Authors: Maureen Reynolds
Vera had been looking through a large photograph album. ‘I’m trying to remember how Robina looked when she was young. It’s hard to imagine ever being children. Robina was never a pretty child, while I was. I don’t think she ever forgave me for that. Imagine, having animosity for something you can’t help. I never asked to be pretty.’ She sounded bitter. ‘Anyway, it’s all over now and she’s at rest. I went to her flat this morning and everything she owned fitted in one suitcase. There are some nice pieces of furniture but they will be sold, along with the flat, and the proceeds will go to the convent in Dublin where she spent most of her adult life.’
Molly said that it probably wouldn’t be a big estate. Vera explained bitterly, ‘She’s left £75,000 pounds in her will. She made me her executor and the solicitor in Dublin has sent me a copy of the will. There will be funeral expenses to come from it but the rest goes to the Sisters of the Poor in the convent.’
Molly could hardly take it in. ‘Where did she get all that money from?’
Vera explained about her genius on the stocks and shares market. Molly suddenly felt so sad for Robina. She had lived her life in simplicity but had obviously been quite successful with the stock market. She wasn’t sure if the Sisters of the Poor were allowed to gamble like this but Vera said Robina had never become a nun, and had simply been a teacher at the convent school.
Molly was about to say goodbye when Vera went to put the kettle on. ‘Stay and have a coffee with me,’ she said.
Out of curiosity, Molly picked up the album. Its pages were full of sepia-toned photographs but there were also a lot of black and white ones. Molly was amused by the old-fashioned clothes worn by the wives of the stiff-backed young soldiers, probably taken before the Boer War, and then there were others from the Great War. Someone had written the names of the people in the photo, the places and the dates in meticulous handwriting. Molly thought this was an excellent idea, for so often people were forgotten by the younger generation and the photos just became a collection of faces.
She was on the verge of putting the album down when one particular photo caught her eye. A man was standing beside a farm gate, a young woman by his side, and in the background loomed a large farmhouse. Molly felt herself go cold and she gasped for breath. She quickly flipped the page and came across the photo of Dave and Etta that Vera had shown her all those weeks ago. An old envelope was placed between these pages and on it was written ‘Etta’s birth certificate’. With shaking fingers, Molly slipped the certificate from the envelope and the truth suddenly struck her like a slap in the face. How had she managed to miss what was right in front of her?
She jumped up, giving Vera a fright. ‘I have to go, Vera,’ she said. ‘Can I borrow these photos, please?’ She didn’t want to alarm her by asking for the birth certificate as well but this could be easily picked up afterwards.
Vera asked, ‘What photos do you want?’ She looked at the older one and said, ‘Oh, that’s Dave’s father and my mother. My dad took that photo on Dave’s uncle’s farm. We lived near Dave’s family in those days. That’s how we met and got married.’
As Molly put her coat on, Vera said, ‘I’d like the photos back, please, when you’ve finished with them.’
Molly promised she would look after them and return them soon. The pavement was more slippery when she reached the street but she tried to hurry as quickly as she could. She couldn’t believe how stupid she had been. Before going to the office, Molly got the car from Paradise Road and parked it in Baltic Street.
Jean looked up when Molly hurried in through the door but before she could speak, Molly said, ‘Jean, I want you to phone DS Johns at the police station and tell him to come to this address. Tell him it’s urgent and that I’ve gone there to wait on him. Also, tell him I’ve found Dave and Etta Barton.’
She scribbled the address on Jean’s pad. Jean was worried. ‘Should you maybe not wait till I get in touch with him, so he can take charge of this, Molly?’
‘No, I may even be too late, but I’ve got to try and stop her leaving.’ Was that why the attacks had stopped? Because she had gone away? Molly knew if that was the case, then she would be lost forever.
The road wasn’t very good. Overnight frost had left icy patches but Molly tried to keep up a reasonable speed. The hills were white with snow and a low mist was forming on the tops. It would soon be dark but Molly reckoned on having another couple of hours of daylight left. Not that there was much light to begin with because of the overcast and misty conditions.
When she reached the farm road end, she saw the ‘For Sale’ sign was missing. Did this mean the farm was sold? Maybe they had taken it off the market. There was a small parking space beside the track and Molly reversed into it. There was no place to hide the car but by the time Charlie arrived, there would be no more need of this pretence.
She had to watch her step as she climbed the rough track, as there were deep potholes filled with slush and water. The trees grew close to the path and their branches were white with frost. She took her time, almost expecting a car to come hurtling down towards her, but everything was quiet apart from the low sound of a tractor, which must have been in one of the fields.
The house was in darkness and as Molly skirted around it, she looked through the grimy windows to see cardboard boxes piled up, confirming that the occupants were planning a move. She found the black car in a small garage at the edge of the house. The door was open and Molly wondered if someone was inside. She crouched low and tried to make her way towards the car but she was taken suddenly by surprise by George. He was carrying a large stick and he snarled at her, ‘What do you think you’re doing? I’m going to get my stepfather to put the police on you. Did you think we had already left and you would steal something?’ He was quite fat and had close-cropped grey hair. He wore a pair of dirty dungarees over a bulky, polo-necked jumper and mud-encrusted Wellington boots.
Molly tried to stay calm. ‘I’ve come to see your stepfather, but I’ll wait till he comes back from the field.’ Molly saw the tractor on the steep hill. ‘Eck’s busy feeding the animals. He’ll be quite a while yet, so you better come back another day. I’ll tell him you called.’
‘No, I’ll wait,’ she said.
‘Then you better come inside.’ He opened the door into the kitchen and the heat hit her in the face. ‘We like to keep it cosy when we get in from the fields.’ He shoved a chair at her. ‘Sit down and make yourself welcome.’
Molly was becoming anxious. Where was Charlie? Then, she suddenly had a dreadful feeling. What if he was out on a job and didn’t get the message till he came back? That could be hours? Why had she been so foolhardy in coming here without him? ‘I think I will come back tomorrow to see your stepfather.’
She went to stand up but the blow hit her hard on the back of the head and she felt herself falling onto the flagstone floor.
‘Oh, I don’t think you will,’ he said as he left the kitchen and locked the door.
Molly tried to get up but she felt sick and dizzy. She lay still for a few moments and gingerly touched the back of her head, feeling warm blood, but she had to stop them leaving the farm. She managed to drag herself to the window and she could see George’s bulky figure running towards the tractor. She tried the door but it was a thick wooden one that was built to withstand fire, earthquake and flood.
The window was her best bet but she still felt woozy and faint and she had to hold onto the window ledge to let the feeling pass. The window was as strong as the door but just as she was on the point of giving up, the blue lamp of a police car lit up the yard. She knocked loudly on the window and Charlie hurried over. He had to break the window to get it open but she was soon standing outside.
Charlie was furious with her. ‘I’ll deal with you later, Molly,’ he said angrily. He hurried after Constable Williams, who was striding up the snow-covered hill.
The car was still flashing its blue light and George seemed mesmerised by this. He stopped but shouted at his stepfather that the police were here. Molly saw the tractor wobble a little, then overturn. Charlie rushed to the scene to find Eck Barr lying beside it.
Charlie shouted to Molly, ‘Phone for an ambulance. Tell them it’s urgent.’
Molly went inside the house. It took her some time to find the telephone; it was in a small office at the back of the house. While she waited on it, she felt the blood on her hair becoming stiff. She now had a terrible headache but it was her own fault.
George sat in sullen silence at the other end of the table and Constable Williams, who had now come back from the hill, stood beside the door. George said, ‘I didn’t mean to hit her but I thought she was a thief. She was heading for the garage when I saw her.’
The policeman said nothing but continued to stand to attention. Charlie had stayed with the injured man. The ambulance didn’t take long to come and he was carried off to the infirmary. ‘He’s still alive,’ said the driver, ‘but it doesn’t look good.’
Molly was put in the ambulance along with Eck Barr and the police constable accompanied them. Meanwhile, Charlie took George to the station in the police car. Molly asked about her car as she stepped into the ambulance but Charlie said he would come for it later. He didn’t look at Molly and she knew he was angry with her for coming on her own.
When they reached the infirmary, the injured man was whisked off for an examination while Molly had her head wound cleaned and stitched. The doctor said, ‘It’s not a large cut but it’s deep, so I’ve put in a couple of stitches.’ He had to cut her hair to do this and she was worried about having a bald patch but he said the rest of her hair would hide it.
Charlie arrived back at the hospital about an hour later. ‘I’ve put George into custody, as I want to question his stepfather. Now, what’s this all about, Molly?’
She took the photos from her coat pocket. ‘I found these in Vera Barton’s photo album.’ She explained who the people were. ‘Can you see the resemblance? Eck Barr is the image of Dave Barton’s father. And look at the farm.’
He looked at the photos and nodded. ‘Yes, I see.’
Molly explained her one and only visit to the farm. ‘I met Eck but not George. I remember thinking Eck looked familiar then but I couldn’t place him. George was working in the field and although he passed through the corridor, I never saw his face. And then I saw Etta’s birth certificate – her full name is Georgette. I think these two people are Dave Barton and his daughter Etta.’
Charlie said he would question the man if the doctors allowed it. ‘I’ll have to get a message to Vera Barton to come here and identify him.’ He got in touch with the station and they sent a policeman to bring Vera up to the ward.
Molly wanted to know, ‘Did George say anything when you got to the station?’
‘No, she – we’d better start calling her a woman – said she didn’t mean to hit you but she thought you were there to steal her car.’
The doctor appeared and said. ‘It’s not looking good for Mr Barr. Is there any family you can contact, as he won’t last the night.’
Charlie was hoping to talk to him. ‘Can I see him for a few moments, doctor?’
‘Don’t be too long. I don’t think he’ll manage to talk.’
Molly stayed at the accident and emergency room while Charlie went into the small side room. The man was lying very still. The doctor said, ‘He’s suffered massive internal injuries.’
Charlie sat by the side of the bed. ‘Mr Barton, can you tell me why you are impersonating Lenny Barr, or “Eck” as you told Miss McQueen?’
For a minute or more there was no response, then he opened his eyes. ‘It was an accident. He fell over the cliff and I tried to grab him but couldn’t.’
‘But why did you leave and take his identity? Surely it would have been viewed as an accident if you had told the police that at the time.’
His breathing became laboured. ‘I wanted to get away … start a new life. I never wanted Etta to come with me but she insisted, so I had to let her come along.’
‘Was Etta with you that day?’
‘No, I met Lenny by chance and he came with me.’ He shut his eyes and the doctor said that was enough questions.
Vera arrived in a flurry of raindrops and squeaky rubber boots. She was out of breath. ‘What’s happened, Molly?’
By now, Charlie had joined her. ‘It’s your husband Dave. He’s been living under an assumed identity.’
Vera let out a cry. ‘It can’t be Dave. He would never do this to me. I want to see him.’
Charlie put his hand on her arm. ‘He’s very ill and not expected to make it through the night.’
‘I still want to see him.’ She went into the room with Charlie following behind. She turned. ‘I’d like to be alone with him if you don’t mind.’
Charlie went and sat beside Molly. She now had a thumping headache and just wanted to be at home in her bed.
In the little room, Vera sat beside a husband she had long thought dead. She took his hand. ‘Dave? What made you do this, and where is Etta?’
He tried to turn his head to look at her but the pain must have been too bad as a spasm showed on his face. His voice was a hoarse whisper. Vera had to lean over to him to hear what he was saying, then she nodded and held his hand. Dave Barton died at eight o’clock that night. His wife Vera was by his side and a car had brought Etta to be with him at the end.
Vera didn’t recognise her daughter at first. She said, ‘I’ve been searching for you for years. Why did you both disappear and leave me living in limbo?’
‘Dad needed me more than you did so I went away with him. Lenny had an accident but Dad thought he would be blamed and put into jail.’
‘But you pretended to be a lad and look at you. Your lovely hair has been chopped off and you’re wearing these old muddy clothes. You always took a pride in your appearance, Etta.’
Charlie came into the waiting room where they were sitting and asked Etta to come back with him to the station. Vera said she wanted to be with her daughter, so she came as well. Charlie and PC Williams took her to the interview room. Charlie began by asking about the day of the accident. ‘Were you with your father on that day in Arbroath, Etta?’