The Cuckoo Child (43 page)

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Authors: Katie Flynn

Tags: #Fiction, #Sagas

BOOK: The Cuckoo Child
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Dot laughed and fell into step beside him. ‘Of course I’m coming,’ she said at once. ‘Roast chicken, eh? Is Nick there already, or is he coming later?’
‘He’s probably already there by now,’ Corky said, as they hurried along. ‘He don’t miss an opportunity to be with Emma, as I expect you’ve noticed. I reckon he’s sweet on her. What do you say?’
Dot shrugged. ‘He certainly likes her,’ she conceded. ‘He got in a rare old state when he thought McNamara might have killed her, but then I suppose anyone would. But, to tell you the truth, I don’t know much about – about that sort of thing.’
‘Nor do I really,’ Corky admitted. ‘But I know all about roast chicken and apple pie . . . c’mon!’
Ten minutes later, they arrived, breathless and panting, in Emma’s kitchen. The air was redolent of roast chicken and Emma was setting out the food on four pretty china plates whilst Nick, with a flourish, carved the bird. Emma was dressed and was looking very much better, with colour in her cheeks and very nearly her old sprightliness in her step. All four of them laughed and joked their way through the meal, and when it was over Corky suggested that they should all play whist, or rummy, two card games which they had played a lot lately, since Emma had not been well enough – or simply had not wanted – to go out and about.
Nick, however, shook his head, and Dot noticed that faint colour rose in his cheeks. ‘No, I’ve a better idea,’ he said. ‘I’m going to give you kids half a crown because I believe there’s a good film showing at the Paramount Cinema on London Road. You’ll be able to buy yourselves a box of chocolates and an ice cream in the interval, and still afford good seats. The film’s a comedy; you’ll enjoy that.’
‘Gosh, it’s ages since I’ve been to the cinema,’ Corky said, whilst Dot beamed with happy anticipation. ‘Thanks ever so much, Nick.’
‘Yes, thanks ever so much,’ Dot echoed gratefully. ‘But why don’t you and Emma come along as well? It would probably do you both good to get out, and it’s nice to have a laugh now and then.’
Nick and Emma, however, declined the treat, though Dot was surprised and a little puzzled to see how pink Emma’s cheeks grew as she stammered out that she and Nick meant to have a quiet evening at home, checking the books, for though Miss Snelling had meticulously filled them in, with notes as to prices received and what would need replacing, she, Emma, had not yet checked to make sure the figures were correct.
Dot happened to be looking at Corky as Emma spoke and wondered why he was winking so desperately. She was about to press the point when the penny dropped: Corky was trying to warn her that Emma and Nick wanted to be private for once. So she said, tactfully, that she quite understood and that she and Corky would probably not be home until well after ten o’clock. Then they left, Nick clattering down the stairs behind them to lock the stockroom door, telling them as he did so that he would remain at the flat until their return and would come downstairs to let them in as soon as they rang.
‘I feel quite guilty,’ Dot confessed, as they made their way towards the picture house. ‘Ever since Emma’s awful accident, I’ve not left her alone for one minute, except for visiting me aunt in hospital, and you’ve been around for most of the time as well. If you’re right, and they really are sweet on one another, I expect they’ll want to be alone. Courting couples always do, I’m told,’ she finished.
‘Well, I don’t see why,’ Corky objected. ‘If they’re courting, then they’re going to get married, and married people spend all their lives together, without anybody interfering. I should think they’d be glad of a bit of company myself.’
‘Ye-es, but then babies come along and they’re never alone again,’ Dot pointed out. ‘When you think about it, why
do
people have children? They cost a deal of money, they eat a lot, they muck up even the tidiest house and they’re the main cause of rows and fights between the mam and the dad. Oh, I know the women say it’s drink what causes fights, but I reckon men wouldn’t drink if they didn’t have a house full of kids to keep. I tell you, Corky, I’m never going to get married, norrif it means having a tribe of perishin’ kids round me ankles.’
Corky sniggered. ‘You ain’t sweet on anyone yet, so you don’t know what it’s all about,’ he said. ‘Now shut up, and join the queue, and keep my place while I go for some sweets. D’you really want chocolates? Only I’d rather spend my share on toffee and bull’s-eyes, and perhaps a few sherbet lemons; they’ll last right through the performance if we go easy.’
Dot agreed to this and presently the two of them settled themselves in their comfortable plush seats, with a bull’s-eye bulging in each cheek, and looked up at the screen as the main feature began. But the two comical characters had scarcely appeared on the screen when Corky gasped, and then began choking violently as his bull’s-eye went down the wrong way and appeared to lodge in his windpipe. Thoroughly alarmed by the strange wheezing noises coming from her friend, Dot thumped him vigorously between the shoulder blades. The bull’s-eye shot out, scoring a direct hit on the head of the child in front, and Corky turned to his companion. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, but even in the dark Dot could see the grin on his face. ‘I’ve remembered,’ he croaked. ‘I’ve remembered where I’ve seen Ollie McNamara before. C’mon, Dot, we’ve got to talk’ – all around him, people were shushing – ‘and we can’t do it here.’
They hurried out of the darkened theatre, though Dot tried to prevent Corky actually leaving the building. They had been in the front row of the circle, a great treat, and as they descended the wide, luxuriously carpeted staircase, she pointed out that they might just as well talk here. ‘No one won’t interrupt us, and there’s no one to hear what we say ’cos the doors is sound-proofed. And anyway, we can keep our voices down,’ she told him. ‘Then afterwards we can go back and watch the rest of the picture. The B film is a cowboy with Tom Mix; you won’t want to miss that!’
Corky, however, was adamant and towed her out into the street. ‘I’ve got to get straight to the police station,’ he said breathlessly, pulling Dot along. ‘We can talk as we go.’
‘I don’t see why . . .’ Dot was beginning, but Corky just grinned at her and pulled her along faster than ever.
‘No, of course you don’t see why, because I haven’t explained yet,’ he said. ‘Just shut up and listen for once, Dot McCann. D’you remember me telling you that when I lived in London, I worked for a feller who were a bit on the shady side, like? Well, he were a crook, what they call a fence, which means he bought stolen goods off of the thieves and then sold ’em on. D’you remember?’
Dot nodded. ‘Wilf something or other,’ she said. ‘His mum were real good to you; I remember you told me that.’
‘That’s right. Well, I dunno whether I told you – I probably didn’t ’cos it didn’t seem important – but the very first time I met Wilf, something odd happened. I arrived at his back door when he were expecting customers, so he told me to wait in the darkened shop – it were all closed up – and to stay quiet while he conducted his business. He said his customers were really shy and wouldn’t want to be seen, but the fact is, after about ten minutes in the dark shop I got a fright – it was only Mrs Perkin’s cat, but I didn’t know that – and I shot into the room where Wilf and his customers were sitting at a table. There was stuff all over the table – jewellery I think – but Wilf was so quick to come round and push me back into the shop that I scarcely noticed. There were two men; one of them had his back to me and never moved a muscle, so I dunno what he was like, but the one facing me was a big, beefy fellow, with a little toothbrush moustache. Even though I were in a bit of a state, I knew he reminded me of someone, but it weren’t till just now, when Stan and Ollie come on to the screen, that I realised the customer looked just like Oliver Hardy. And then, of course, everything clicked into place, neat as you please. It were McNamara what were doing business with old Wilf and I’m pretty well certain that the feller with his back to me was Butcher Rathbone.’
‘Crumps, it’s a small world,’ Dot said reverently. ‘But – but does it matter, Corky? I mean, we all know it was those two men who did the jewel robbery because of the necklace, and Mr Rathbone made no bones about saying it were Ollie who killed old Mr Grieves. Oh, I know McNamara tried to deny it, but when he found Emma was alive, he more or less confessed.’
‘Yes, I know, but don’t you
see
, Dot? There’s been a big fuss because old Mr Grieves hadn’t bothered to renew his insurance, so the insurance company won’t pay out – well, you can’t blame ’em – but if Wilf hasn’t yet managed to sell the stuff on, the police can swoop. Emma can have the jewellery back and start restocking the shop, particularly now that she won’t be paying protection money either.’
‘I see,’ Dot said. ‘Won’t Emma be delighted if she really does get all her stock back? She never grumbles or moans, but I know she’s been worried about the shop, and she desperately wants to continue her training. I’m sure if she gets the jewellery back, she’ll return to the college. But – but Corky, d’you think the police will believe you? It – it does seem such a strange coincidence.’
Corky considered this, a frown creasing his brow. Then it cleared and he smiled. ‘I’ll ask to see the chief inspector,’ he said. ‘After all, coincidences do happen and it really would be wonderful to get Emma’s stuff back, and I think we stand a chance because Wilf never sold stuff on quickly, but always hung on to it, sometimes for months and months, I reckon. I’m pretty sure that was why McNamara and Rathbone travelled all the way down to London when I bet they could have got rid of the stuff much nearer home. Local fences want a quick profit, I expect, whereas Wilf had a well established and well thought of antique shop and could afford to wait until he could get a higher price.’
Corky was in luck; the chief inspector was not at the station, but the friendly desk sergeant who had dealt with Corky on his very first visit was on duty. Corky told his story with Dot standing by, and the police sergeant immediately asked him the exact date and time when he had first visited Mr Perkin’s shop. Fortunately, Corky remembered without too much trouble, whereupon the sergeant went over to a filing cabinet and produced a large ledger which he spread out on the counter. ‘If Constable McNamara was on duty at that time then we’ll know where we are at once,’ he explained. ‘But if he weren’t . . . aha!’
‘He wasn’t on duty, was he?’ Corky asked, seeing a smile spread across the sergeant’s face. Despite his jolly appearance and occasional bouts of generosity, it had soon become clear to Corky that McNamara was not popular with his fellow police officers; was, in fact, much disliked, and from the smile on the sergeant’s face it was pretty clear to Corky that here was someone who had taken Ollie’s measure long since.
‘On duty? No, he was on a forty-eight, which means he didn’t have to sign on here for two whole days,’ the sergeant said, closing the book. ‘Now that ain’t proof he were in London – there’s really only one feller who could prove that – so just you sit quiet, you youngsters, while I make a few telephone calls.’
Corky and Dot went and sat on one of the long benches, expecting to be there some time, but, in fact, it took less than an hour to establish what the sergeant wanted to know. He made several telephone calls, some quite long ones, but then he came back to them, smiling broadly. ‘Your former employer is at present a guest of His Majesty the King, remanded in custody pending his trial. All his property has been frozen; in other words, the shop’s been closed down and everything has been seized, pending the outcome of the case. I explained to my colleague down south that we’ve a witness to some of Wilf’s nefarious dealings and he made a suggestion which I think will help. If Wilf agrees to turn King’s Evidence and identify the two men who brought a supply of very fine jewellery on to his premises, then the court might agree to impose a lighter sentence. Naturally, Wilf will insist the men lied to him, said the jewellery was their own property and so on, but even so, I think he will admit to having bought from these men before, which will tie them in with all the other burglaries.’ He beamed at Corky. ‘A pretty satisfactory result, wouldn’t you say?’
Epilogue
Llandudno, 1929
‘Well, Mrs Randall, how does it feel to be a married lady?’
The short April evening was drawing to a close, and across the sea the sinking sun cut a flaming path. Emma and Nick were sitting on a bench at the top of the Great Orme, looking out across the miles of glistening wet sand, the great stretch of the bay and the purple mountains in the distance. Emma heaved a deep sigh and snuggled her head into the soft hollow where Nick’s neck and shoulder met. ‘I’ve only been a married lady for a couple of days,’ she reminded him. ‘But so far it’s been – oh, glorious! I’m so glad we decided to marry now, and not to wait until I had finished my course at college. And I’m glad to be going back to a place of our own. I know it’s only a small terraced house, but I love it already. And Miss Snelling was delighted to move into the flat above the shop, to keep Dot company. I think the two of them will get on very well despite the age difference. In fact, everything has worked out pretty satisfactorily, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I would,’ Nick said. ‘We’ve been pretty lucky all round. And thanks to Corky, you got the stolen jewellery back. He’s a good lad and a good deal happier lodging with his pal Herbie’s family than he was with the Cartwrights. He enjoys working for the
Echo
as a messenger boy as well, and hopes to be a reporter one day.’ He squeezed Emma’s hand. ‘And doesn’t the emerald necklace look grand back in the shop window? Only we ought to stop calling it the emerald necklace.’

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