Читать книгу Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection - Josephine Cox - Страница 30

IN THE CAR with Inspector Lawson, Tom was impatient for details. ‘So, what’s happened? You said you’d made a breakthrough.’

‘I hope so, yes, but I can’t tell for certain until I get there.’

‘What exactly is it … this “breakthrough”?’

‘Well, you recall, along with everything else, we checked every breaker’s yard in the vicinity of the accident and your home.’

‘So?’

‘So, one of the yards up here belonged to a Jimmy Rollinson.’ Overtaking a bus, he paused for a minute, continuing when he slid back into the flow of traffic.

‘We turned his place upside down like all the others, looking for a blue Hillman Minx, but at the time we were satisfied the car had not been taken in. Well, this morning, we had a call from Jimmy Rollinson. He said he’d found something, and that we should go and take a look.’

Arriving at the scrapyard in question, the inspector drew the car to a halt; there, only a few feet away, was his sergeant and with him – a long, slim beanpole of a man.

As Tom and the inspector climbed out of the car, the sergeant came rushing forward. ‘I think we’re onto something!’ he said excitedly. ‘Take a look at this.’

Leading the way, he and Jimmy Rollinson took them to the back of the yard, where work was underway to clear a huge area. ‘I’m selling up,’ Rollinson informed them. ‘After thirty years at this little lot, I’ve had enough. It’s time I put my feet up and took things a bit easier. So, as you can see, I’m clearing the whole site and putting it up for development.’

He gave a click of admiration. ‘This yard covers upwards of two acres – in a prime position, too. I’ve seen land go for silly money and I want some of it. Once it’s cleared and made respectable, I reckon there’ll be plenty of companies who’d pay a fortune for this little parcel.’

The inspector was more interested in what his sergeant had found. ‘What’s the panic then?’

‘Round here, sir.’ Going ahead, he went round the mountainous piles of junk, deeper into the maze of crushed cars and broken metal, and there, in a deep hollow of earth up against a wall, was the blue Hillman Minx car which Jimmy Rollinson had found on scraping back the mangled wreckage.

‘I had no idea,’ he said. ‘Like I told your sergeant, the damned thing was so well concealed, I’m not surprised you couldn’t find it the last time you were here. I pride myself on knowing every single car that comes in here … it’s all logged in the book. But not this time, more’s the pity!’

‘So, when you’re not here,’ the inspector asked, ‘who keeps the ledger then?’

‘Even when I am away, which isn’t often enough, I can tell you, I make sure the foreman records everything for when I get back. He’s a trusted bloke, Cyril. I’ve never had any reason to doubt his word, and I don’t doubt it now. If he says he knew nothing whatsoever about this particular car, I believe him, all the way.’

‘Where is he, this foreman of yours?’

Jimmy Rollinson jerked a thumb towards the run of buildings on the other side of the yard. ‘The sergeant told him to wait in the office. He knew you’d want to speak with him.’

The inspector nodded. ‘He’s not likely to scarper, is he?’

Rollinson chuckled at that. ‘Cyril? Hardly! It takes him all his time to waddle, let alone “scarper”. And he’s got a gammy leg into the bargain. The poor old bugger should have been retired years since, only I’ve a soft spot for him, and, besides, he knows how to make a belting cup of tea. Apart from that, he needs the money. His wife’s not been well of late. He’s had to get her a wheelchair, and a special bed so she can get in and out more easily. It all costs money, I’m afraid.’

Proud of himself, he grinned from ear to ear. ‘I sent the pair of ’em on a little holiday last year, but you can’t keep on helping out, can you? I reckon I’m doing more than my fair share by keeping him on here … he’s coming up seventy if he’s a day.’

Aware of how quiet Tom had gone, the inspector turned towards him. ‘All right, are you, Tom?’

Tom’s gaze was glued to the car: with its bent body and crushed bumper, the blue Hillman Minx was burnt into his brain. ‘I can’t be sure until I see it front on, but, from here, it could be the same one.’

In his mind it came alive: the big headlamps set either side of the high grille – like bared teeth. Through that broken window he could see the shape of the figure behind the wheel, but he couldn’t see the face; the hat was pulled down and he couldn’t see! ‘I can’t be sure …’ he murmured. ‘But it could be …’ All his instincts cried out. ‘Yes, it could be.’

Rollinson was chattering on. ‘That’s yer 1947 Hillman Minx, there,’ he said. ‘“Mediterranean Blue”, they called that colour.’ He laughed. ‘Where they get these names, I can’t imagine!’

‘Right!’ The inspector issued orders to his sergeant. ‘Give me what you’ve got so far.’

The sergeant told him all he had learned. ‘Apparently, there used to be a young lad working here, name of William Aitken. Some weeks after we’d searched this yard, he handed in his notice and left.’

Rollinson thought to interrupt here. ‘I didn’t think nothing of it at the time. Lads come and go every week.’ He grimaced with disgust. ‘There’s none of ’em can do a day’s work … always looking for a handout, looking for that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.’

Not happy at having been interrupted in that way, the sergeant continued. ‘Anyway, Mr Rollinson heard nothing of this William Aitken until another lad came here looking for work.’

To the sergeant’s annoyance, Rollinson butted in again. ‘I didn’t set him on … too skinny by half, he was. This is heavy stuff here. You need stamina to shift these big machines and such. Besides, the young bugger stank of booze … full of himself, he was.’

‘Thank you, Mr Rollinson, I’ve got it all written down, exactly as Cyril told me.’ Giving him a warning glance, the sergeant went on. ‘Anyway, sir, as I understand it, the lad had something interesting to say to the foreman. Mr Rollinson here thought it was the drinking – that is, until the bulldozer uncovered this car. He remembered what the lad said to Cyril, and decided to call us. Perhaps it would be easier if we carried on in the office,’ the sergeant suggested. ‘Then we could hear the foreman’s side of the story.’

They made their way back to the buildings on the far side of the site, eventually installing themselves in the office with the foreman.

Having explained to Cyril what they knew so far, the inspector directed his next question to him. ‘What was it this lad said to you, then?’

‘Well, you can imagine, I didn’t take no notice at the time – lads will say anything when they’ve had a pint or two. But, well, he’d got chatting to me before the boss spoke to him – the boss was busy with a delivery. Anyway, he said as how he and another young lad, who he kept referring to as William, had been out on the town, and that he had mentioned to the other lad that he was looking for a job.’

Cyril tried to recall the lad’s exact words. ‘He said William had told him he should come and work here, because there was money to be had … that he’d been given a small fortune to conceal a car … said the boss was hardly ever there, so it was easy enough to do. He asked me if I’d ever got money for hiding a car, cheeky devil!’ Cyril looked suitably indignant.

His boss gestured to the other side of the site. ‘It wasn’t until we uncovered that car that I put two and two together.’

The sergeant took up the story. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got no name or address for this young man. Mr Rollinson sent him on his way with a flea in his ear, and he’s not seen him since.’

‘Well, o’ course I sent him on his way!’ Rollinson wasn’t taking the blame for anything. ‘You can’t have people drinking and such on this job! You’ve to have your wits about you, working on a site like this!’

The inspector was not a man to be beaten. ‘Right, then!’ He instructed his sergeant to ‘Get that little lot cordoned off, and don’t let anybody near it. I want a forensic study of that car; make sure it’s gone over with a fine-tooth comb!’

Addressing Cyril and the site-owner, he said, ‘Right, I want a description of this young man, and anything else you can remember.’

Tom sat silently, every now and then glancing over to the car, seeing it all, his heart heavy. But there was hope.

At long last, there was hope.

Further questioning of Cyril produced no more information. The old foreman was adamant. ‘I knew nothing about that car.’ Sucking on his pipe, he explained. ‘Okay, I may have nipped down the shop for a wad o’ baccy occasionally, but otherwise I was here all the time with that lad, William. And I always padlocked the gate if I went out! Mr Rollinson will tell you the very same.’ His weary old gaze shifted to the boss. ‘Ain’t that so, boss?’

Jimmy Rollinson backed up his statement. ‘I’d trust Cyril with my life. It was the young layabout who did it. Find him, and you’ll find the culprit!’

A few minutes later, when Tom was preparing to leave them to it, he drew the inspector aside. ‘The old man’s holding something back.’

The inspector didn’t agree. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Tom gave it a moment’s thought. ‘He seemed shifty. A bit too nervous for my liking.’

Though he wasn’t convinced, Inspector Lawson agreed to go and have another word with the old man. ‘My money’s on the William lad,’ he said. ‘But look, you get off now. Leave it to us. When we find him, I’ll be in touch.’

Tom wanted to be sure. ‘You will keep me informed every step of the way, won’t you?’

The older man slapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘Stop worrying. Now that we’ve got a lead, you can be sure I won’t let it go until it leads us to the killer.’

He pointed to the car driving towards them. ‘Look. Here’s your taxi. I’ll get back to Mr Rollinson and see if there’s anything else he can tell me about that young William Aitken.’

Still unsure about the old foreman, Tom climbed into the taxi.

It was time to go and speak with Lilian. ‘I’m sorry’, that’s what she’d said. ‘I didn’t mean to do it.’

Tom couldn’t get it out of his mind.

On arrival at Lilian’s house, he was not wholly surprised to find she was not at home. Surely she wasn’t still at the police station, though?

He made his way back to the waiting taxi, disappointed and thoughtful. I wonder if she’s at Dougie’s, he mused.

With that in mind he climbed back into the taxi and gave the driver Dougie’s address. Later, when he got back to the hotel, he would call Kathy. God! How he was missing her.

John Martin was a patient man, but when he’d asked for his documents from a file, he didn’t expect to be kept waiting. ‘What the devil’s going on round here! I called that girl more than ten minutes ago. It can’t be taking her all this time to find one set of documents!’

Alice was back in the office. He thought she’d looked rather subdued, and maybe a little pale since the incident with Lilian, but when he asked her if she was all right, she told him she was fine. Lilian, too, she’d said – sleeping soundly.

Irritated, he picked up the telephone to call again, but, deciding the best course of action would be to go down and ‘collect the damned documents myself!’, he slammed the receiver back into its cradle. ‘If you want anything doing, do it yourself!’

Bouncing out of his high-backed leather chair, he marched out of the office and, running down the steps two at a time, was soon in the lower offices.

He went straight to Alice’s desk. She wasn’t there. ‘Jesus! Where the devil is she now?’ Looking round, he could see she wasn’t with any of the typists. He was on the verge of asking one of them where she was when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her.

He glanced through the window of Lilian’s office and there she was.

Seated at Lilian’s desk, Alice was holding something in her hands and staring down at it. ‘What the hell is she playing at?’

Red-faced with anger, he marched across and flung open the door. ‘If you can’t do the job any more, you’d best tell me now!’ he yelled.

Startled, Alice leapt up, her face riddled with guilt. The papers she had been staring at were now all over the floor. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Martin, only I was just putting these away.’ Scrabbling them up, she kept glancing at him, frightened he might see. ‘I’ll have the documents on your desk in five minutes,’ she promised.

Seeing the guilt and worry on her face, and seeing how her hands trembled as she quickly grabbed up the pieces of paper, he became suspicious. ‘What have you got there?’ Leaning down, he collected one of the papers from the floor.

At first he didn’t realise what he was looking at, but then he recognised Tom, smiling and content, with his family. ‘Where did you get this?’ Reaching out, he took the pictures from her, looking through them one by one and growing more curious by the minute. ‘I think you’d best explain, young lady!’

Tom had only just arrived back at his hotel room, after finding his brother still out, when the phone rang. It was John Martin. ‘I’m glad I’ve caught you,’ he said. ‘I’ve got Alice here. She has something to tell you –’ he lowered his voice to an intimate level – ‘something I think you should know.’

Intrigued, Tom waited while Alice was put on the phone.

In a trembling voice, she put together all the missing pieces: of how she’d taken Lilian home and stayed with her for a while; how she had been amazed to see the house ‘like a tip’, and how she had gone upstairs to see if that was the same. ‘I only meant to tidy it all up,’ she explained in tears. ‘I wasn’t being nosy, only I found something in her bedroom: photographs, dozens of them, all over the walls.’

When she started crying, Tom urged her to take a minute and calm herself. Somehow he had known Lilian had been involved, only his affection for her had clouded his judgement. ‘All right, Alice, go slowly now. Tell me everything you know. Don’t leave anything out.’

Encouraged, Alice told him everything: about the photographs of himself and his family; about the way Lilian had seemed ready to kill her when she saw her looking at the photographs. ‘She was like a stranger,’ she sobbed. ‘For a minute I really thought she would hurt me. But then she ran out of the house, and down the street – like a wild thing, she was!’

Feeling like he’d been kicked in the stomach, Tom asked her quietly, ‘When was this?’

‘This morning, about eleven or something. She just ran and ran … I don’t know where she is.’

In his mind’s eye Tom saw the hysterical Lilian being charged by the policeman at Dougie’s house; the way she’d looked at Tom, and those words … The long, slow sigh seemed to come up from his very soul. He thought for a minute, then in a quiet voice he thanked her. ‘Let me speak with Mr Martin now.’

When the boss came on the phone, Tom explained the situation. ‘I had a gut feeling she might be involved somehow,’ he explained. ‘But she was a good friend to Sheila … she came to the house, and even went away with us one weekend.’ He shook his head disbelievingly. ‘It just seems too incredible. I had no idea … no idea at all.’

She was obviously ill; needed help – and quickly. ‘Look, if she comes back to the office, keep her there. If she calls in, keep a track of her. Call the police now. Tell them what Alice just told me. I’ll try and get hold of Inspector Lawson.’

When the other man assured him he would do it, Tom rang down to reception. A moment or two later, having got the number of the breaker’s yard, he quickly dialled it, relieved when Rollinson answered. ‘This is Tom Arnold,’ he told him. ‘Is the inspector still there?’

‘There are all sorts of people here, crawling about the car. I think the inspector was talking to his sergeant. Do you want me to give him a message?’

‘Is it possible you could get him to the phone?’

‘I should think so. Hang on a minute.’ Leaving Tom waiting at the other end, he rushed outside, where he soon found the inspector. ‘Mr Arnold is on the phone,’ he said. ‘He’d like a word.’

‘Dammit!’ Though he appreciated Tom’s concern, he still had a job to do. ‘Tell him I’ll ring him back when I can.’

‘Sure.’

But as Rollinson made his way back, the inspector had a change of heart. ‘No, wait!’ He went after him. ‘It’s all right.’

In the office, he listened to what Tom had to say.

Afterwards, he had two questions. ‘And you say you can’t find her – either at her home, or at your brother’s?’

‘No, and, like I said, the last time I saw her she was being taken off to a police station.’

‘Okay, I’ll check at the nearest one to your brother’s house whether she’s still there, or whether they know where she is. Also, give me her home address.’ He waited for Rollinson to bring him pen and paper. ‘Yes, I know she wasn’t there when you went, but she’s bound to turn up there sooner or later, and when she does, I’ll have one of my officers waiting.’

He wrote down Lilian’s home address. ‘And your brother, where does he live?’

After giving him Dougie’s address, Tom asked, ‘Do you want me to go and see if either of them are back?’

‘No. I’ll deal with it. You just sit tight. I might have need of you before the night is out.’

Tom had some questions of his own. ‘The car … is it the one?’

‘We can’t be sure yet, Tom, but yes, it does seem that way.’

Tom took a minute to speak, and when he did it was with another question. ‘What about that young man … the one Mr Rollinson said came looking for a job? Have you found him yet?’

‘No. But we will. I’ve already got two officers on the case.’

‘What about the other one … William Aitken?’

‘He’s being pulled in even as we speak. I’m on my way back to the station now.’

When the conversation was over, Tom went down to the hotel bar, where he ordered a whisky short. Sitting quietly at a corner table, he mulled over the events of the past few days.

After a while, when he began to grow lonely, his thoughts turned to Kathy.

He decided to give her a call.

With that in mind he went back up to his room and dialled the caravan site. This time it was the manager who answered. ‘You’ve just missed her. She and Rosie aren’t working this evening – they’ve gone off together … things to do and all that. I’m sure you understand.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Rosie’s been a godsend. I thought it only fair to give her a night off, since it’s quiet.’

‘Thanks,’ Tom said. ‘I’ll try her tomorrow.’ Replacing the phone, he mused aloud. ‘Rosie’s been a godsend.’ He wondered about that. ‘Hmh! Strange thing to say.’ He knew Rosie was a good friend, and he supposed what with him being here and Kathy being there, she was feeling every bit as miserable as he was, but it sounded … Oh, maybe he was being over-analytical about everything at the moment. He shook himself. ‘I’m glad Rosie’s keeping her company. But it should be me!’

He wished with all his heart that he was back there, with Kathy.

He reminded himself that he had a job to do. After it was over, he and Kathy would have all the time in the world. The rest of their lives together. Yes! That was worth waiting for.

He decided to try Dougie’s number again, but there was no answer.

Disappointed, he rang the station. The officer at the desk knew him straight away. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Arnold, but the inspector is busy, and he’ll be busy for some time yet. Look, if you want to leave a message, I’m sure he’ll ring you back when he’s finished interviewing.’

Tom pounced on that particular remark. ‘So, have they brought the young man in? William Aitken, the one who worked at the breaker’s yard? Is he the one being interviewed?’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Arnold, sir, I can’t give out that kind of information.’

‘For Chrissake, man! You know what it’s all about. I’ve been with the inspector for most of the day. I already know they were onto Aitken. All I’m asking is for you to confirm that they’ve got him.’

The officer’s voice took on an officious tone. ‘Sorry, sir. I’ll tell him you called.’

The conversation was abruptly ended.

Frustrated, Tom paced the floor. ‘Jesus! I’ll go crazy if I have to sit here waiting!’

In minutes he was out of the door and into a taxi, heading for the station, all the while keeping his eyes peeled for a sight of Lilian or Dougie.

Some way across town, the police were cruising the streets, searching for the woman who was to be taken in for questioning. They had her description; they knew she had been arrested once before for causing a public nuisance, and, having been given a detailed description, they would recognise her if they saw her. So far, though, they had seen neither hide nor hair of her. But they wouldn’t give up. This was a murder hunt. She must be found, and taken in for questioning.

Oblivious to the fact that she was being tracked down, Lilian strolled along the street, talking to Dougie, pouring out her heart. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve been a real problem to you.’

‘You’re not a “problem”.’ Dougie was surprised at how much she now meant to him. He smiled. ‘Well, maybe just a little “problem”.’

She laughed.

Serious again, she confessed how it had been with Tom. ‘From the first minute he walked through the door of the office, I loved him. He’s such a fine man … so caring. When my mother was taken ill, he was wonderful … both him and Sheila.’

She paused, thinking of Sheila and the children, and of what she had done. ‘I hurt them … Sheila and the children. I shouldn’t have done what I did,’ she whispered. ‘That was so wicked of me.’

Dougie had heard her say that over and over, and yet she would not admit to what she’d done. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ If he was to help her, he would have to know.

She opened her mouth to speak, but then shook her head. ‘I can’t. But if I tell you something else … you won’t tell Tom, will you?’

‘Not if you don’t want me to.’ He was shocked to learn how obsessed she had been with Tom. He had seen a side to Lilian that frightened him, and yet at heart she was just like a small child, needing love and reassurance.

She went on. ‘I used to go and see his family. I took a lot of pictures of Tom; he didn’t know I was taking them. And when I was invited to his home, I took pictures of his children, and his wife.’ Frowning, she momentarily lapsed into a deep, thoughtful silence. ‘Sheila was a really good friend to me.’

‘I know.’ That much, at least, he had been aware of.

‘She was a lovely person, so kind … so pretty.’ Her face hardened. ‘Tom adored her.’

He nodded, a hard expression shaping his homely features. ‘I know that, too.’ He smiled encouragingly. ‘But go on … you were saying … about the pictures?’ Now that she was beginning to open her heart to him, he needed to keep her talking.

‘Well, Sheila invited me over a lot, and once I even went away for the weekend with them.’ It gave her pleasure to explain. ‘I became almost part of the family. There were so many photographs, you see. I put them on my dressing table, and on the doors of my wardrobe.’ She gave a nervous little laugh. ‘I even put them all over the walls. I needed to see him all the time … before I went to sleep, and when I woke up, I needed him to be there!’ Tears of anger clouded her vision. ‘I loved him so much.’ Quickly, impatiently, she wiped away the tears.

‘Lilian?’

She turned. ‘Yes?’

‘What did you do to Sheila and the children that was so “wicked”?’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you.’

‘Do you still love him?’

‘NO!’ Vigorously shaking her head, she told him through gritted teeth, ‘He’s ruined my life. I HATE HIM!’

‘Do you hate him enough to kill him?’

She turned to stare at him; in the growing twilight he imagined he saw the glint of madness in her eyes. ‘You’re trying to trick me, aren’t you?’

‘No.’ He realised he would have to tread very carefully if he was to regain her trust. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I want to go home now.’

‘That’s where we’re headed.’

‘Will you stay with me?’

‘If you want.’

She slid her hand into his. ‘I think you’re like Tom.’

‘In what way?’

‘You’re kind. You take the time to listen.’

‘But you haven’t told me anything yet … not really.’

‘Only because I don’t want you to feel bad towards me.’

For the umpteenth time, the police car nosed its way down a side street. ‘Look!’ The officer pointed ahead, where Lilian and Dougie were strolling away from them. ‘Isn’t that her?’ He checked his description. ‘Yes, long curly auburn hair, that looks like her. Best move in before she sees us.’

Deep in conversation, both Dougie and Lilian were unaware of the police car until it stopped beside them. Flinging open the doors, both officers got out. While one of them stood guard on Dougie, the other confronted Lilian.

‘Are you Lilian Catherine Scott?’ he asked.

Calmer now, and knowing she must be punished, Lilian made no attempt to run. Instead, she verified her name and was quietly placed in the car.

Seeing how frightened she was, Dougie declared that he was coming with her. ‘She’s told me things you should know!’

‘All right, sir,’ they agreed, and he, too, was bundled into the car.

Ensconced in the interview room with Inspector Lawson, William Aitken was visibly nervous. ‘I dunno what yer talkin’ about! How many times do I ’ave to tell yer? I don’t know nuthin’ about no hidden car.’

Inspector Lawson was in no mood to be lied to. ‘Don’t give me that! We already know you were paid to conceal the car. What I want is a description of the driver: was he tall, short, nervous, arrogant …? I want to know every word he said, every move he made. You must remember how he left … was it on foot or by taxi? Was the driver on his own, or was there somebody else there, and if so, what can you tell me about the other person? Have you seen him since? Or maybe it was a woman. Was it a woman, eh, Aitken?’

His questioning was relentless.

The more Aitken claimed ignorance of the event, the more nervous he got and the more Inspector Lawson knew that it would only be a matter of time before he cracked.

Having arrived in reception, Tom was told, ‘I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to wait. Inspector Lawson is not to be disturbed.’

Tom asked again about Aitken but was given the same runaround. ‘If you’ll just be patient, I’m sure the inspector will be out soon.’

So he waited, pacing the floor and willing the time to pass so that he could know what was happening. The big clock on the wall ticked the minutes away; with every passing second, he thought of Kathy.

Why hadn’t he been able to get hold of her? Why hadn’t she rung the hotel? What was she doing? His mind was alive with her, his heart overflowing with love.

It was an odd thing, he thought, that the nearer they got to finding out who had murdered his family, the more distant he seemed from it all; as though he was a stranger looking on.

The love for his family was still there, but it was moving away, to that corner of his heart where he could put down the shutters and keep it safe for all time, without allowing it to overwhelm his life.

The realisation made him feel guilty, yet strangely relieved.

Suddenly his thoughts were shattered when he heard the outer doors swing open. Into the reception area came two officers. With them, and obviously in custody, was Lilian, accompanied by his brother, Dougie.

Dougie saw Tom there and nodded. Lilian, however, glanced once and afterwards kept her gaze averted.

The shame of what she had done to him was unbearable.

Taken to the desk, she was duly charged in connection with the murder of Sheila Arnold and her children.

When she heard the charge, she was riveted with shock. ‘No!’ Shouting and struggling, with both officers holding her still, she vehemently protested her innocence. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. I wouldn’t murder them … they were my friends!’

Appealing to Tom, she screamed, ‘Tell them! Tell them I would never hurt them. I’m innocent. Tom, please … tell them!’

Torn by powerful emotions, Tom was out of his depth. ‘If you’re innocent, you have nothing to fear,’ he said quietly.

His gentle voice and quiet manner seemed to calm her, for suddenly the fight was gone from her and she was sobbing. ‘I wouldn’t hurt them, I wouldn’t.’

Dougie spoke to her. For a moment she looked at him, then, as they took her away, she told him, ‘You believe me, don’t you, Dougie?’

He nodded.

She smiled. ‘You understand me, don’t you?’

Again, he nodded.

Now, as the officer urged her away down the corridor, she shocked both Tom and Dougie to their roots: addressing Dougie, she revealed, ‘I didn’t tell you before, but now I want you to know … I’m having your child.’

As they took her away, Dougie stood stock still, eyes wide with amazement and something else: a look of horror on his face that Tom had never seen before. ‘Dougie, are you all right?’ What Lilian had said was a complete and utter shock. Not for one minute had Tom imagined anything was going on between his brother and Lilian.

And it wasn’t only that, because there was something here he could not understand; some dark business he could not quite get to grips with.

Behind them, Inspector Lawson flung open the door of the interview room. ‘Charge him!’ Having got the information he wanted, the interview was over.

‘Bastard!’ William Aitken had not taken kindly to being interviewed.

As he looked up at the inspector, standing there in the open doorway, his attention was caught by Tom and Dougie quietly talking beyond: one calm and reassuring, the other seeming to be upset and agitated.

Without warning, Aitken was out of his chair and running across the room. ‘THAT’S HIM!’ Surging forward, he was swiftly intercepted by the officer, who fought hard to hold him. ‘THAT’S THE GEEZER WHO PAID ME TO HIDE THE CAR!’ Pointing and yelling, he struggled to escape.

All eyes turned to Dougie, who by now was edging towards the door.

To his horror, he had recognised the young man who had been at the breaker’s yard. The very same young man who had taken his money and hidden the car so well that it had never been found. Until now!

Disbelieving, Tom looked at the young man, then he turned his gaze to Dougie. ‘YOU?’ Unable to comprehend what was happening, he stared at his brother for what seemed an age, his brain echoing with what Aitken had said. It was too much to take in. He shook his head, a half smile creeping over his features, now grey with shock. ‘No!’ The word was soft, almost gentle, then stronger as he asked, ‘Was it you who killed my family?’

When he saw the guilt in his brother’s eyes, the truth hit him like the blow of a hammer. ‘Oh, God!’ Lurching forward, he grabbed hold of Dougie, his voice escalating to a scream, his eyes swimming with tears. ‘NO … o … o … oo!’ Tom’s heart-wrenching scream sent a chill through everyone there.

In that split second, everything erupted: Dougie made a dash for the door, and Tom went after him, leaving chaos in his wake.

Yelling for somebody to help, and taking along the only free officer, Inspector Lawson sped after Tom and his brother, but they had a head start, and with the smog closing in all over London they could be lost to sight in minutes.

Outside, the fall of night mingled with the choking smog, lying like a dark blanket over everything: a real ‘peasouper’, the officer called it.

They scanned the road ahead. ‘THERE!’ The officer caught sight of Tom, relentlessly pursuing his brother along the narrow streets.

‘Quick! Get after them!’

Sending the younger, fitter officer to try and head them off, Inspector Lawson stayed with Tom; through the railings on the far side of the street, then on, across the park, and towards the railway embankment. One minute he was there, the next he was gone from sight, dodging in and out; hidden where the fog was thickening, and visible again where it wasn’t quite settled. He could see Tom going like a crazy thing. ‘Leave it, Tom. We’re onto it!’

His heart went out to Tom and, though he wouldn’t blame him if he closed his bare hands round his brother’s neck and squeezed till his eyes popped out, he didn’t want Tom to pay the price for what his brother had done. ‘TOM! LET IT GO!’ And still Tom dogged his brother’s footsteps, closing in on him with every second, suffocated by hatred and confusion. It had been Dougie all along, he knew that now. Yet, how could that be?

When the chase took them across waste ground, the smog had settled low and heavy; it was difficult to see a hand in front of your face, but Dougie was slowing down, stumbling and tripping, giving Tom the advantage he needed. Behind him, equally determined, the inspector kept sight of Tom.

Ahead of them, the officer cut across, trying to hem them in, but several times they veered away and he lost them again.

Tom had only one thing in mind. He had to look Dougie in the eye. He had to know the truth. Why did he do it? WHY? WHY?

In his frantic mind he could see Sheila’s face, the way she had glanced back and recognised him. What was going through her head? Why didn’t she call out his name?

As he ran, he could hardly see for the tears that ran down his face: tears of rage; tears of sorrow. As they trickled down his face, the cold night air dried them on his skin. He felt like a man broken – a man, yet not a man.

The thick burning smog clogged his throat, yet he could feel none of it. All he could see was Sheila’s shocked face as she had glanced out of the back window. Then they were over the cliff and she was no more.

For a minute Dougie disappeared. Frustrated, Tom paused and looked about. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Dougie. Suddenly he seemed to dip and fall, vanishing from Tom’s view, before Tom, too, fell over the edge, slipping and sliding, until now the two of them were on the railway track.

As the dry, smouldering smog closed in about him, he could taste it on his tongue, feel the burning in his eyes. His vision was impaired. Negotiating the slim, hard tracks beneath his feet, he kept up, with Dougie slowing and stumbling just ahead.

What happened next was so sudden it took the breath out of Tom.

They didn’t hear Inspector Lawson’s warning as he called out, ‘FOR GOD’S SAKE, GET OUT OF THE WAY!’ Nor did they see the train until it was on top of them.

Frantic, Tom threw himself forward, at the same time screaming out a desperate warning to his brother. Dougie, though, was intent on escaping, his mind filled only with the horror of what he had done to his own brother. He thought of what Lilian had told him …‘I’m having your child.’ Oh, God!

Thundering forward, the train bore down on him. At the last minute he tried to leap out of the way, but it was too late. His foot caught in the track and he was mown down. Unaware, the engine-driver shovelled more coal onto the fire. He had a timetable to stick to. The train sped on.

Clambering forward, the inspector had seen it all. ‘Oh, Jesus!’ Like Tom, he ran on, to find Dougie writhing in a river of his own blood, his leg severed at the thigh.

Distraught, Tom knelt beside him. For a minute he couldn’t speak. All he could do was hold his brother, and listen.

‘You had them … all … not fair.’ He gave a half smile, more sad than wicked. ‘I killed them … Sheila … mine.’ Dougie’s life ebbed away, and with it his confession. ‘She wanted … me.’ He gave a yell of pain that tore at Tom’s heart. ‘She … changed her … mind.’

The look he gave Tom was filled with hatred. ‘You always … had everything! I wanted her … so much. She did … love … me.’ Lying back in Tom’s arms, he closed his eyes. ‘Six years … together. Not … your … son.’ He looked into Tom’s stricken eyes, and felt a measure of regret. ‘Forgive me.’

His head lolled backwards, that fragile, gossamer-like sigh telling Tom that Dougie was no more.

Mortified, the sobs racking his body, Tom drew him close to his chest, then, tenderly, he raised his fingers and closed his brother’s eyes. But he couldn’t shake off the devastating impact of Dougie’s confession. He couldn’t let him go. Not yet.

Not until the hatred had subsided.

Gently, the inspector prised him away. ‘It’s over, Tom,’ he whispered. ‘It’s over.’