Lois Meade 01: Murder on Monday (EN, 2002)

by Ann Purser

  Gillian’s face was pale now. “I think you know who the baby was, don’t you, Lois?” she said, in a cracked voice. “Especially if I tell you it was Gloria who took the photograph?”

  Lois knew that whatever she said now was terrifyingly important. Gillian’s response would tell her, she was sure, the answer to the whole sorry puzzle. And then it would be for her to act. Or for Gillian to act. Suddenly Lois was frightened. It was, after all, a matter of life and death. Somebody had felt strongly enough to strangle a defenceless woman, and cover his or her tracks so well that the police were still, as far as she knew, only on the approach road to the solution. She had been warned already. If she became a serious threat, this unknown person would have no hesitation in making sure she kept her knowledge to herself. She might be threatened again, or harmed, this time. Or one of her own family might be hurt. Oh God, not that!

  Lois stared at Gillian Surfleet across the table. “No,” she said, as lightly as she could. “Looks to me like any other new born babe.”

  Gillian Surfleet frowned. Was Lois really so innocent? Or making a good job of pretending? She was torn between that vow of silence made so long ago and now a desperate need to clear things up, let in light and air, and breathe easily again. After all, Gloria was gone for ever, no longer able to hold her in thrall with her manipulative moods. Those bloody men had no call on her loyalty and here was Lois, who had done her no harm, and who quite possibly was in danger herself.

  Gillian turned the album round so that it was facing her again, and peered down at the photograph. “Poor little soul,” she said. “He didn’t stand much of a chance, really. Gloria didn’t want him, you know. She couldn’t even be bothered to think of a name for him. The doctor named him. Melvyn, he called him. Said it was the first name that came to him. Gloria said any old name would do. She seemed to have no maternal feelings at all, and when they took him away she just laughed with relief. It was horrible, unnatural. I thought maybe it was just the shock, but she was no different later on, when Melvyn found out and came to see her. She was so cruel to him, rejecting him out of hand. She could be cruel, you know, Lois, very cruel indeed.” Gillian Surfleet paused, remembering the pain inflicted by Gloria Hathaway’s cruelty.

  Lois felt sick. Melvyn! Josie’s Melvyn? Supposing it was? Gloria’s son, and rejected out of hand. No wonder she had felt sorry for a lad who seemed a loner, a bit different from the rest. But what had it led to? Where was this conversation going? She was breathless with alarm now, but before she could speak, Gillian Surfleet had started again.

  “And the father, Melvyn’s real father,” she said. “Well, he couldn’t take him, though I think he wanted to. His wife wouldn’t have stood for it, not at that time, anyway.”

  Lois stood up suddenly, jerking the chair away from the table. “Gillian!” she yelled. “Do you know what you’re saying? For God’s sake…are you talking about Melvyn Hallhouse? Was it Melvyn in the village hall kitchen that night? Was it him who – ”

  She couldn’t say it, but Gillian Surfleet was nodding now, and tears were running down her red cheeks. She began speaking again, her words slurred now by the tears.

  “Melvyn wasn’t christened, mind, until those people adopted him,” she said, not looking at Lois, talking more to herself. “I never liked those Hallhouses. Specially him. He was a violent man, it was said, and those kids were frightened of him. Violence breeds violence, they say…” She looked up, then, as if waking from a bad dream. “Hey, Lois, where’re you going?” she said. Lois was wrenching her coat off the hook.

  “Home!” she shouted and, like a whirlwind, was out of the house and gone.

  ∗

  “Josie?” Lois tore into the sitting room, then upstairs and down again, panic rising sharply. “Josie! Josie, where the bloody hell are you!” Nothing. The house was deathly quiet. It was half past eleven, and the boys safely at school. Derek wasn’t due home for another hour. Oh my God, Melvyn’s taken her.

  Lois’s heart was pounding so hard she could hardly hear the engaged tone when she dialled Keith Simpson. No time for second thoughts; she rang the police station and asked for Inspector Cowgill. “Tell him it’s Mrs Meade and it’s bloody urgent.” It seemed hours before the cool, steady voice said, “Ah yes, Mrs Meade. How can I help you?” And then Lois was shaking so much that it took several minutes before she could get out the whole story. “Now he’s got her and I know exactly where!” she shouted, and then calmed down while Cowgill told her exactly what they would do, and reassured her that they would locate Derek immediately. A police car would be picking her up in a matter of minutes.

  Thirty-Eight

  When the car came, Lois registered Dr Rix sitting huddled in the back seat. How could he help? Her mind was spinning, but she would not even try to work it out. Josie was all that counted. If she thought hard enough about her, willed with all her strength that nothing bad would happen to her, maybe they’d get there in time? She scarcely noticed that Keith Simpson was sitting in the front, nodding reassuringly at her.

  “Where’s Derek?” she said, looking round wildly.

  It was Keith who answered. “On his way, Lois. He’ll probably be there before we are.” The doctor looked at her blankly, then turned to stare out of the window. She frowned. What the hell was he doing here anyway?

  “Have you got something to do with…?” Her voice tailed away. She mustn’t think of anything but Josie, shut up in that filthy factory with a lunatic. And a lunatic who had killed his own mother.

  “I shall be able to talk to him,” the doctor said, turning away from the window and pulling himself together with a visible effort. “Try not to worry, Lois.”

  She stared at him. “You? Why you? Why should he listen to you?”

  “I’m his father,” said Andrew Rix simply.

  After that, nobody spoke until they drew up outside the derelict factory. A number of cars were already there and Lois saw Derek shaking his fist at a police officer who was trying to prevent him getting to the door. She rushed over to him and when he saw her he held her tight and stopped shouting.

  “Ah, there you are,” Hunter Cowgill stepped forward and spoke to them calmly. “We are pretty sure he doesn’t know we’re here. Windows are all boarded up and the room they’re in is well away from the road.” He’d had his men check out the old factory some time ago, when they became aware that Melvyn was taking in odd items of furniture. He cursed himself that they hadn’t acted sooner, before Josie had been taken. Warning Lois had not been enough. He prided himself on waiting for the right moment. It was one of his intuitive skills, but he doubted if Lois would have much faith in him now. He had been almost there. The doctor had been helpful, of course, but was clearly determined not to incriminate his own son, even supposing he had known that Melvyn was the killer. After all, fathers don’t shop their own sons, as a general rule. Families mostly close ranks against the police, and Hunter Cowgill didn’t blame them. He was a rational man, and now he hoped to God they were in time.

  “This way, then, Doctor,” he said, and they approached the factory door together. He had sent all his men out of sight, leaving only Lois and Derek in view of the door. Lois watched them, noticed the peeling green paint, the dirty ring round the door handle, where hundreds of workmen’s hands had opened and shut it in the past. Her mind was out of control now, roaming on its own, noticing stupid things and refusing to concentrate on Josie. Lois clutched Derek’s hand tighter. Neither could speak.

  Cowgill raised his hand and knocked firmly on the door. Not a sound. Nobody breathed. After a few seconds, he knocked again, louder, and then several times more. Again a pause, and then Lois breathed in sharply. The door opened a crack, and in the eerie silence she heard Melvyn’s voice.

  Now the Inspector had stepped back, out of sight, and Dr Rix took over. “Could I have a word, Melvyn?” Lois heard the words, spoken for all the world as if he were asking someone to step into his surgery for a moment, and she felt Derek stiffen
beside her. She squeezed his hand.

  Melvyn was speaking again, but she couldn’t catch the words. Then the doctor turned around and looked straight at her. “Lois!” he called. “Over here, my dear, please.” The Inspector, out of sight by the car, nodded and beckoned her forward. She walked forward to where Andrew Rix stood smiling at her. It was a brave, pleading smile. Behind them, Derek stood alone, discouraged from following only by Cowgill’s hand held up in restraint.

  “Melvyn?” said Lois, in a quavery voice. “Have you got Josie with you? Is she all right?” She could see only his white face, his dark eyes burning out at her.

  “You can come in,” he said, “and you…” He motioned to Andrew Rix. “And them others can just go on home, because we’re not coming out.”

  By now Lois was shaking all over. So, he knew the police were there. Somehow this made things much worse. Now there was no hope of talking him and Josie out into the open. Lois shut her eyes, and felt herself whirling.

  Then Dr Rix took her hand, and said in a perfectly normal voice, “Come on, then, my dear. Let’s go and see what these two have been up to.” He half-pulled her behind him, into the dark factory, and she heard Melvyn lock the door again.

  It was not until they reached the inner room, the little home so carefully set up, that Lois saw Josie, apparently asleep on the sofa. Then she saw the knife. Melvyn held a bright, shiny-bladed knife in his hand, and with it gestured that they should sit down on the two chairs by the table. With his other hand he held his finger to his lips, and then pointed to the sofa in the corner. Lois gasped and made to stand up, but Melvyn was there with his knife, forcing her to sit down.

  “She’s asleep,” he whispered. “I don’t want her woken. What we got to say won’t take long, and we can say it quietly. Then go and tell them that if they don’t leave us alone, I’ll kill myself, and Josie as well. She’s mine now. I love her and she loves me. Where I go, she goes, too.” Then Lois knew he had lost his reason, and felt a greater terror than she had ever known.

  But Andrew Rix was nodding, and, still smiling, patted Melvyn on the arm and whispered, “Try to relax, old boy, nobody’s going to hurt you. There’ll be no more killing, not for you nor Josie.”

  The pain in his face had transformed him into a very old man, but Melvyn had no pity. “Shut up,” he said shortly. “You didn’t say nor do nothing then, when I needed a father, so it’s a bit late now. I want to talk to her,” he added, waving the knife at Lois, the blade catching the light like an electric spark.

  “What d’you want?” Lois managed. Josie stirred in her sleep, and once more Lois tried to go to her. But Melvyn stood in front of her, holding the knife as if he knew exactly how to use it. Dr Rix sat rigid in his chair, his expression bleak beyond words.

  “Josie’s mine,” Melvyn repeated. “I’ll look after her until she’s old enough to get married and then we’ll stay together for ever. I shan’t harm her, nor force anythin’ on her she don’t want. You and Mr Meade can rest easy.”

  “How will you live?” Lois’s voice was stronger now.

  “I got money,” Melvyn said. “And I know ways of gettin’ supplies that your friends out there don’t know nothin’ about. We’ll be fine, Josie and me. And nobody’s gonna take her away from me!”

  Suddenly Andrew Rix stood up. “All right,” he said, his face suddenly changed. “Enough of this nonsense, Melvyn. Put that stupid knife down, and let’s go home.”

  “Home!” said Melvyn, half-crouching now, on the defensive and brandishing his knife at his father. “Home!” he said loudly. “Your home? Is that what you mean? Why didn’t you take me there in the beginning, then? Scared of the scandal, was you? Wifie wouldn’t hear of it? She must’ve known.”

  His voice had woken Josie, who sat up, staring at Melvyn, then at her mother.

  “Don’t move, Josie,” said Lois quickly. “We’re just having a chat, then we’ll be going.”

  Andrew Rix stood unmoving, in spite of Melvyn’s threatening gestures. “I was wrong, son,” he said. That word, spoken awkwardly, jolted Melvyn, and he shook his head, as if to clear it. “I should have insisted,” his father continued. “But Mary had just lost her own baby, and I couldn’t do it. Gloria didn’t care what happened, so long as you were out of the way. So I took the easiest way out.”

  “Gloria!” Melvyn spat out the word. “I hated her. She was a bloody whore!”

  “Melvyn!” said Lois, also getting to her feet. “Not that language in front of Josie, if you don’t mind! I don’t call that taking care of her!”

  Melvyn backed away from them. “She was a tart, my mother,” he said. “And so I got rid of her. Did her customers a service, I reckon.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Reckon they were all getting fed up with the old bag.”

  “You were right,” said Andrew Rix, and Lois stared at him in amazement. “Gloria was no good, but she had such a way with her when she was in a good mood. And then she could be so cruel. Poor Nurse Surfleet had a terrible time with her.”

  “That old dyke!” said Melvyn. “Deserved all she got.”

  “But your mother was sick in the last year or so, Melvyn,” continued the doctor. “She thought she was very ill, before she…urn…” He coughed, and seemed to search for the right words. “She was desperate for comfort, you know, in the end, and no one really cared for her…except Gillian Surfleet and her affection was thrown back in her face.”

  “Ill?” said Melvyn. “How ill?” His voice was full of suspicion.

  Now Josie, in spite of Lois’s fierce looks, stood up from the sofa and walked towards Melvyn. “You didn’t tell me about your poor mum, Melv,” she said, and put her hand in his. “What was wrong with her?” she continued, looking at the doctor.

  “She thought it was the worst, I’m afraid,” said Andrew Rix. “Though it was far from certain. We were still doing tests, but she went completely to pieces.” He took a step towards Melvyn. “Come on, old son,” he said, but Josie stepped in front of him.

  “Get away from him!” she said loudly. “Watch him, Melvyn,” she added. “They’ll try to trick you.”

  “Josie!” said Lois. “For God’s sake!”

  Josie took no notice of her. “Come on, Melvyn,” she said. “Let’s go for a walk, away from this lot. We can go the secret way. And don’t try to follow us, Mum!” she added. “It’s very dangerous back there by the canal, unless you know what you’re doing.” She pulled Melvyn away, towards a collapsing doorway at the back of the room.

  Lois moved towards them, but Andrew Rix caught her hand and held her back. He shook his head. “Wait,” he mouthed at her. “Melvyn!” he said then, loudly, so that they could hear him.

  “What?”

  “Did you ever wonder why I called you that name?”

  “No,” Melvyn replied flatly. “Don’t make no difference.” He’d come back into sight now, still holding Josie’s hand.

  “It’s my own name,” the doctor said. “Andrew is my first, and then Melvyn. I gave you my own name. Such a tiny scrap of life…and I loved you then more than anyone before or since. I loved you and I gave you away.” He reached out his hand. “I’m so sorry, son,” he said. “So very sorry.”

  Melvyn bit his lip and his eyes shut for a second. “Huh,” he said. Then he retreated again into the darkness.

  “I’m going after them!” said Lois desperately. Andrew Rix shook his head. “Police,” he whispered, and made a circular motion with his hand. “Surrounded,” he added.

  But Lois could not see Josie go without her and she walked quietly after them. It was without air or light, evil-smelling, a cocktail of human detritus and the stagnant canal. She felt her way carefully, so as not to make a noise, aiming for a slit of light up ahead. Another door, and she prised it open slowly. Dazzled by the light, it was seconds before she could see the canal only feet away from her. An overgrown path led along the back of the factory, and she peered out. Josie and Melvyn were there, up by the old brick bridge, a coupl
e of children, hand in hand. In front of them stood the police, two of them, and one of them was Hunter Cowgill. Lois stared, petrified, scared to move a muscle in case she should precipitate something unthinkable.

  Melvyn moved sideways suddenly, and before the police could be there, he was on the bridge, holding on to the wooden rail and dragging Josie after him. Lois was frozen to the spot. She saw the rail snap and Melvyn fall backwards, hitting the black water with a yell that cut into her, breaking the spell, and she ran forward. Josie was still on the bridge, her arm held tight by Hunter Cowgill, who had got there just in time.

  “Take her,” he said to Lois. “And wait in the car.” But Josie would not go. She was screaming Melvyn’s name, pulling away and trying to go in after him. “Josie!” said Lois sharply. “Do as you’re bloody well told!” Josie stopped struggling and began to cry.

  “Mum, they’ve got to get him out,” she said.

  Cowgill stepped forward. “We shall, Josie,” he said. “Look, Simpson’s there already.” He strode off down the towpath, and Lois heard him say, “He’s got a knife. Get him…but remember the girl’s watching.”

  ∗

  Much later, after Josie was in bed and asleep at last, Lois remembered Cowgill’s words. “He can’t be such a bad bloke, that Inspector,” she said to Derek, who sat holding her hand. “To think of Josie watching. Thoughtful of him…”

  “Don’t trust any of ‘em,” said Derek. He was still trying to sort out the whole thing, but overriding everything, filling his head, was the fact that his Josie could easily be dead. “Steer clear of them all in future, Lois, and that’s an order,” he said.