September 1957: Blackpool

  The following morning, Nigel Soames was seen leaving the Sunnyside guest house, his hair, what there was of it, standing on end, and a very pronounced five o’clock shadow covering the bottom half of his face. He had spent a very uncomfortable night indeed, and all he wanted was to return to the Imperial and get washed, changed and breakfasted, before he attempted to make sense of what had happened to him during the night in rooms eight and twelve.

  Robbie and Oliver, in contrast, had spent a very comfortable night in Nigel’s suite. They had room to breathe for a change. Oliver had the room, usually shared with Robbie, all to himself, and Robbie had spread himself out in Nigel’s luxurious suite.

  Both men came down to breakfast at a leisurely pace, in time to see Nigel return, looking like he’d been pulled through a hedge backwards.

  “I’ll see you both shortly,” he said, pressing the bell for the lift. “I need a bath and shave first.”

  It was half an hour later, when Nigel joined them. He was just in time for a full English breakfast, for which he was thankful. Robbie and Oliver had more or less finished, but they kept their giant companion company, sensing he had something of importance to tell them. By his deranged look when he entered the hotel, it was something momentous, they felt sure.

  They weren’t wrong. The news of the arrest of Lennie Conway for the murder of June Smart had been relayed to Robbie and Oliver by Bernard the preceding night. They were also aware of the very strong probability that he had been responsible for the deaths of Meriel and Mary, and that the disappearance of Ivy was more than likely to be eventually laid at his door too.

  Robbie had also been told that Celia wasn’t interested in going out with him. This piece of news had upset him much more, but he tried not to show it. He had done his best to shrug it off, saying it was her loss. Bernard wasn’t fooled by this, but he had kept quiet and passed him a double brandy.

  So Oliver and Robbie had expected Nigel to return the night before, his errand unnecessary. But he had stayed and now he was sitting down with them, ploughing his way through a pile of eggs and bacon.

  They waited patiently while he ate. They poured out his tea and orange juice, passing the various drinks as required. Finally, the vicar was replenished, and he sat back and lit his first cigar of the morning. Oliver and Robbie decided to join him, by lighting up their pipes.

  “Well, Nigel, it looks like a very satisfactory outcome at last. The only mystery left is the whereabouts of Ivy. It looks like Lennie has done away with her too.”

  Nigel didn’t speak. He sucked on his cigar and looked at both men knowingly. “There’s only one problem,” he said at last.

  Robbie was puzzled. “Problem?”

  “Those women – I saw them both last night. One in my bed like you said, Robbie, and one with her throat cut, as you saw, Ollie. They both told me the same thing.”

  “What was that? That Lennie had killed them, I presume?” said Robbie.

  “No. Not Lennie Conway,” said Nigel. “It wasn’t him.”

  September 1957: Blackpool

  Celia paused in her packing as she heard the door open. “Is that you, Bernie?” she called out, continuing to pack her fur-lined slippers and two of her three pair of sunglasses. She was vaguely surprised he hadn’t knocked first; it wasn’t like him. “Be with you in a minute. Just finishing my packing.”

  “Don’t hurry on my account,” said a voice which wasn’t Bernard’s. It wasn’t even a male voice. And it certainly wasn’t a friendly one.

  Celia spun round to see Ivy Conway standing in the doorway. The look on her face wasn’t particularly friendly either.

  “Ivy!” said Celia, a mixture of surprise and relief flooding through her. “Thank goodness! I – that is, we all thought something had happened to you.”

  “I thought you’d all think that. I was banking on it. I was keeping out of the way – on purpose.”

  “On purpose?” Celia was puzzled now, and a little frightened. She watched as Ivy entered the room, closing and locking the door after her.

  “Er, why – why did you lock the door, Ivy?”

  Ivy put the key in her pocket. “Just a precaution, my dear.”

  “A precaution against what exactly?”

  Ivy gave her a gruesome smile. “Oh, you never know – now that my Lennie’s been arrested, I’m all on my ownsome.”

  “Well – you can hardly expect people to stay here now – after poor June’s murder. And – and the remains the police found.” She paused. Ivy was still smiling, but she still wasn’t being friendly. “Look, Ivy, I’m sorry – I suppose you blame me for getting Len – your husband arrested. But, after what he told me, I had no alternative. I – I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, don’t apologise my dear,” said Ivy, smiling even more now. “I was depending on you doing that.”

  “You – you were? Well, if you knew your husband was a murderer, why didn’t you go to the police yourself?”

  “Oh, that wouldn’t have done at all, my dear. I needed people to think that something had happened to me.”

  “But why?”

  “All will become clear soon, have no fear.”

  Celia closed her case. She had packed everything now, and if anything had been left out, she didn’t care. All she cared about was getting out of the room and down the stairs to where Bernard said he would be waiting for her.

  “I don’t know what your game is, Ivy,” she said nervously, “but I’m not playing. Give me the key. I want to leave.”

  “No, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “You – you seem to make a habit of locking people in,” said Celia, a little more boldly now. After all, what could Ivy actually do to her? “I mean, you kept Lennie locked in, didn’t you? Or so he told me. Only he had a key after all.”

  “Of course he had. I knew that. That was another thing I was banking on – him getting out and putting himself about. You may not have realised it, but he was so handsome when he was young.”

  “He’s not very handsome now. But I didn’t think he was a killer. If you knew, you should have made sure he stayed locked in. Don’t you care that he killed poor June?”

  “Poor June,” mimicked Ivy. “I hated her! With her simpering ways – getting all the men lusting after her. She was no more than a cheap slut.”

  Celia was very frightened now. It began to dawn on her that the police might be holding the wrong person in custody.

  “You – you killed her, didn’t you?”

  “Well done. Go to the top of the class. I hated her. Why should she have all the men after her? I should be the one they all want. I was – once.”

  Celia began to see the motivation behind the woman’s obvious madness. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. For once, she wished she was the ugliest woman on earth. But there was nothing for it but to keep her talking while she thought of a way out of her situation.

  “You killed those other women, too, didn’t you? Because they were too good-looking, I suppose?”

  “Of course I did. The colonel’s wife – she was nothing more than a little hussy. Going off with another bloke the minute his back was turned. I saw she was being persuaded to go off with that Penrose. She would have done too if I hadn’t stopped her. She didn’t suffer. It was all too easy – a pillow over her face while she slept. And I made sure she wouldn’t wake up while I was doing it with the sleeping pills in her cocoa.”

  “And – and Mary?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to say she suffered, all right. She’d been to the Winter Gardens with that yank. He was going to ask her to marry him, I was sure of it. She’d be set up for life with all the money he’d got. Well, she didn’t deserve it. I was waiting for her when she got back. I heard him say goodnight to her outside the door. She came in, humming to herself, the silly tart. I couldn’t be bothered with the cocoa and pillow for her. I wasn’t going to waste my time. I stabbed her in the throat. Several times. I enjoyed that.”

  She fingered her scar. Celia swallowed hard, staring at its livid redness.

  “Wh-what happened? You – you weren’t born like that, were you? Was it some sort of an accident?”

  “Not exactly.” She told her about Lennie’s blind rages after he came back from the war. She had been so beautiful, all the men wanted her. He couldn’t stand it. He threw the acid in her face. Scarred for life, Ivy’s world had ended there and then.

  Despite everything, Celia couldn’t help feeling just a little sorry for her. She couldn’t imagine how she would feel if it had happened to her. But she liked to think she wouldn’t go on a killing spree like Ivy. “It – it was a terrible thing he did, but – but that’s no excuse for murder,” she said.

  “What do I care? Anyway, the police think they’ve got their man, so I’m in the clear.”

  “You can’t get away with it, you know, Ivy,” said Celia, feeling more and more terrified now. She knew she would need all her powers of intellect and intuition to get out of the room alive. “Tell me,” she said, swallowing hard, “have you killed any other women?”

  “Apart from June and those other two, you mean?”

  “Yes. Are – are there any others?”

  “No. You see, Lennie wasn’t here to take the blame. I couldn’t risk it, not with him being away. Besides, there haven’t been any women that needed killing – until now, that is.” She looked at Celia meaningfully.

  “When you say ‘needed killing’, was that because they weren’t beautiful enough for you to be jealous of?”

  “Exactly. If there had been, I’d have found some way of getting Lennie back here in time. He was always going to take the blame, you know, for what he did to me…” She fingered her scar once more.

  Celia couldn’t believe how cold-blooded the woman was. “Did – did you ever consider plastic surgery? Surely something could have been done to improve your looks?”

  “Oh, I consulted doctors in the beginning. Even took a trip to Harley Street, for all the good it did. They said they could improve my looks only marginally. What was the good of that?”

  “Better than nothing, I would have thought.”

  Ivy moved towards her slowly. Celia backed away, suitcase in hand.

  “I – I want to leave, Ivy,” she said. “Pl-please unlock the door.”

  “And let you go straight to the police? Do you think I’m completely daft as well as homicidal? Don’t answer that.”

  Well, at least she knows she’s off her head, thought Celia. “Look, I won’t say anything… just let me go.”

  “Whether or not you go to the police is immaterial, Celia. You know I can’t let someone with your looks live, don’t you?”

  “I – I’m not that much to write home about,” said Celia, cringing as Ivy bore down on her. “You should see me without my make-up – ” Then a thought struck her. “Come on, Ivy, you can’t kill me. The police will know it wasn’t Lennie, then. You’d be the first one they’d suspect – ”

  Ivy stopped in her tracks. “I’ve thought about that,” she said. “But, you see, I don’t really care anymore. My business is gone for a toss, now. I won’t have a livelihood, anyway. There’s no point in going on with any of it – anymore…” She trailed off.

  Celia made a sudden move towards her, her hand stretched out towards the pocket in which she had seen Ivy put the key.

  “Stand back, bitch!”

  She screamed as she saw Ivy produce the knife.

  September 1957: Blackpool

  Bernard paced up and down the Sunnyside reception. With him were John and the colonel. They were waiting for Celia to join them. The entire Sunnyside staff had left already, even though they hadn’t been paid. They couldn’t be blamed for going, even without any remuneration; who would want to stay a moment longer in such a wicked place? Besides there was no Ivy to pay them. Added to which, the police were still on the premises, and human remains were still being dug out of the cellar. All the other guests had left, and the four remaining ones were going that morning.

  “She’s taking her time, isn’t she?” said Matthew, looking at his watch. “I might go on ahead, if you don’t mind. My train’s leaving in twenty minutes.”

  “Yes, you go, colonel,” said Bernard. “I’m happy to wait for Celia.”

  “How about you, John?”

  “I’ll hang around a bit,” said John. He wanted to say goodbye to Celia and maybe extend to her an invitation to visit New York one day.

  As the colonel turned to leave, Robbie came crashing through the door, followed at a more stately pace by Oliver and Nigel.

  “Goodness!” said Bernard. “What’s the matter, Robbie?”

  “Where’s Celia?” he yelled.

  “You might well ask,” said Bernard with a long-suffering sigh. “Women, eh? They always take so long to get ready, beautifying themselves – ”

  “Stop waffling, Bernie. Where is she?”

  Bernard was struck now by the look of panic on his friend’s face. “Up – up in her room, of course.”

  “What number?” Robbie’s brow was thunderous.

  “Er – eight,” said Bernard. “But – but what’s the matter?”

  Robbie was already leaping up the stairs three at a time, closely followed by Oliver, and Nigel huffing slowly behind them. Stairs! No lift! What was the world coming to?

  Bernard, realising there was a crisis involving Celia, began to follow them. John joined him, and the Colonel brought up the rear.

  Robbie grabbed the door handle of room eight and pushed it. Nothing happened.

  “Sh-shouldn’t you knock first?” said Bernard timidly. “She-she might be undressed…”

  “Shut up, Bernie,” said Robbie. “Celia! Are you in there – are you all right?”

  “Robbie!” came a scream from within. “She’s got a knife!”

  Robbie moved back slightly, and all the men watched as he rushed at the door, thrusting his strong, manly shoulder against it. It gave a little, but stood firm.

  He ran at it again and pushed even harder. There was a splinter of wood, and he was inside the room.

  “Don’t come any closer,” said Ivy. She had her arm around Celia’s throat, holding a knife against it. There was a small trickle of blood.

  “D – don’t, Robbie,” said Celia, “she means to kill me…”

  “Does she, indeed?” said Robbie. He turned to Bernard and the others. “Call the police – now!”

  Bernard ran down the stairs and through the door that led to the cellar. There were probably one or two of them down there right now.

  Robbie knew he couldn’t wait for the police, though. Ivy was pressing the knife deeper into Celia’s throat. He made a grab for it and, as he did so, she jabbed him in the arm. Ignoring the searing pain, he wrested the knife from her hand and pushed her onto the bed.

  “Take Celia out,” he ordered the others. He turned to Ivy, now a crumpled heap on the bed.

  “H-how did you find out?” she whimpered, her face streaming with tears of frustration.

  Nigel Soames loomed up behind him. “Your victims told me, madam,” he said portentously.

  Ivy glared at him. “You talk to the dead, do you? I don’t think the police will take that as evidence.”

  “Possibly not,” said Nigel. “But the fact that you were holding one of your paying guests at knife point in front of witnesses might indicate a certain degree of guilt, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I wasn’t going to kill her,” she protested.

  “No, of course you weren’t. Just like you weren’t going to kill those other women.”

  “It was my husband! He killed them!”

  “No, madam,” said Nigel softly. “You and I both know it wasn’t.”

  Just then, the door opened and three policemen fell in.

  “That was quick,” said Robbie, clutching his throbbing arm.

  “They were already here,” explained Bernard. “Your arm! It’s bleeding! We’d better get you to the hospital pronto.”

  September 1957: Going Home

  Bernard, Robbie and Celia were seated together in the first class compartment of an express train heading for Euston. Their departure from Blackpool had been put back by almost twenty-four hours, what with making police statements, explaining everything to the colonel and John, and spending some time in Accident & Emergency to attend to Robbie’s injured arm. When it had come time to say goodbye, there was a good deal of back slapping and ‘we must see you agains’. There was even a tear or two in the old colonel’s eyes. John could hardly speak he was so full of emotion. They all knew the real truth now: the truth was sad, but it was the truth. There was closure at last. Any last vestige of suspicion hanging over Elmer had been dispelled now; John knew he couldn’t really have killed Mary, but it was good to know for sure.

  John had invited Celia to New York, and somehow Bernard and Robbie got included, although he wasn’t sure how. He guessed it was probably Celia manoeuvring the invitation, to ensure she wasn’t on her own with him. John was a realist; he had no choice. Every time he looked in the mirror he knew that women like Celia Pargeter would never be interested in the likes of him. Not in the way he wanted them to be. There was no fool like an old fool, he thought wisely.

  Colonel Matthew Forwood was comforted that Meriel hadn’t just gone off with another man, that she had had no choice but to desert him. The probability of her death had always been uppermost in his mind; he feared knowing the truth, but now he knew, he could at least mourn her passing properly.

  When they finally left for the station, the thunderstorm that had been threatening for the past two days arrived with a vengeance. They were not sorry to be going home. They splashed happily along the platform towards their train, laughing as they went.

  Bernard was surprised when Robbie had suggested they all treated themselves to a first class train journey back to London; but as he pointed out, they had earned it, after all they had been through.

  Robbie and Celia had declined when he had suggested they go to the restaurant car for refreshment, so Bernard had gone on his own. He had received another letter from Mrs Harper the day before, but what with all the excitement, he hadn’t had the opportunity to read it. As he opened it up, he let it slip onto his knees as he bit into a British Railways ham sandwich and thought about everything that had happened.

 

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