Perseverance Street (5 page)

‘I see – and this house would be Lark House, would it?’

‘Yes.’

Lily began to cry. She turned to an attending nurse and asked, ‘Could you bring me my baby please. I want to hold him.’

‘Would you leave that a few minutes, Nurse?’ said the detective. ‘I’ve just got a few more questions to ask Mrs Robinson.’

‘Mrs Robinson’s very weak
and very distressed,’ said the nurse, quite sharply. ‘I’ll give you five minutes but I’ll be staying here to keep an eye on her.’

‘Thank you, Nurse, that’ll be fine.’ He returned his attention to Lily, who was still weeping.

‘You say you gave these Oldroyd people permission to take Michael. In fact you actually asked him and his wife to look after the boy for a couple of days?’

‘It wasn’t quite like that. They offered, I accepted – after they told me about the bombing.’

‘What bombing’s that?’

‘Oh, they told me the Germans were going to attack the Leeds munitions factories. The last time they did that they hit our streets.’

‘And you believed that?’

‘At the time, I suppose I did. I don’t any more. I talked to one of my neighbours who more or less told me it was rubbish so I rang the Oldroyds to tell them I wanted Michael to come home. I missed him so much.’

‘So you actually rang them?’

‘I tried but the number they gave me wasn’t a proper number, which is why I came out on the bus.’

‘And this house is number seventy-four High Bank Lane in Grassington – Lark House?’

‘Yes, but the lady living up the road from there said she’s never heard of them and that it’s been empty for four years. That can’t be right. I mean, we stayed there. How can that be ri …?’ Her voice tailed off and her eyes flooded with tears once again.

‘I think that’s enough
for now,’ said the nurse.

‘I understand, Nurse, but I do need to ask her more questions as soon as possible. A small child is missing and Mrs Robinson is our only source of information. Time is of the essence.’

‘So is Mrs Robinson’s health.’

The detective rang his boss, Inspector Foster, at Millgarth Police Station in Leeds. ‘To be honest I’m not at all sure what’s happened, sir. The story she tells sounds strange. It appears she allowed a couple she hardly knew to take the boy away and look after him for two days.’

‘I understand she claims that she and her son stayed at the house in Grassington with the man and his wife earlier this month? But the house has been empty for four years, and no one in the area has heard of these Oldroyds.’

‘That’s right, sir. It’s beginning to sound most odd.’

‘I’m not sure “odd” is the word I’d use, Sergeant.’

‘She seems a perfectly decent woman.’

‘Her husband was killed in France a couple of weeks ago, Sergeant. People react in different ways to bereavement – and if we throw her pregnancy into the mix … who knows?’

‘Indeed, sir. Have her neighbours in Leeds managed to throw any light on things?’

‘Not really. She told some of her neighbours that her son had gone off to stay with an uncle and aunt for a few days. None of them saw this uncle or the aunt – Mr and Mrs Oldroyd or whoever it was, come and take the boy away. Nor had she ever mentioned them.’

‘Did anyone see a car come to her house, sir? I’d say visiting cars are a rarity in that street.’

‘No, Sergeant, they
did not – although it was pouring down around that time. You wouldn’t expect too many people to be out in the street, or looking through the windows in such weather.’

‘Perhaps not, sir.’

‘I’ve also spoken to a bobby up in Grassington,’ said the inspector. ‘He sounds a real bloody plod. I think you might need to go over there and take a look around yourself.’

‘In the meantime, do you want me to continue questioning her, sir? She’s very distressed, as you might imagine.’

‘Distressed or not I think we need to get as much information as we can out of her, Sergeant. Also, you might want to try and trick her into contradicting herself. Let’s find out if she’s telling us the truth, or what she thinks is the truth.’

‘Sir.’

‘In the meantime I’ll check her background to see if she’s had any form of mental health problems in the past and apply for a warrant to give her house a search from top to bottom, including the cellar. I’m beginning to get a very nasty feeling about this, John.’

Lily looked into the eyes of her baby. ‘I’m sorry I’ve got no smiles for you, little boy … some nasty people took them all away. But the police’ll catch them and bring your big brother back to us.’

She longed for Michael, she longed for her husband and, from time to time, she longed for her miserable life to end. But she knew that was selfish. The child in her arms needed her. It also needed a name. On the opposite wall was a crucifix. She looked down at her son.

‘I wonder if they’d let me call
you Jesus? Jesus Christ Robinson. Couldn’t go wrong with a name like that eh? Or I could just call you Christ Robinson – Chris Robinson for short. Christopher Robinson: almost like the boy in the Winnie the Pooh books.’

A nurse came to her bedside, Lily looked up at her. ‘Nurse, I’d like you to meet Christopher Robinson.’

The nurse’s smile broadened. She reached behind her neck, unclasped a silver necklace and handed it to Lily. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘It’s a St Christopher – the patron saint of travellers. I’d be honoured if Christopher would have it as his first gift.’

Tears once again from Lily, who took the necklace and gripped it in her hand so tightly that blood flowed from between her fingers, much to the consternation of the nurse.

‘Lily, open your hand, you’ll get me into terrible trouble.’

Lily looked down at her hand and slowly opened it, not knowing what she’d done, only now feeling the pain. The necklace was covered in blood. Her eyes widened as if she’d suddenly realised the awful truth of her situation. She dropped the necklace on the bed and screamed, ‘I want Michael! Please, I want my boy back!’ Then she broke down into a fit of desperate sobbing.

The nurse took the baby from her. A second nurse arrived and tended to her injured hand. Lily gradually stopped crying and was squeezing her eyes together. Shutting out the horror of it all.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she
murmured. ‘I just don’t know what I’m doing. I just don’t kno—’

‘Mrs Robinson, I wonder if I might have another word,’ said the detective, who had arrived at the other side of the bed in time to see and hear all this.

Half an hour later the detective sergeant was on the phone to his inspector. ‘I’ve had another chat with Mrs Robinson, sir.’

Inspector Foster listened intently as Bannister related Lily’s story. ‘Did you find any contradictions in her version of events?’

‘None, sir. It all sounds plausible until you realise that the house didn’t belong to the Oldroyds – if that’s their real name.’

‘Or even if the Oldroyds exist?’

‘Quite, sir.’

‘Did you ask her why she went out to Grassington to get her boy back just two days later?’

‘I did, sir. It seems the Oldroyds had told her that the Germans intended bombing Leeds any time now and that the boy would be safer out in the country. The next day she heard that no such bombing was going to happen so she rang the number Oldroyd had given her and was told by the operator that no such number existed so she went out there on the bus.’

‘She’s certainly got a good story going, Sergeant – too good, you might think.’

‘On the face of it she sounds very plausible, sir, but one odd thing did happen in the hospital. A nurse gave her a St Christopher medal, with her calling her baby Christopher. Mrs Robinson took the medal and squeezed it so tightly that her hand bled. She didn’t know she was doing it, sir. The wound looked very painful and required dressing.’

‘And she didn’t know
she was doing it? Would you say that was unbalanced behaviour, Sergeant?’

‘Possibly, sir.’

‘Yes. Well, I think we need to tread very carefully here, Sergeant. Firstly we need to take a good look around her house. I’ll arrange it.’

‘How do we enter, sir? The old-fashioned way, or do we politely ask her for her key?’

‘I think the less she knows the better at this stage, John. I suggest we engage the services of a locksmith.’

‘Are we allowed to do that, sir?’

‘Yes, if we have grounds for suspicion of a crime having been committed. I do not want a repeat of what happened last year.’

‘No, sir.’

Bannister put the phone down and thought about the event to which his boss had been referring. The parallels to this case were too much to ignore. They’d been called to a house in Harehills in Leeds at two o’clock in the morning. A young woman had staggered out into the street shouting for help. She was holding her five-month-old baby girl and screaming that she’d been attacked in her home and her baby was dead, strangled by the attacker.

It was a most odd case, seemingly motiveless. The woman hadn’t been sexually assaulted and nothing had been stolen. In fact she lived in a poor area where the pickings for any robber would be very slim indeed. Apparently the killer had come in through an unlocked door, gone up the stairs, strangled the baby and thrown the woman down the stairs. She was taken to hospital with several broken ribs. There were no clues whatsoever as to who had done this. Foster had been a chief inspector back then. The detective inspector in charge of the case had decided the woman, who’d had a recent history of depression due to her husband being killed in France, was the main suspect and had ordered for her to be taken into custody once she’d been discharged from hospital. He accused her of strangling the child herself then throwing herself down the stairs. The woman vehemently denied this.

Chief Inspector Foster
looked at the evidence, all of it circumstantial. He also took into consideration the implications if the woman had been wrongly charged, which he thought was quite probable. The police were already getting atrocious publicity for locking up this poor woman. Her friends and neighbours had begun a protest, keeping a vigil outside the police station, shouting slogans, waving placards. He backed down and ordered her release. Within forty-eight hours she had killed her only other child, a three-year-old boy.

A black Wolseley police
car pulled up outside number 13. A van marked Woodhouse Locksmiths Ltd pulled up behind. The curtain twitched at number 14 across the street as Hilda Muscroft peered out.

‘Hey up, Arnold, there’s a police car outside Lily’s.’

For the next five minutes she gave her uninterested husband a running commentary on how a man from the van seemed to be trying to unlock the door.

‘There, he’s done it. I wonder if Lily knows what’s happening. Bet she doesn’t. Makes yer wonder, dunt it, Arnold? I ’ope the lass is all right. I haven’t seen her nor young Micky fer a couple o’ days. By the ’eck Arnold! I hope she hasn’t done nowt daft!’

Four uniformed police entered the house under the watchful gaze of Mrs Muscroft. After ten minutes one of them came out, knocked on the door of an adjacent house and stood there for several minutes talking to the occupant. This frustrated Mrs Muscroft, who was more than willing to impart any information they required in exchange for any information she could glean from them. Hilda Muscroft was an expert at gleaning information. She went to her door and stood there with arms folded, looking eager to help. The constable was making his way to the next house when she called out to him.

‘Can I help
yer, love?’

He turned and looked at her and decided her nosiness might be worth exploiting. As he got closer he became aware of her body odour, a problem no one dared mention to her. He took a step back.

‘I’m making enquiries about Mrs Robinson who lives at number thirteen, and in particular her son, Michael.’

‘What is it yer want ter know?’

‘Well, the boy’s missing and we need to know when he was seen last.’

‘Missin? Lily reckons she sent him off ter stay with an uncle and auntie fer a while. Yer know she lost her husband in Germany, don’t yer?’

‘Yes, we know that. It’s just that we can’t trace this uncle and aunt nor the boy. If you know anything at all that might help we’d be most grateful.’

‘I’m not sure I can help. Last time I saw young Micky were a few days ago. Friday, I think – no, I tell a lie, it were last Thursday. I know that cos it peed it down on Friday. What’s that? Five days ago. He were out playin’ in t’ street wi’ some other kids.’

‘And you haven’t seen him since?’

‘No.’

‘What about Mrs Robinson? Have you spoken to her recently?’

‘Well, me and me husband went over on Thursday ter give us commiserations about her Larry.’

‘And how did she seem?’

‘She were bleedin’ heartbroken. How else would she seem? We didn’t go inside or nowt. Just went to ’er door

‘Yes. I understand
that, but did she seem as though she might not be able to cope?’

‘What? As though she might do summat daft – like top herself, yer mean?’ Mrs Muscroft had never been one to mince words.

‘Not exactly, but she apparently sent her son off to an uncle and aunt who don’t appear to exist. I wonder if you could throw any light on the matter.’

‘Bloody hell! Aw no! What’s she gone and done?’

‘As far as we know she hasn’t done anything. We’re just trying to track the boy down.’

‘Well, it sounds ter me like she’s bloody done summat. I know nowt of no uncle or auntie.’ She turned and shouted into the house. ‘Arnold! Do you know owt about an uncle an’ auntie what Lily sent her lad off ter live with?’

‘Just shurrup. I’m listenin’ ter t’ wireless. They’re sayin’ Hitler’s dead.’

Mrs Muscroft turned to the policeman. ‘D’yer want ter come in an’ listen?’

The policeman nodded and followed her inside to listen to the news bulletin that was saying Adolf Hitler had committed suicide in his bunker in Berlin.

Arnold stood got to his feet and gave his wife a hug. She responded in a manner that indicated she wasn’t used to such treatment.

‘Give over, yer barmy beggar!’

Arnold shook the policeman by the hand and went to the pantry to get a bottle of beer.