

  It was then that she began to get an inkling where he could be going as she ran over again in her mind their conversation in his apartment and what he had said about there being other ways of making a living.

  She decided not to follow him any further, and instead to go and have a cup of tea and a cake in Lewis’s café. After that refreshment she went and caught a bus that would take her to Walton. There was a man she needed to see. He would decide what to do with the information she had. One thing was for certain, he wouldn’t want Tim’s dream of his garage business thriving coming true. Besides, the writer in Isabella rejected such a tame ending. She wanted drama and excitement and felt certain her contact could arrange both.

  Eleven

  A month later Michael was working late, finishing a service on a pale green Morris Oxford, when he heard a rumbling growl coming from Fang.

  ‘What is it, boy?’ he asked, glancing in the dog’s direction where it lay on a remnant of old blanket.

  Naturally Fang’s only way of answering was by stretching and moving towards the double doors.

  ‘A late customer, the boss, or trouble,’ wondered Michael aloud, making no move to open the Judas gate, remembering the men who had asked him to do a paint job and change some licence plates not so long ago. They had offered him money to rush the job and keep it quiet from Tim. He had been tempted, but he had told them he wasn’t interested.

  He placed a hand on the dog’s head and hushed him. Michael remained motionless in that position, listening to the slightest of scraping noises while watching the gate from behind a car. Then there came a snap and the gate swung open. A man came through and then another. Instantly Michael recognized them and knew he could be in trouble. They were the men who’d asked for the paint job and a change of licence plates on a Sunbeam saloon.

  Lucia and Marjorie would have thoroughly disapproved of him breaking the law. Besides, his father’s name was written on the doors and there was no way he would bring disgrace to that. He really should have mentioned the incident to Tim.

  As they moved further into the yard, he was certain that the men had not yet noticed him or Fang, although he could hear the rumble deep in the dog’s throat still. He wished he could reach the telephone in the office, but knew if he made a move he’d be spotted. He noticed that the men carried what appeared to be short sticks and they were heading for the working space under cover. Michael wished he had a spanner to hand. At that moment he felt Fang move beneath his hand and then he bounded in the direction of the men, barking fiercely.

  Michael drew in his breath with a hiss as one of them raised what the young man now realized was a cosh and brought it down on the dog. Fang yelped and collapsed on to the concrete floor. The man raised his weapon again. The action was enough to bring Michael from his hiding place, and he picked up a spanner that was lying on a bench a few feet away. He charged at the man but, before he could reach him, Michael caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Then there came pain in his head and he felt himself falling and all went black.

  When he regained consciousness he could not think where he was for a moment, and then he came aware of a headache and the hardness of the floor. He lifted his head carefully and glanced about him. He could make out shapes moving about in the light of a single light bulb and suddenly he heard a whimper. Fang! Slowly he managed to drag himself in the direction of the sound and, as he did so, realized that there were tins on the floor; at one point he felt his hand land in a pool of liquid. By the feel and smell of it, he guessed it was lubricating oil. Suddenly it struck him that his attackers had broken in with the intention of wrecking the place. Most likely they had not expected anyone to be here.

  Could he be right in believing they were Tim’s enemies? What should he do first if he managed to escape? Phone Marjorie or Tim, or race to the police station along the lane in the hope of reaching it before the crooks caught him. He decided to get in touch with Marjorie first, as most likely she would be worrying about him being late and worry was not good for her. He thought about the car he had been working on and of Tim being on his way to check the service he had done. Fortunately it had been tucked away in a corner at the back of the workshop after he had finished with it, so they might not have noticed it in the shadows. All the time he had been thinking, he had still been on the move, and had managed to skirt a pool of petrol. He pushed himself upright and got his bearings and stealthily headed for the office, which was in darkness. Once inside, he could see through the window overlooking the workspace the damage that the men had done. Tins of paint as well as cans of oil had been spilt all over the place and shelves had been smashed; as for the car he had serviced, they had sprayed obscenities over the paintwork. He could also make out Fang huddled on the floor. He could see no sign of the men, so presumed they had left, and so he left the office and went over to Fang and lowered himsel
f on to his haunches and stroked the dog’s head and spoke soothingly to him as he took in the bleeding wound on Fang’s shoulder. Then he returned to the office.

  Relieved that the telephone was still working, he dialled his mother-in-law’s number. He was glad that the bang on his head hadn’t appeared to have damaged his memory. Fortunately Marjorie picked up the receiver; he explained he was finishing a job so wouldn’t be home for an hour or so. He was just about to phone Tim to check whether he had left home when he heard footsteps outside and a loud voice called, ‘Is there anyone there?’

  He put down the receiver and left the office to find a bobby gazing about at the mess. Michael recognized him as one he had seen before; presumably this was part of his beat.

  ‘What’s been going on here?’ asked the bobby.

  ‘Two men broke in. One knocked me out and hurt our dog and they’ve been wrecking the place while I was out of it,’ said Michael. ‘I was just about to dial my boss.’

  The bobby took a notebook and pencil out of a pocket. ‘Did you recognize them?’

  ‘No! At least I have seen them before, but I don’t know them.’

  ‘Pity! Any idea what time this happened?’

  Michael said, ‘Must have been shortly after seven. Normally I knock off at six but I was doing a service and I’d just finished and checked my watch.’

  ‘You haven’t been unconscious long then; perhaps they heard me coming and I frightened them off.’

  Michael glanced at his watch and saw that it was only twenty-five to eight. ‘They must have worked at lightning speed to do all this damage,’ he said.

  The constable nodded. ‘They wouldn’t have wanted to hang about. How’s your head feeling?’

  ‘It aches but I’ll survive.’

  ‘You need to go to the hospital and have it X-rayed.’

  ‘I will but I need to phone my boss first.’ Michael lifted the receiver.

  ‘Well, while you’re at it, phone for an ambulance.’

  Michael nodded, then wished he hadn’t, because it hurt. He was glad when the constable left the office and began to wander around the workspace. Swiftly Michael dialled for an ambulance and then called Tim’s home number.

  As soon as Michael recognized Tim’s voice on the other end of the line, he said, ‘You’d better prepare yourself. We’ve had a break-in and it’s a mess here. They’ve injured Fang and hit me over the head. There’s a bobby here. He’s insisted on my ringing for an ambulance so they can check me out.’

  ‘I’m on my way,’ said Tim, managing to get a word in. ‘You look after yourself.’

  ‘Don’t tell our Lucia. I haven’t told Marjorie yet and I don’t want Lucia phoning her and asking after me and putting the wind up my wife.’

  As soon as he put down the receiver, Tim shrugged on his overcoat and clapped a trilby on his tawny hair. Then he went to ask Mrs Hudson if she would listen out for Jerry as he’d had an important phone call and had to go out. Only then did he decide to phone for a taxi instead of summoning his brother, Marty.

  As he waited for the taxi to arrive, he seriously thought of having a go at driving again. In cases like this, and even in general, it made sense for him to have the use of a vehicle. Even having the use of the works van would be better than nothing. Why he had hesitated from taking such a step earlier was because he had lost his confidence; besides which, he had been in no state physically to start driving again. Now he felt so much fitter since visiting the swimming pool with Lucia and having physio.

  Having come to a decision, he concentrated his thoughts on Michael and what he faced at the garage. He had no doubts about the identity of the men who had attacked Michael and Fang and wrecked his business premises, although he was puzzled as to how they had found out he was involved in Davy Brookes & Son. He supposed it was possible one of them or a member of their families could have kept an eye on the garage and spotted him. He gazed out of the taxi window and recognized a couple of shops on Scottie Road. Hopefully he would reach his destination in approximately three-quarters of an hour, depending on the traffic.

  The taxi drew up behind the ambulance parked outside Davy Brookes & Son. Tim paid off the driver. The ambulance driver wasn’t in his cab, so he went through the entrance into the yard and there he found Michael, two bobbies and a couple of ambulance men. There was an overwhelming smell of petrol and oil fumes.

  Michael’s face lit up when he caught sight of Tim, who heard him say, ‘Here’s Mr Murphy now.’

  ‘So can we get you off to hospital straightaway?’ asked a red-haired ambulance man.

  ‘Yes, if Mr Murphy can come with me,’ said Michael.

  The ambulance man cocked an eye in the direction of the policemen.

  ‘We do need to talk to you, Mr Murphy,’ said the sergeant, standing beside the constable who had first discovered the crime.

  ‘All right,’ Tim said, and then turned to face the ambulance man. ‘Which hospital are you taking Michael to?’

  ‘Smithdown Road,’ he replied. ‘The lad doesn’t appear too seriously injured to us, but it’s always wise to check head injuries out with an X-ray.’

  Tim saw Michael into the ambulance and listened keenly to what the lad had to say. He wished Michael had told him about the men’s proposition at the time. ‘With Marjorie having the baby, I confess for a moment I was tempted by their offer,’ said Michael.

  ‘Now you know how easy it is to be led astray,’ said Tim in a low voice. ‘Anyway, I’ll visit Marjorie and reassure her about you.’ Then he returned to the garage and had a closer look at the damage, and at poor Fang.

  ‘I reckon they intended to set fire to the place,’ said the police sergeant. Tim agreed, wondering how he was going to sort the mess out, and saying as much. ‘We’ve phoned the fire brigade,’ continued the sergeant. ‘It’s not safe with all these fumes. One spark and it could all could go up in flames. Even switching on the light could have been tricky. Anyway, the fire brigade will be able to dampen everything down. I can’t see you being able to use these premises in a month of Sundays.’

  Tim thought the same and felt depressed. His dreams were in ashes and he was at a loss to know what the future held for him now. As well as that, he was concerned about Michael who, with a baby on the way, was now out of a job. Tim had wanted to help him, but instead he had almost got the lad killed. He looked about him and thought that at least the business premises were detached from any of the surrounding buildings. Even so he’d like to get his hands on those who had ruined his business and injured Michael and Fang in the process.

  ‘Do you have any idea, Mr Brookes, who could have done this?’ asked the sergeant.

  The question caused Tim to realize that the two policemen had no idea of his true identity, or his criminal record. ‘Yes, but I’d like to speak to Inspector Sam Walker at Dale Street, if I may, please?’

  ‘You’re acquainted with the inspector?’ said the sergeant.

  Tim nodded.

  ‘Well, let’s get along to the local station and we’ll get in touch with him,’ the sergeant said.

  Tim asked whether he could fetch a few things from the office first, as well as bring Fang along. He collected a whole bundle of paperwork, including the insurance policy; having handed them to the sergeant to hold for the moment, he wrapped Fang in the remnant of blanket. In the distance he could hear the clanging of a fire engine and, remembering what Michael had said about the car he had just serviced, he looked for it. He had just decided to drive it out of the gates, having dumped Fang on the back seat, when he remembered that even a spark could set the fumes alight. He wasted no time lifting Fang out of the car and hurried as fast as he could after the two policemen who had gone outside to greet the firemen.

  Tim stayed until the firemen had done what they thought fit to prevent a fire occurring, and then he locked up and went along to the police station on Lark Lane with Fang still wrapped in the piece of blanket in his arms. He was glad to hear that the sergeant had spok
en to Detective Inspector Sam Walker and that he was on his way. Tim didn’t have long to wait, and he pounced on Sam as soon as he came through the door.

  ‘I never thought the day would come, Tommy, when you’d be glad to see me,’ said Sam, a teasing smile lighting his attractive features.

  ‘The name’s Tim now,’ said Tim.

  ‘Of course, sorry. I should have remembered. So what’s this all about?’ Sam asked.

  Tim repeated what Michael had said to him but kept quiet about to the constable. ‘I’m just glad that a bobby arrived when he did. Otherwise Michael and Fang could have perished if the place had gone up in smoke.’ A cold shiver went down Tim’s spine just thinking how he would have had to face Lucia with the tragic news that her brother was dead. She most likely would have blamed him and it was something that he could never have put right. Thank God, it hadn’t come to that – but it had been a close shave for Michael and Fang.

  ‘Who is this Michael, and how did he come to be working for you?’ asked Sam.

  Tim explained, adding, ‘I’m sure you’ve sussed out why I wanted to speak to you. Nick told me you’d mentioned that some of the gang were out of prison, so I thought a watch might be kept on them so that you might have some idea where they were and what they were up to. Of course, I might be doing them an injustice; they might have just returned to their old neighbourhood and families and be set on living the simple life. It might not be them at all who are responsible for this mess, but somehow I doubt it.’

  ‘I’ll look into it,’ Sam said. ‘Although the ringleader is still in prison, so he’s out of the frame … I’ll visit our prime suspects right away, before they use their brains and decide to get rid of the evidence.’

  ‘Their clothes will stink of fuel,’ said Tim.