Austin had now been arrested. Would Austin snitch on Stanley?
Stanley had never touched that Daisy from the Priory, but Austin had and she knew who he was. Austin was fucking mad, always taking risks. He had told Daisy he worked at the children’s hospital. He had been showing off, pretending he was a doctor. The priest had Austin’s address and details in his diary. Stanley knew that. He had seen it. No one had Stanley’s. He had told no one anything. Still, he was taking no risks. If Arthur said this was where he should be, in the safe house, this was where he would stay.
‘The bishop will be on his fucking way to Panama now if he’s got any fucking sense,’ Arthur had said to Stanley.
‘Does the bishop know she has come back?’
‘He fucking must do, he’s the one who had her in hiding. The bishop isn’t going to let her fucking escape without doing a runner himself, although how the fuck he let her get away from wherever he had her, I don’t know. I would have fucking drowned her myself. All the stupid policeman had to do was push her over the rail. Fucking yeller bastards. Now we are all at risk because the bishop couldn’t do his job properly.’
‘Bit hard for bishop to get someone topped, I suppose?’ Stanley had said.
‘What? A bit harder than shagging her when she was only twelve? Yeah, right.’
Remembering there were candles in the hearth of the range, Stanley felt his way across the kitchen. He took the lighter out of his pocket and flicked the flint into life.
The dirty, shoddy room lit up, with images even Stanley didn’t want to see.
The floor was covered in newspapers and near the fire a grubby toy doll lay discarded. The flame from the lighter was reflected back to Stanley from the cold, glass eyes.
He lit a candle from the store in the fireplace and began to unpack the bag he had brought with him, placing items one by one on a wooden table that stood at the side of the sink. Corned beef and spam, condensed milk, a packet of tea. He assumed he would be safe to visit the shops. There would be no one looking for him around here. Even if Austin spilt the beans, he wouldn’t remember this house, or know that Arthur would send him here and use it as a safe house.
Austin might direct the police to the hospital or Stanley’s home, but not here. When he thought of his mam and how distressed she would be, he felt sick.
Maybe he would sneak out in the dark and nip back to see her. He could make up a story, although he knew not what, and tell her he had to lie low for a while. As he sat huddled in the glow of the paltry fire and his solitary candle, he realized he might have to spend many hours doing very little else. He had managed to light the range, using bits of wood he had found in the garden. Some were windfall branches that had fallen way back in wartime, when the house had last been inhabited. The huge tree in the middle of the lawn had shed a pile large enough to keep a fire ticking over in the range for at least a couple of weeks. In the coal store, he had found the best part of a half-hundredweight of coal, which he would use sparingly.
Arthur had sent no message, nor had he called in as promised. This made Stanley feel even more nervous as the day went by.
Days later, he ran short of provisions, and was almost sick with worry about his mother.
‘Where the fuck is Arthur?’ he said to himself over and over as he paced up and down in the dark back kitchen of the bomb-damaged house. The one trip out that he had made to buy further supplies had alarmed him and he didn’t want to have to do it again.
He had slipped out to the shops the day after he had arrived, just before they closed, when shopkeepers were packing up, distracted, thinking of their journey home and putting tea on the table. He had used the big grocery store before the green on Breck Road, just down from Holy Trinity church. The shelves had been piled with good things to eat, but Stanley had no idea how long he would have to make his money last.
His eye was immediately caught by square metal bins with plastic lids, along the front of the long wooden counter, full of every imaginable kind of broken biscuit. He hadn’t eaten since the previous day and his stomach growled as the smell of custard creams filled his nostrils. His mouth began to water. He took a brown paper bag and slowly went from one bin to the next, filling the bag. Keeping his head down, he handed it over the counter to the man in a white overcoat to be weighed.
‘Anything else I can get for you?’ the shopkeeper enquired as Stanley continued to look in the bins, as though fascinated by the contents.
‘A quarter-pound of tea, a pint of sterilized milk, a pound of sugar.’ Stanley still didn’t look up.
Armed in addition with beans, bacon, bread, cheese and twenty Players, he hung around the green until it was dark when he could return to the house, entering through the back door, unseen by neighbours.
Arthur had said he would call on Stanley’s mother to tell her that she must not, under any circumstances, contact the police about her son’s sudden absence and that she was not to panic. Stanley knew she had never met Arthur and would be out of her mind with suspicion and worry. He was all she had and he meant the world to her. She depended upon him for everything. Without his wages this week, she would be more than a little anxious.
Stanley squatted down on his haunches in front of the range, waiting for the water in the enamel pot to boil. He had found it in a cupboard, covered in dust and cobwebs.
He couldn’t stop himself from worrying about his mam. In amongst the mouse droppings and the old newspapers scattered over the terracotta-tiled floor, he made the decision; as soon as it was dark, he would catch the bus back home, just to see if his mam was OK. He would slip in through the back door and stay just a few minutes, long enough to sign his bank-book so that she could take out any money she needed from his savings and to collect a few things.
Then he would take the night sleeper to Edinburgh and, once there, move up to the highlands. He could work as a kitchen porter for a year or so, until everything had died down. When it was safe, he would return home to his mam.
The enamel pot on the range began to bubble softly. Stanley took it off, using discarded newspaper to protect his hands from the heat of the handle. He tipped some of the tea leaves into the pot and stirred them with a stick before adding the sterilized milk. For the first time in days, he felt his panic begin to subside.
He had a plan. He was in control. He would be fine and so would his mam.
Back at Stanley’s home, his mother had placed a tea cosy over her best Royal Doulton teapot, after pouring Howard a cup of tea as he charmed her with the tale of his recent wedding.
‘Our Stanley never wanted to get married, you know. I tried to persuade him, but he’s never been interested. Mind you, I doubt there has been a woman born, who could be as good to him as his mam has.’
The bright blue budgerigar, in the cage inches from Howard’s head, had hobbled to the end of its perch and now stared curiously at Howard, with its head on one side.
‘He’s a good lad, our Stanley. Tips his money out onto the table every Friday night as soon as he walks through that door and no man could be more devoted to his work than our Stan. He makes me knit teddies to take in for them kiddies, you know. There are very few men as good as our Stanley.’
‘I’ve spoken to his employers, who think very highly of him,’ said Howard.
‘Did they say why they had to send him to another hospital so quickly?’ she asked. ‘It is all very strange. A man from his work called to tell me what was happening. I gave him Stanley’s clean clothes and everything but I can’t understand why Stanley didn’t come home himself first. The man said Stanley had taken a child in an ambulance to another hospital down south and he would be staying until they returned to Liverpool. Typical of our Stan, that is. I bet no one else would do it. He would have volunteered. That’s just what he’s like, you know. He loves them kids, he does.’
Howard drank his tea, feeling sorry for the mother of the sick pervert he was determined to catch. Poor woman doesn’t have a clue, he thought.
<
br /> ‘Well now, the thing is, I am afraid I’m not allowed to tell you anything other than that we need to ask Stanley some questions. He isn’t in any trouble, mind. It is all a bit top secret, to do with a case at the hospital. Stanley has been a great help to the police, but we need to speak to him as soon as he gets back. So what I will have to do is leave this police officer here in your house, while you are asleep, to keep you safe until Stanley returns. You must be very nervous on your own with him being away.’
‘Well, I am, but what will the neighbours say? They will think our Stan has done something wrong, won’t they? Is that really necessary?’
‘I am afraid it is. Stanley has been doing some good work for the hospital, but there are a couple of bad lads who work there and we can’t catch them without Stanley’s help. It won’t be for long. I spoke to the doctor at the hospital, and he tells me Stanley should be home any time now.’
‘Well, thank God for that. I don’t want me neighbours thinking anything is up, here in our house. You had better tell them if they ask when you go out. I feel ashamed having a police car outside me house.’
‘There is no police car now. I had it moved down onto Queens Drive. I didn’t want you to feel worried about that,’ said Howard with all the charm he could muster.
An hour later, Stanley’s mother was in bed, having left nothing short of a feast on a tray for the officer whom Howard left behind, with explicit instructions.
‘The only thing we have got so far is the name of two of the people who Daisy can confirm visited Father James at the Priory and we know what they were up to. She has given us some shocking details. We also know that Simon worked with them and that it was he who delivered Daisy to the convent. The pieces of the jigsaw are slipping into place.
‘Stanley is the next piece. The psychologist at the hospital tells me Stanley will be anxious about his mother and will, at some stage, attempt to return home, if only to reassure himself that she is well. We also know that he is working with someone, because whoever it was called here to spin a story to Stanley’s mother. If only the other porter, Austin, or Simon were being as cooperative, eh? Stay hidden and keep your eyes and ears open. If he returns home and you miss him, you will be looking for a new job tomorrow, do you understand?’
The police officer looked terrified. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good, now I’m off to my new home and my new bride. It feels as if I have barely seen my wife since we stood at the altar. Stay out of sight, and make sure the old woman is in bed as soon as possible. If he returns tonight and clocks that the lights are on, he will think she is still up and we don’t want her being around when he’s nicked.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said PC Shaw. ‘Er, sir, what’s that white stuff on your shoulder?’
Howard hadn’t heard him. The probationary officer spoke to his retreating back as Howard almost ran towards Queens Drive, where he had left the car parked. The room filled with the squawks of an accomplished budgie.
Stanley’s mother lingered before finally taking herself off to bed.
‘Are you sure you’re gonna be all right now, just sat here in the kitchen on yer own?’ she asked PC Shaw at least half a dozen times.
She made one last descent in a hairnet and no teeth, to leave the biscuit barrel on the table and to quiz the officer.
‘I don’t know what’s going on but I’ve got a funny feeling in me water I have. Is that CID officer all right or what? He kept telling me Stanley was helping the hospital and the police, but with what? He’s never said nothin’ to me. I don’t understand what’s going on, like.’
Finally, as soon as PC Shaw heard the bedside light click off, he dived at the food she had left for him, kept fresh between two plates. Corned-beef sandwiches on thickly buttered white bread were piled high, together with a home-made Victoria jam sandwich.
As he munched the first sandwich, he looked round the room.
Who would have thought it, eh? he mused. Normal mam, normal house. So what turns someone into the sick weirdo Stanley obviously was? Shuddering at the thought of a man who desired children, the PC knew what he would do if he ever caught anyone near his own daughter.
‘I’d chop his bloody dick off,’ he muttered to himself.
His thoughts wandered to the murder of the dead priest and his detached body part. Just as a penny rolled to the edge of his thoughts, about to drop… he heard a noise. It was a key in the front door.
Begrudgingly, he placed the remaining sandwich on the plate, secreted himself behind the door and waited.
‘Mam,’ Stanley whispered as he opened the door into the kitchen. Only the glow from a small lamp on the sideboard illuminated the room.
‘Mam,’ he whispered again, this time with more urgency.
He had opened the kitchen door wide and blinked before he knew what had happened. His arm was up his back and the PC, his handcuffs ready, had snapped them on within seconds.
‘Never mind your mam, you dirty perv, you’re nicked, mate.’
The budgie squawked his greeting from the cage, ‘Hello, Stanley,’ just as his mother called down the stairs, ‘Stanley, is that you?’
While the PC radioed for a police car, Stanley’s mam got up, tied the belt on her dressing gown and ran her false teeth under the tap to wash off the Steradent tablet, quickly popping them back into her mouth. Her bedroom was suddenly filled by the blue flashing light of a police car, parked right outside her front door.
‘Oh God, Stanley, what have you done?’ she muttered as she walked down the stairs. ‘Honest to God, the shame.’
14
‘I’M BACK,’ SHOUTED Harriet as she burst in through the Priory door, causing it to swing on its hinges and crash against the wall. She continued to shout as she threw her hat on the hall table. ‘I am so starving hungry, are you?’
Harriet had never in her life entered a room with any degree of caution. There was simply no need. No fearful shock had ever hidden behind any closed door, nor hit her in the face when least expected. Nothing unexpected or out of the ordinary had jumped up and bitten her. Harriet had never known fear.
She had just finished delivering leaflets to the houses on the four streets. She removed the satchel, slung across her shoulders, that held the remaining leaflets and placed it with a thud on the table, next to her hat.
She had spent the early part of morning at the Priory with the plainclothes police officers while they interviewed Daisy, who was excited beyond all notion that her brother would be arriving in Liverpool the following week, to collect her in person. They weren’t taking any chances this time. There was no question of Daisy being put on a boat alone, as Alison had argued.
‘God alone knows where you would end up this time. We might find ourselves answering a call from America. Only you, Daisy, could board the Liverpool to Dublin ferry and quite possibly end up in New York,’ she had joked.
Despite that, they struggled to laugh. Everyone was keeping a very careful eye on Daisy, until she had been handed over to her brother.
The new commanding officer had explained the plan of action in detail to the gathered group – Daisy, Miss Devlin, Sister Evangelista, Harriet and Father Anthony – who had all listened intently over tea and hot toasted muffins, dripping with butter and strawberry jam. Harriet was never happier than when people left the Priory with a full stomach, whatever the time of day.
‘We are on our way over to Ireland this afternoon,’ Howard had said, ‘to determine how the arrangements were made for Daisy to be delivered to the convent and why that particular convent was chosen. The police officer in custody is refusing to tell us anything, so, ladies, we are slightly stuck. However, it will take only a little good old-fashioned footwork to sort things out.’
They were all impressed with the competence of the commander who had taken over the reins of the investigation, immediately drafting Howard in as his number two. This made sense, given that Howard was completely up to date on all that had happened during the previous inves
tigation and was already an invaluable member of the team. The commanding officer had even hinted at promotion, if the case reached a successful conclusion.
The fact that Howard and Alison had cancelled their honeymoon to the Isle of Man, losing their deposit on the bed and breakfast they had booked months ago, had not gone unnoticed by Howard’s senior officers. The uniformed officers down at Whitechapel were hugely disappointed that one of their own was locked in a police cell, and stinking guilty as hell.
‘Do you have to shout every single time you walk in through the front door, Harriet?’ Father Anthony placed his finger to his lips, which were smiling at his little sister, always so full of life. ‘Shh,’ he said, ‘I have a visitor in the office.’
‘Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. Wayward housekeeper here, not doing her job properly.’
Harriett grimaced playfully.
‘Not at all. Could you make tea? I have no idea what has happened to Annie O’Prey. Sheila knocked on the Priory door and Annie just disappeared without a by-your-leave. That woman is the end, Harriet. If you didn’t like her so much, she would have to go. She makes delicious cakes but she is really a law unto herself. Anyway, fetch the tea, would you, and bring it to the study. I want you to join us as this is very much your project, not mine. Mr Manning is here to talk to us.’
Harriet felt a thrill run down her spine. Oh God, how should I act? Indifferent? Cold? Friendly?
‘Mr Manning?’ she hissed. ‘Were you expecting him?’
‘No, although I did tell him to call in if he had any news or if he wanted further information. But I didn’t really expect him to just pop in without at least a phone call from his secretary first, unless, of course, he had an ulterior motive for visiting.’ Anthony winked at Harriet who blushed from head to toe.
Harriet quickly checked her hair in the hall mirror. Licking her fingertips, she ran one along each eyebrow, pushing them into shape. Having fluffed up her hair and pinched her cheeks, she swept into the office where, without any warning whatsoever, her beauty knocked Benjamin Manning completely off his feet.
The Ballymara Road Page 19