Lois Meade 01: Murder on Monday (EN, 2002) (31 page)

Josie was shivering now, and Melvyn took her over to a new, garishly covered sofa. “There,” he whispered close to her ear. “Have a rest for a bit.” Then he opened another cupboard and took out a bright pink blanket. It was clean and he spread it carefully over her. “See?” he said. “Everything we need. Just you and me, Jose.”

She looked at him pleadingly. “I want my Mum,” she said.

He did not seem to hear and instead walked over to the table in a purposeful way, sat down, and began to read a magazine.

∗

“Who’s that, then?” said Lois obediently. She was sitting at Nurse Surfleet’s kitchen table, her coffee still too hot to drink. Just my luck, she thought, to have to look at a load of old snaps. Why do people do it? As if I care. Then she stared harder at the picture on the page Gillian was shoving towards her.

“Guess who?” Gillian said again. “Come on, Lois! Surely I haven’t changed that much?”

“It’s you, is it?” Lois looked closer at the faded print. “Good heavens, so it is. Well,” she said, thinking quickly, “I think you’re much better looking now. That terrible hair style! Blimey!” Her mind was working rapidly now. That baby…it was just another new-born, of course. But the way it was wrapped, and the shawl itself, looked identical to those other snaps, the ones in Gloria’s cottage and at the Rixes’. “And the baby?” she said casually.

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.

W
hen 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.”