Perseverance Street (19 page)

‘Bloody hell, girl! Let’s not get
ahead of ourselves. If he comes to the door I’ll play it by ear.’ She gave it some thought. ‘I’ll tell him I’m Rachel Clegg’s auntie and I’ve come for her washing machine or her money back or we go to the police. Come to think of it, that’s not a bad idea at all. He’s hardly going to want the police knocking on his door.’

Lily looked up at the rainy sky and settled back into the sidecar, satisfied with Dee’s plan but not entirely sure she’d stick to it.

Dee walked up to the door and knocked loudly. It was a substantial door which seemed to require a decent knock. In fact it required several. Dee was about to give up when she heard a man shouting inside.

‘All right, all right … I’m comin’ as fast as I damned well can!’

Dee arranged her face into a winning smile to disarm the annoyed man coming to the door. It wasn’t Oldroyd. It was a man well into his seventies who looked as if he’d struggle to make it into another decade. He glared at this unwanted visitor, wheezing at the effort he’d been forced to make to come to the door. His words were punctuated by further wheezes.

‘What d’yer want? I don’t have visitors, me … At my time o’ life I make it a point not ter bother wi’ visitors … An’ if yer tryin’ ter sell me owt, yer can just bugger off. I’ve got no brass ter throw about on stuff I don’t need.’

Dee maintained her smile. ‘I’m not trying to sell you anything. I’m wondering if Bernard Armitage still lives here. I know he used to.’

‘Is that what yer know? Well, yer know more than me. Bernard Armitage? Who is he, when he’s at home?’

‘He was a caretaker
at Jubilee Street school. This is the last address I’ve got for him.’

‘Is it now? Well, we used ter take in lodgers years ago but I can’t remember names … I can scarce remember me own name at times.’ He gave a frightening laugh at his own joke. Dee showed her appreciation of his humour by laughing as well.

‘If I tell you he was sent to jail for stealing from the school, would that help you remember?’

‘Sent ter …? Bugger me, I do remember him. What did yer say his name were?’

‘Bernard Armitage.’

‘That’s him. I remember him. Left owin’ me rent money. Next thing I knew he were in jail. Never saw him again. There were summat about him that I never liked. My missis never liked him, neither. She’s dead now, poor owd cow. Died two years ago.’ His rheumy eyes misted over at the thought of his wife.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ Dee said. ‘I imagine you loved her very much.’

‘What? Aye. Happen I did. Never really told her. One day she were there, makin’ me dinner, next thing she were dead. Stroke or summat, so they said.’

‘So, Bernard Armitage. You’ve no idea how I could find him?’

The old man scratched his mop of white hair, and somehow swivelled his false teeth within his mouth, ruminatively.

‘I know when
he lived here he spent a lot o’ time in t’ Conservative Club up Lumley Road. He reckoned he were better than us with him bein’ a Conservative.’ He gave another wheezy laugh. ‘Hey, I bet they kicked the bugger out when he went ter jail. They don’t like jailbirds, don’t them Conservatives. Mind you, if it were up ter me, I’d lock a few o’ the buggers up. Bloody Conservatives! What’s all that about? No interest in the working man.’

‘So maybe someone there knows him.’

‘Aye, happen they do. If yer find him he owes me twenty-seven shillings fer week’s rent an’ board.’

‘Thank you, you’ve been a great help, and I’m sure your wife knew you loved her without being told.’

‘D’yer think so? Aye, happen yer right. I allus tret her right, yer know. Never raised me hand to her once.’

‘I’m sure you were a fine husband.’

‘D’yer think so?’ He gave his teeth another swivel. ‘Aye, happen yer right.’

He closed the door
on her without further comment, leaving her smiling to herself.

There was a strong element of incongruity about the Lumley Conservative Club insofar as it was situated in an unmistakable working-class area. It was early evening when Lily and Dee walked in. They found themselves in a small vestibule with three doors leading off, marked, Bar, Lounge and Games Room.

For reasons Lily didn’t understand Dee led the way into the Games Room. Inside were two snooker tables, both occupied, with other players waiting. Eyes briefly turned to the two women, the only women in the room. Dee walked up to the bar, being tended by a middle-aged man who seemed surprised by their presence but not put out.

‘What will yer have, ladies?’

‘Do we have to sign in or anything?’ Dee asked him. ‘We’re not members.’

‘Eventually. Yer can have a drink first if yer like.’

She scanned the beer pumps. ‘Right, well, I’ll have a pint of Tetley’s Mild. What about you, Lily?’

‘I’ll have a brandy please.’

The barman took a
clean glass from a shelf above their heads and proceeded to pull Dee’s pint.

‘We’ve actually come to enquire about a man who was a member here many years ago.’

‘Well, I were here many years ago,’ smiled the barman. ‘Been pulling pints here for twenty-six years. What’s his name, this feller?’

‘Bernard Armitage.’

The man’s hand froze on the beer pump. He looked up at them. ‘D’yer mind if I ask what it is yer want ter know about him?’

‘We just wanted to know if he’s still around these parts.’

‘Was he a friend of yours or something?’

‘Not really,’ said Dee. ‘I assume you know him?’

He finished pulling the pint and turned to pick up a brandy glass.

‘Well, I knew him.’ He nodded at the other men in the room. ‘We all knew Bernard, but …’

Lily sensed what the barman was going to say next and she didn’t want to hear it.

‘You say you
knew
him?’

‘That’s right, love,’ said the barman, turning his attention to her. ‘I’m afraid Bernard’s not with us any more. He was killed in a road accident about a month ago; walked out in front of a trolley bus. There are some who think it was suicide.’

Lily felt all hope
drain away from her in that instant. The only connection she had with her missing son was dead. She felt herself going faint. Dee spotted this and helped her to a chair. Then she fetched the brandy and told Lily to drink it, but Lily was shaking so much she couldn’t hold the glass.

‘It’s all right, girl. Just another setback.’

‘Is she OK?’ the barman was asking. ‘I thought yer said he wasn’t a friend.’

‘He wasn’t,’ said Dee. ‘Her son’s gone missing and we think this Armitage man might be able to help us find him. Was he married, do you know?’

The barman shook his head. ‘Not any more. Got divorced years ago. His wife got fed up with him playin’ around. He always had a woman in tow.’

Dee surveyed the room where most of the men turned their attention from snooker to the two women who were so upset at Bernard Armitage dying.

‘Did any of you see him with a small boy about four years old?’

The men looked at each other, shaking their heads. ‘He wasn’t our most popular member,’ said the barman. ‘There was something about him we didn’t trust, but we couldn’t put our fingers on it.’ He looked over at the men on the nearest table. ‘That’s right, isn’t it fellers?’

‘I don’t like ter speak ill of the dead,’ said one, ‘but he were a bit of a pillock. He’s done time, yer know.’

‘Yes, I know that,’ said Dee. She took out her purse to pay for the drinks.

‘Two and eightpence,’ said the barman.

She gave him three shillings and told him to keep the change, then asked, ‘Do you know where he lived?’

‘Well, he moved about a bit, but t’ last I heard he were livin’ off Lumb Lane. We’ll have his address somewhere, but yer’ll have to ask a committee member. It’ll be in t’ office.’

‘Are there any
committee members in here?’

The barman called out to one of the men sitting waiting for his turn to play.

‘Barry, while yer doin’ nowt could yer dig out the late Bernard Armitage’s last known address for this lady.’

As Barry went off to get the address, Dee sat down next to Lily who was now sipping her brandy; her mind racing as to what to do next.

‘There’s more than one way ter skin a cat, girl,’ Dee said. ‘I think we should mebbe take what we’ve just found out to Bannister. If nothin’ else at least he might realise you’re trying a lot harder than he is to find Michael.’

‘I want to go to his house first,’ said Lily, swilling down her brandy and getting to her feet. ‘For all we know Michael might still be there – with that bloody woman.’

‘Now yer thinking, girl.’

That bloody woman
was nowhere to be found at Bernard Armitage’s last known address, which was a small rented terrace house just off Manningham Lane. There was a To Let sign in the window with the address and phone number of the letting agent. Within five minutes Lily and Dee were standing at the agent’s counter.

‘We’ve come to make an enquiry about the house you have to let on Bertha Terrace.’

The agent was a tall, thin young man with a pale face, thick lens spectacles and a row of pens sticking from his top pocket. Lily suspected he’d been deemed unfit for duty in the armed forces.

‘I’m afraid we
let it last week, madam. The people who do our signs obviously haven’t taken it down yet. We have another similar hou—’

‘We’re actually enquiring about the previous
tenant of the Bertha Street house,’ interjected Dee, ‘the late Mr Bernard Armitage.’

‘Oh yes, oh dear. Poor Mr Armitage. He was one of our tenants for just over two years. What was it you wanted to know?’

‘Well,’ Dee went on, ‘I understand he lived with a woman, perhaps his wife. I wonder if you know what happened to her.’

The young man frowned and shook his head. ‘His wife? As far as I know he lived there on his own, but just let me have a look in our ledger. We keep a full record of all our tenants.’

From a drawer beneath the desk he took out a large, leather-bound ledger and opened it at
page one
where the As were to be found. He ran a bony finger down to the bottom and turned the page over.

‘Here we are … Mr Bernard Armitage, single tenancy.’ His eyes were magnified through his lenses as he looked at them. ‘Yes, he lived on his own. In fact I do remember seeing the obituary notice in the
Telegraph and Argus
. There was only the one, from friends and members of the Lumley Road Conservative Club. It stuck in my memory because he didn’t look much like a Conservative to me.’

‘You’re sure he couldn’t have had a woman living with him without telling you?’ Dee pressed.

‘I don’t see why he’d want to keep her a secret. The rent would be the same no matter how many were living there – unless he was sub-letting. We don’t allow that.’

‘Sub-letting?’ said Lily, now clutching at straws. ‘Is this something he might have done? We know he was a very dishonest man who’s been to jail.’

The young man
shrugged. ‘I don’t know too much about him. He did fall behind with his rent on occasions, in fact I had to go there a couple of times to collect his arrears. But I didn’t see any signs of a woman. In fact, after he died I went round with a solicitor to remove his belongings and I have to say there were no women’s things about the house. He apparently died intestate with no known relatives.’ He paused and added a devious thought of his own. ‘But perhaps she removed them when she heard he’d died. Maybe if you ask some of the neighbours.’

‘Thank you,’ said Dee, ‘We’ll do that.’

Asking the neighbours drew
a blank as Lily suspected it might. Bernard Armitage hadn’t been a very neighbourly neighbour. The people living on either side of him knew him to nod to but they didn’t even know his name, despite him living there for over two years. They knew he’d been killed by a trolley bus because it had been in the
Argus
along with his photograph and street address. None of them had seen a woman going in and out of his house. Him dying intestate with no known relatives was of no help either.

Dee reported their findings about Armitage’s death to Bannister, who commented, ‘Sounds to me as if he’s not much of a loss to the world.’

‘He’s a loss to us. He was the only connection we had to Lily’s son. Tell you what. You concentrate on what you’re good at – arresting innocent people. Me and Lily’ll find her boy without your bloody help!’

Having nothing to lead her to her beloved son, Lily descended into a deep despondency which Dee couldn’t shake her from. Dee’s neighbours asked her about her niece, whom she referred to as Our Lily from Leeds who didn’t enjoy the best of health. It was a plausible explanation, disguising Lily’s true identity as the infamous Lilian Robinson, the woman who was suspected of killing her own son. Luckily, during all her trials and tribulations no newspaper had run a photograph of her. In fact she was now very old news and no paper had even bothered to report her release from psychiatric custody. Anyone who remembered Lilian Robinson’s story would no doubt assume she was still locked up. Lily had heard from her solicitor regarding her custody application and was told that Christopher’s grandparents were going to fight the application vigorously.

Dee had tried to comfort
her. ‘At least we know he’s OK, Lily.’

‘But I miss him, Auntie Dee. If I had him with me I’d be able to cope better.’

‘I know that, love, but we have to play the cards we’ve been dealt. We’ve got truth and right on our side. Hold on to that.’

In rare moments of mental clarity Lily’s mind locked on to Michael and ways of tracking him down. So far, running the story in the newspapers was the only thing she could come up with. She mentioned this to Dee who pointed out the pitfalls.

‘You’d need to run it in the nationals, love. Which would mean a reporter asking questions about you which you wouldn’t want to answer.’

‘What sort of questions?’

‘Well, they’d want to know where you live, for a start. When a paper runs
any sort of story they need a hook to hang it on and
your
story is the hook, not Michael’s. They’d dig a lot deeper than you’d want them to, believe me.’