The policeman called over his shoulder to another constable waiting outside the door. ‘Get onto Orrell Park nick and tell them to go to any house called by the name of a tree. The Oaks, The Chestnuts, The Limes, whatever. Tell them it’s a murder and the killer could be heading there.’ He turned to Will. ‘Now where’s the body?’
But all Will could think was that Hannah was in mortal danger. He pushed past the copper and ran down the street. He could pick up a taxicab on Stanley Road if he was lucky. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him and was relieved to see that if any of the coppers had tried to follow him they had abandoned the chase before he got to the main road.
He was lucky. There was a cab dropping a group of men off outside a social club. Inside, he told the driver to head for Orrell Park.
‘Whereabouts, lad?’
‘I don’t know. It’s a house named after a tree. That’s all I know.’
The driver gave an exaggerated sigh.
‘Look, fella, a murder’s just been committed and unless you get me there in time there might be another one.’
Alarmed, the driver slammed on the brakes.
‘Not me, mate. I’m trying to stop it.’ He held up his hands. ‘It’s my girlfriend. Her father’s just killed her mother and is probably heading there to kill her too.’ As he spoke the words the urgency of situation hit him and he yelled. ‘Now, step on it!’
The driver took off with a scream of tyres. Leaning over his shoulder he said, ‘Most of the houses round there have numbers. If it’s got a name it’ll might be in Orrell Lane or Moss Lane. There’s some big houses there with gardens and trees.’
Will leaned forward in the seat, anxious. He had to get to Hannah before her father did. The driver, now enjoying the fact that he was caught up in a drama, kept his foot down, screeching round corners like a rally driver. When they approached a fork in the road by the Orrell Park Ball Room, he showed down. Which one shall we try first? Moss left or Orrell right?’
‘Left.’
The car turned into Moss Lane.
‘I’ll get out and do it on foot. We can’t see the house names from the car.’ He handed the driver half a crown.
‘You want me to come with you?’
‘No. I’m sure I’m ahead of him. I’ll find it.’
‘If it isn’t along here, when you hit the parade of shops, turn right and it’ll take you to Orrell Lane.’
‘Cheers, mate.’
‘Good luck!’
Will’s heart lifted when he saw the first big house was called Cherry Tree Lodge. He raced up to the door and knocked loudly. An elderly woman opened it.
‘I’m looking for the Hendersons.’
She looked him up and down. ‘Wrong house.’ The door closed on him before he had a chance to ask if she knew where they lived. The next house was a doctor’s surgery, and the following pair were conjoined and called Galway Villas. Ahead, he could see the row of shops the taxi driver had mentioned. After Runnymede and Kelvinside, he approached the last but one property with a growing sense of urgency. The Laurels. The house appeared to be in darkness, but when he hammered on the knocker he heard footsteps, a hall light spilled through the glass panel above and the door swung open.
A peroxide blonde stood on the threshold, appraising Will as though he were a colt at a bloodstock sale. She wore a silk dressing gown patterned with a display of red rambling roses. A cigarette dangled nonchalantly from the corner of her mouth, like the bad girl in a gangster movie. ‘And what can I do for you, sailor?’ she said. ‘You are a sailor I presume? I can always tell.’
Will thought it must be the wrong house, but desperate not to make a mistake, he said, ‘I’m looking for Hannah.’
No sooner were the words past his lips than there was movement behind the blonde, who took a step aside. Hannah was standing, frozen, in the middle of the hallway. For a fraction of a second that seemed to stretch forever, she stared at him and then he held his arms open and she cannoned into them.
Will held her against him, feeling her heart thumping against his own, her breath coming in little jerks. It was really her. He’d found her. In time. Unharmed. His overwhelming feeling was of gratitude. She did love him. Rafqa had been right. There was no mistaking it. How could he have ever doubted her?
‘I thought I’d never see you again. I’m so sorry for sending that terrible letter. I can explain why. Oh Will, I can’t believe it’s you.’
Before he could reply, Nance’s London accent cut across their reunion. ‘Well, I can’t believe it’s so bleeding cold this evening. Get your arses inside and I can shut the bloody door.’
They did as instructed, still clinging onto each other as though if either let go both would drown.
‘Now, is someone going to tell me what the hell’s going on?’ Nance removed her cigarette and leaned back against the wall.
A door at the rear of the hall opened. ‘What’s the commotion? Who are you? What are you doing in my house. Take your hands off my daughter-in-law.’ Amos Henderson stood in the middle of the hallway, hands on hips. He reminded Will of a hippopotamus: his face jowled, with a disproportionately large jaw, enormous nostrils, short legs and a fat stomach. He bellowed up the stairs, ‘Get down here, Samuel. At once.’
Hannah swung round to face Henderson. ‘I’m not your daughter-in-law. Sam and I are not legally married. My mother has the proof. She’s going to the police. Your church is a sham. My wedding was a sham. It has no legal standing.’
Henderson’s lip curled. He went on the attack. ‘You’ve been living as man and wife with my son and in the eyes of God you are married.’
‘That’s not true.’ Sam’s voice broke through the tension. ‘We have never been man and wife.’ He came down the stairs and stretched a hand out to shake Will’s. ‘You must be Will. You’re a lucky man. Hannah is a wonderful woman. I only wish I could have been a husband to her, but I could not.’ He smiled. ‘But I imagine you, sir, are happy about that?’
Will drew Hannah closer. She looked up at him. ‘It’s true. He never laid a finger on me.’
Amos Henderson’s face was scarlet and he looked as if he were about to have a heart attack. ‘You’re a useless excuse for a son. A pansy! I’m ashamed of you. Your late mother will be turning in her grave to hear you.’
‘No, Father. The truth is Mummy always accepted me for who I am. I didn’t have to play a part for her. She loved me just the same.’
‘Then it’s as well she’s dead.’
In the face of this talk of the late Mrs Henderson Will was acutely aware that Hannah didn’t yet know about the death of her own mother. He felt his throat constrict. How was he going to break the news to her? How could he shatter the joy of their reunion?
Before he could do or say anything, there was a hammering on the door.
Before Will could warn her, Nance, nearest to the door, reached behind her and opened it. Charles Dawson stood on the threshold, a carving knife in his hands.
The pastor stepped forward. ‘Charles! What’s going on? Do you know this man?’ He waved a hand in Will’s direction.
Dawson reached for the nearest person, who happened to be Nance. Moving fast, from behind, he threw his arm round her neck, gripping her in a lock hold. She tried to scream but the pressure from his elbow against her throat prevented it.
With his other hand he moved the knife up so that the point was above his arm and against her throat. Her eyes widened with fear and she stopped struggling. Still holding her, Dawson drew her against him and lifting one leg kicked the door shut behind him. Everyone waited. The long case clock at the rear of the hall rang the hour. Seven o’clock. Dawson looked crazed, eyes wild, traces of spittle at the corners of his mouth. He seemed to have developed a nervous twitch. Will was the only person who knew he was now a murderer. Where were the police? If he’d found The Laurels why hadn’t they? He tried to think what to do. He could feel Hannah’s body shaking as he held her against him. Her safety was paramount.
‘My wife is dead and that man has killed her.’ Dawson’s voice rose in pitch. ‘Now he wants to kill my daughter.’
As he spoke, everything happened at once. Sam hooted in derision. The pastor turned towards Will and was about to grab hold of him. Will felt Hannah’s body jerk, then she slipped forward, slumping towards the floor as a moan came from her that was chilling in its intensity. A cry of grief, loss, fear and anger. He supported her then helped her onto a chair that Sam pulled towards them. Will dropped to his knees beside her, cradling her in his arms. She looked at him her face white, her lips pale. ‘Is it true? Is Mother dead?’
Will nodded and held her against him. Her breathing was jerky, laboured, and he felt her tears against his face. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to plunge that knife straight through Charles Dawson. He turned to look at him and saw that there was a thin line of red blood under Nance’s chin and the woman was whimpering.
‘Let her go.’ The pastor’s voice was like thunder. ’Now! Or I’ll kill you myself, Dawson.’
‘I’ll let her go as soon as you hand this man to the police. They’ll be here any minute. He must pay for what he’s done. Spawn of the devil!’ He jabbed a finger at Will, while the other hand continued to hold the carving knife against Nance’s throat. ‘He seduced my daughter and filled my wife’s head with lies and calumnies against me. The Lord will smite him dead as he smote the armies of Israel. Like Judah’s son, this man was wicked in the sight of the Lord and the Lord will slay him.’
Before anyone could respond, Nance brought her right leg up and jerked her heel backwards into Dawson’s groin. Dawson bent double, screaming in pain, still clutching the knife. Freed from his grip, Nance crumpled to the floor in a heap. A stain spread across her dressing gown joining up the roses into a continuous sea of red.
The sight of Nance in peril stirred Hannah and she broke away from Will and knelt on the floor beside her friend. Dawson was lying against the skirting board, nursing his injury with one hand, still moaning. Will stepped forward and pressed a foot down hand on the arm that held the knife. Dawson yelped again. Sam swung his leg back and landed a kick in the small of Dawson’s back.
Nance was still breathing and Hannah felt herself pushed out of the way. The pastor was now on the floor beside her, trying to pull Nance upright. Tears were coursing down his jowly cheeks and the front of his white shirt was coloured with her blood. His face was crimson.
Before Hannah could do anything to help Nance, there was a hammering on the door and Will opened it to reveal four policemen on the doorstep. At the end of the drive was a waiting ambulance and a Black Maria.
‘Right. What’s going on here?’ The first policeman, with stripes on his epaulette, stepped over the threshold and saw the blood which was all over the neck and chest of the now unconscious Nance. He called over his shoulder. ‘Ambulance. There’s an injured woman. Move!’
The ambulance men rushed into the hall and within moments had Nance on a stretcher and out of the house. A sobbing Henderson was held back by one of the policemen.
‘Can I go with her?’ asked Hannah.
‘Right now, no one’s leaving. When we’re done with you, you can go and see her. They’ll be taking her to Walton Hozzie, just down the road. You’ll only get in the way now and I have some questions for you all.’
He turned his attention to Charles Dawson who was cowering and whimpering, the knife hand still pinned under the weight of Will’s foot. A pool of urine spread out underneath him to mingle with the blood on the Minton tiled hall floor.
The police sergeant turned to the two constables. ‘Cuff him and take him in. And tell the Desk to call Bootle to let them know we’ve got him. He’s pissed his pants so hold your noses, lads.’ As the policemen pulled Dawson to his feet, he dropped the knife and allowed himself to be led away, still muttering Biblical curses and calling on God to avenge him.
‘What’s in here?’ The sergeant gestured at the first door.
‘The drawing room.’ Sam held open the door to show him.
‘Right. We’ll use that. The Detective Inspector will be here soon. You first.’ He jerked his thumb at Will to indicate he should go inside and then told the remaining policeman to take the Hendersons and Hannah into another room. ‘Keep an eye on them. I’ll see them one at a time, when I’m done with the other fellow. Starting with him.’ He pointed at the pastor, who looked as though he were in shock.
* * *
Hannah was numb. In the space of less than half an hour her entire life had changed. Joy at the return of Will and at the knowledge that he still loved her was tempered by the terrible news she was struggling to absorb, that her mother was dead. And now Nance was in hospital fighting for her life. All at her father’s hand. The hatred and the madness she had seen in his eyes were in themselves shocking. His past unpredictable outbursts and violence had not prepared her for the sheer evil of what she had witnessed in him tonight. Evil mixed with cowardice and weakness. Just as she had seen that day when Nance went for him with the poker. Charles Dawson was a liar, a hypocrite, a bully, and now a cold-blooded murderer. She sat at the kitchen table between Sam and his father, with the policeman standing guard beside them. Laying her head on her folded arms she allowed herself to weep quietly for her mother. A hand was placed on her back and she lifted her head as Sam passed her a cup of tea.
Then it hit her. What about Judith? Where was she? How was she?
‘My sister!’ she cried, jumping up from the table. ‘I have to find her and see if she’s all right.’ She tried to leave the room but the policeman blocked her. ‘Please! I have to go to her.’
‘Sit down,’ the constable growled, but his eyes showed some compassion. ‘Now, don’t move so much as a muscle or you’ll be in trouble. I’ll go and find out about your sister.’ He disappeared for a few minutes.
When he returned he smiled at Hannah. ‘Apparently your sister’s fine, love. At least according to your friend, Mr Kidd, next door.’ He indicated the drawing room. ‘He was the one who discovered your mother’s body and he saw your sister before he came over here. She was distressed, but unhurt. The Detective Inspector’s arrived now and he’s going to ask Bootle nick to send your sister over here in a car.’
Hannah heaved a sigh of relief that Judith was safe. Losing her as well as their mother would have been more than she was able to bear. Sam gave her arm a little squeeze. As she turned to look at him there was a thump. Amos Henderson’s head hit the table.
Hannah and Sam jumped to their feet but the constable got there first. Henderson was slumped forward, head turned to one side, open eyes staring sightlessly into a void. The constable felt for a pulse.
Nothing.
With Sam’s assistance the policeman pulled the pastor upright, but his head lolled unsupported by his neck. It was clear he was dead.
* * *
Nance was in hospital for two weeks. She had lost a lot of blood but fortunately the knife had not severed her jugular vein. Hannah and Sam sat at her bedside and broke the news to her that the pastor was dead.
‘Poor old bugger. I was actually quite fond of the old pervert, despite all the fire and brimstone. Felt sorry for him in a way. God rest his soul.’
‘I doubt that.’ Sam frowned. ‘No man has the right to pour judgement on another when he’s full of sin himself.’
‘Sin? Cor blimey, Sammy. What bleeding right do you have to talk about sin?’
‘As much right as anyone. Including my father. Wasn’t it a sin to force me into marriage? A sin to make Hannah marry me against her will? And a sin to consort with prostitutes while my mother lay dying? To preach about sinful women while exploiting them to satisfy his own lust?’ His voice was angry. ‘And a sin to create a church solely as a means of generating money?’
Nance closed her eyes. ‘I’m not going to argue with you. There’s a bloody hornet’s nest of bad things, but I put most of the blame on Dawson. Old Henderson was a blithering idiot with a
liking for a bit of corporal punishment but he never did anything really bad. Least not to me.’
Hannah thought for a moment then said, ‘He colluded with my father to force me into a marriage. A marriage that he wasn’t legally allowed to perform. And he must have known about my father’s violence – how could he not? Yet he went along with all that. He paid money to him to keep him quiet about Sam.’
Nance said nothing. Her eyes closed again and Hannah looked at Sam. ‘Time to go,’ she said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Will proposed to Hannah on the sands at Crosby. This time it was a warm spring day and cotton wool clouds skittered across a pale turquoise sky.
‘When your mother died, I was more terrified than I have ever been in my entire life,’ he told her. ‘The thought of your father getting to you before I could… I don’t know what I’d have done. I couldn’t have gone on living myself if anything had happened to you.’ He looked down at her face. ‘As soon as we can, I want to marry you. I can’t bear the thought of another day without you.’
‘I want it too. More than anything. But, please, let’s wait until the trial’s over. I can’t think about the future while that’s hanging over us. I want it all behind us when we marry. I want it to be a day of complete uninterrupted happiness.’
‘The trial’s a foregone conclusion, Hannah. No jury could fail to convict your father.’
‘He’ll hang for it, won’t he?’
Will kept his gaze steady. ‘Yes.’
‘So we’ll both have fathers who were executed for murder. I doubt there’s many couples who can say that.’
He said nothing but reached for her hand, wrapping his own around it.
‘My father deserves to die. Yours didn’t,’ she said.
He pulled her against him and cradled the back of her head with the palm of one hand. ‘I love you so much and I wish I could protect you from all this. From the trial. From the probable verdict. From everything.’
‘I don’t need to be protected from any of it. The only thing I want to be protected from is losing you.’
Storms Gather Between Us Page 29