Midnight (32 page)

Poor Libby was shocked to the core by recent events. It was too much to take in – she felt as if her entire life had been a lie. Eileen, always waiting and hoping for Ian to come home, even going out to seek him in recent years – had known all the time that her husband was dead. She had even helped Thomas to bury him, one dark and terrible night. Oh yes, she had known all along where her missing husband was – lying next to Rose Farraday beneath the birch tree in her own back garden!

Libby felt confused and shocked. For most of her life she too had secretly waited for her father to reappear one day and to love her, when she now knew that such a reunion had never been possible.

She thanked God that Jack was there for her, listening to her, helping her through. He gave her strength and comfort, but he couldn’t take away the horror of it all.

It sickened Libby that, as a child, she had played in the very garden where the two bodies had lain, over the self-same spot where the police had erected their tents, cordoned off by scene-of-crime tape. And she still found it hard to believe that Thomas was a killer.

If only Thomas and her mother had gone to the police immediately, and confessed all . . . but then Libby realised that her mother would have gone to prison, and she, still so young, would have been put into care or placed with a foster family. She began to understand their actions. Maybe they had done the best they could, to keep mother and child together. But the horror of it all would never leave her – she knew that now.

From the other side of the room in his house in Buncer Lane, Jack looked at Libby curled up on the sofa. He too had been devastated by these shocking revelations, and to be honest, he could barely get his head around them. He still felt that the whole truth had yet to be revealed.

Going over to Libby, he sat down and gathered her in his arms. ‘Something isn’t right,’ he said. ‘I
know
it. How could two such caring people ever kill another human being?’

Libby’s voice broke. ‘Oh, Jack, what’s happening? I can’t take any of it in. Why did Mum tell the police that it wasn’t Thomas who killed them, but
her
? Mum doesn’t know what she’s saying. They should understand how ill she is. She must feel so scared and alone.’ Sobbing, she was comforted by Jack’s strong embrace.

‘They won’t harass her,’ he assured Libby. ‘The doctors have said she mustn’t be questioned any more.’

‘But she keeps on claiming that
she’s
the guilty one, over and over, and now I’m worried that they’re going to believe her. Jack, why is she doing it?’

‘She’s trying to protect Thomas, that’s why. I’m sure the police know that. DCI Morgan seems to be a decent bloke who has long experience in murder cases. When they allowed me to see Thomas, he kept insisting that your mother wasn’t involved. We just have to hope that the real truth will come out at the trial.’ He gave Libby a squeeze. ‘Keep strong, sweetheart.’

Deep down, Jack had been wondering whether his nightmares were connected with the murders. Ever since the arrests, his dreams had become even more vivid. When asleep, he often felt that he was on the verge of understanding.

All cried out for now, Libby snuggled up to him. ‘I’m so glad I’ve got you, Jack. If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t know which way I’d have turned.’

They sat there for a time, holding each other, consoled by the knowledge that their love, built on the deep foundations of the past, was strong enough to see them through anything.

On the day of the trial, in the Spring of the following year, Jack escorted Libby into the courtroom. ‘Stay calm,’ he whispered. ‘We have an excellent defence team.’ Then he sat beside her and held her hand as the proceedings opened.

For Thomas, standing in the dock, the sight of a frightened, pale-faced Libby was almost too much to bear. As for Eileen, he was grateful to know that she had been well looked after in a unit of the local hospital for patients with mental-health problems, and that she was doing very well. There had been an improvement in her memory and her general health, since she was at long last free from the fear of discovery. Nothing that anyone did to her now could compare with the horrors of the past.

The prosecuting team gave Thomas a hard time, and the jury looked on severely as he kept on denying that Eileen had had any hand in the killings.

The defence lawyer said kindly, ‘Mr Farraday, I’d like you to go through the events of that fateful day. Just tell us in your own words, including every detail, no matter how trivial, exactly what happened.’

Thomas, who had told his tale many times, prepared to relive it one more time. He practically knew the words off by heart now, but he wanted the jury to know how it had been.

‘It was late Saturday morning and I’d been fixing the dripping tap in the kitchen. My wife, Rose, had been on at me about it for some time. She had gone over to Sheffield to stay with her mother, who she said was still poorly after her heart surgery and needed her there. Well, I was tidying up when I heard an argument next door. Lots of shouting and banging and screaming – which was strange, as I’d never heard Eileen and Ian row before. What’s more, I’d seen Eileen go up the road with the pushchair earlier, when I’d gone to the front door to put out the milk bottles. We’d exchanged greetings – commented on the likelihood of snow, as far as I remember. She said she was off to town, to meet up for lunch wi’ another mum from the toddlers’ group, and then go round to her house for the children to play together wi’ some of the new toys they’d got for Christmas. She said she wouldn’t be back until teatime.’

Thomas cleared his throat. ‘That’s why I knew it couldn’t be Eileen next door, so I got worried. Thinking I’d better do something, I went round and knocked. No one answered, so I opened it – there’s none of us down Bower Street who bother wi’ locks when we’re at home – and that’s when I saw them. They were at the top of the stairs – Eileen’s husband Ian, and my wife Rose. They were neither of them dressed proper, just in their underwear. For a moment I couldn’t take it in, like – my wife, being next door, when I’d driven her up to the station only a few hours since. It was only later that I worked out what had been going on between them two. Anyway, they didn’t notice me at first. He was telling her he was going away to start a new job in London, that she couldn’t stop him or follow him there, and that he was sick of her anyway – that he was sick of his life, an’ come Sunday, he’d be away to start a new life.’

The jury listened intently.

Thomas took a deep breath. The only sound that could be heard in the courtroom at that moment was Libby’s muffled sobbing, until Thomas went on:

‘I saw them fighting like cat and dog. She hit him hard in the face, and then he went mad. I ran inside, just as he struck her and violently flung her away from him. She stumbled backwards and fell all the way down – and I could tell she’d broken her neck, from the way she were lying at the bottom of the stairs.’

Thomas mopped his eyes. ‘If it’s of any interest, I don’t believe that Ian Harrow meant to kill my wife. He was in an evil temper, that’s all. I think he panicked when he realised what he’d done. He saw me and realised that I’d witnessed it all. He tried to get away when I chased him upstairs. Then he came at me like a madman, and I’ – Thomas stumbled over his words – ‘I had to kill him. It were self-defence.’

‘Describe how you killed him,’ said the barrister.

‘I picked up the heavy metal candlestick on the mantelpiece in the spare room. I only meant to knock him out, but it came down hard. He fell and didn’t move no more. I were half out of me mind with shock. I didn’t know what to do. My first thought were to hide the bodies. I couldn’t have poor Eileen coming home to that.’ He looked at the jury. ‘That’s why I didn’t call the police, as I should have done.’

‘What did you do next, Mr Farraday?’

Thomas rubbed his head. ‘First I put them in the cellar and then the next evening, when Eileen was out hunting for Ian and I was babysitting Libby, I set about moving them. I had a sheet of tarpaulin in my shed, so I ran down their garden, wrenched a couple of fence panels out, squeezed in through the space to my shed, and got the tarpaulin out. I carried it back to the house, put my wife on it and then dragged her down the garden and placed her in the shed. I thought she were going to wake up at any minute and ask me what the hell I was playing at.’ His voice broke and he wiped his eyes again. ‘I did not want to believe that she were gone.’

He paused, his gaze falling on the floor, then he gulped and went on: ‘Her neck were all bent to one side. . . Getting Ian out of house, well, that were more difficult. He was a big man and he weighed a ton. I rolled him onto the tarpaulin, tied the ends with twine and then dragged him down the stairs.’ Making the sign of the cross on himself, he muttered, ‘May God forgive me!’

Thomas looked sadly at Libby before continuing: ‘I laid them side by side in the shed and covered them over, deciding that when I got a chance, I’d bury them another night and no one would ever know that anything untoward had occurred. As it happened, it took me a few days to find the nerve to bury the bodies.’

The barrister leaned forward and said in serious tones: ‘And Mrs Harrow had nothing whatsoever to do with this?’

‘No, sir!’ he was adamant. ‘Nothing whatsoever, sir. It were just me. No one else was involved.’

‘I see.’ The lawyer asked for permission to bring in two witnesses. What followed sent a shockwave through the court and had reporters scribbling frantically.

Eileen was called first. Haltingly, with gentle persuasion from the barrister, she told her story. She was no longer afraid. With her mental health improved of late, she was able to go over the events, without fear of failing in her presentation. Clearly and willingly she simply told the truth. Her evidence had been deemed reliable after a doctor’s report had sanctioned her appearance in court.

Addressing the jury, she gave her own version of the events of that day.

‘I was due to meet my friend Hilary at the Health Centre, where she ran the toddlers’ playgroup. I’d told Ian I wouldn’t be back until teatime.’ She took a moment to remember. ‘He said I was to ring him when we needed picking up. I know now that he was only too pleased to be rid of me, so’s he could be with Rose.’ She gave a choked cry. ‘He took her to our bed.’ There followed a heavy silence, broken only by Eileen’s sobbing.

‘Mrs Harrow, would you like to take a moment? Maybe have some water?’ enquired the solicitous defence counsel, hoping to calm her. But Eileen had already got herself under control. She was determined not to lose the thread of what she needed to say.

‘When I got to the Health Centre, there was a message waiting for me. It turned out that my friend’s little girl had spots, and they thought it was chicken-pox, so we all went our different ways. I put my baby Libby in the pushchair and got home as fast as I could.’

Now came the difficult part. Eileen knew that she would have to convince the jury that she, and not her beloved Thomas, was responsible for the death of her husband Ian.

‘When I got home,’ she began steadily, ‘I saw that the front door was slightly open. I pushed it open, and saw Rose Farraday lying at the bottom of the stairs, with hardly any clothes on. I could tell immediately that she was dead. It was awful, and there was the sound of a fight going on upstairs.

‘I quickly shut Libby in the front room and ran upstairs. Ian and Thomas were fighting. Thomas was trying to get away, but Ian was like a madman, with his hands round Thomas’ neck, choking him. It was terrible!’

She covered her eyes and fell silent for a long moment, then described in halting tones what happened next.

‘I shouted at Ian to stop, but he wouldn’t. Thomas was going blue and I knew Ian was going to kill him, so I picked up the candlestick from the floor and clouted Ian on the back of the head. I just wanted to make him stop. But he wouldn’t stop, and Thomas couldn’t breathe. I was terrified, so I hit him again, and this time he fell in a heap on the floor.’

Facing the jury, she said in a clear voice, ‘That is the truth, so help me God.’ When she started sobbing, one of the courtroom clerks gave her a glass of water to sip from. Someone brought her a chair.

‘What happened next?’ asked the barrister.

Sitting on the chair, Eileen then explained how Thomas had removed the bodies in the dark of the following night, using the tarpaulin to wrap them in. ‘I wanted to phone the police and tell them what had happened, but Thomas wouldn’t let me. He said I would be sent to prison and that Libby would have to go into a home, and I didn’t want that. And while I was trying to decide what to do, the days passed, and I knew it was too late to put things right.’ Her compos ure cracked as she thought of it all now.

The barrister asked if she was able to go on. ‘Yes, sir,’ she replied. ‘I have to tell it all now.’ She continued:

‘I was babysitting my neighbour’s little boy in my own home.’ She glanced at Jack. ‘I had to keep things normal, pretend that everything was the same as usual. Looking back, I don’t know how I did it. I told my husband’s parents that he’d run off with another woman. They never came to visit any more, and now they’re both gone, with their son . . .

‘I looked after next door’s little boy when his parents had to go out. Thomas hadn’t buried the bodies yet . . .’ She faltered. ‘I was worried about that. I put young Jack to sleep on my sofa, and he went straight off. Then I popped upstairs to check on Libby. When I got back downstairs, only a few minutes later, the little lad had disappeared. I was frantic! Somehow he’d opened the back door, or I might have absent-mindedly left it open earlier. But little Jack had gone down the garden, looking for me – barefoot and in his pyjamas in the snow. I found him inside Thomas’ shed . . . where
they
were. Thomas hadn’t replaced the fence panels yet. Little Jack was icy cold and screaming, the poor little love! And where I found him, the corner of the tarpaulin was open and . . .’ she faltered, ‘. . . the eyes. Oh, dear God!’

For a brief moment, she was back in the garden, picking him up and wrapping her cardigan round him to get him warm. Her soft sobs could be heard all round the courtroom.