Dead to Me Read online

  As Wilby began making some pastry for a pie, she thought opening a discussion about Verity with Ruby might be a smart move. Anything was better than seeing Ruby with that blank expression on her face, as if she felt there was no light left in her life.

  Archie Wood picked up the poker and prodded the fire viciously to warm up the icy room. He was staying in a run-down boarding house in Ipswich, and he knew it was time to move on because Pearl Marlowe, the landlady, kept asking him more and more questions.

  He wondered why women always had to know every last thing about a man once they’d slept with them, and claimed to be in love. When he’d just been her lodger, renting the back room on the first floor, she’d been bright and funny, happy to have a drink with him when he came in, laughed at his jokes, brought him up tea and toast in the mornings, and didn’t appear to want to know anything about him.

  He’d been Stephen Lyle for months now; sometimes he even forgot it wasn’t his real name. He had his identity card, his ration book, and a few old photos of Stephen’s mother and father too to add weight to his new identity. He’d even got himself a job as concierge at Drury’s Hotel in Ipswich. At least he told people he was the concierge, as it sounded rather grand – in point of fact he was the only male help in the hotel, and so he opened doors, carried in coal and luggage, and did anything else the female staff found difficult. Dressed in a good suit and highly polished shoes, he created the impression that although the hotel was rather shabby, it had class.

  The pay at the hotel was abysmal, but there were perks: a hot meal every day, amenable and attractive staff, and he was in the warm. Furthermore, he often heard items of interest. One of the most useful was that a wealthy widow living alone about ten miles out of Ipswich had been taken into hospital for an emergency operation. The two people he overheard discussing it were concerned that the house might be broken into in her absence. She’d never had help in the house and so there would be no one popping in to keep an eye on things now.

  He went out there the following morning, got in effortlessly through a side door which wasn’t even locked, and found nearly a hundred pounds in cash in her wardrobe and a beautiful sapphire ring amongst her costume jewellery.

  There was a great deal more in that house that he could have taken, but it made him feel quite virtuous not to be greedy. Besides, fencing silver and jewellery was always a risk, the sort of people he dealt with were just as likely to grass him up.

  It was the same night that he ended up in bed with Pearl his landlady too. He’d managed to get his hands on a black market bottle of brandy; they had a few drinks together, and one thing led to another.

  He’d thought she was just another dumb blonde back then, amusing, sexy, warm and fun, but not very bright. She was, after all, almost an iconic seaside-postcard woman, with her bleached hair, big bust and low-cut, tight dresses. He liked her wide blue eyes and her mouth like a scarlet gash. She was his kind of woman, she would never answer him back or volunteer an opinion.

  Before Christmas he’d done a few jobs that had brought in quite a bit of money. He’d gambled some of it, and while on a winning streak he’d bought Pearl a fox-fur stole. She was delighted with it, but smilingly asked why – if he had enough money to buy her such an expensive gift – was he staying at her sorry little place?

  He got himself out of that one by telling her he’d cashed in some shares he’d been holding on to for years. She appeared to believe that, but it wasn’t long before there were many more questions. Sometimes the questions came right after they’d been making love. Did he have any children? Was his wife dead? If so, what did she die of? The questions went on and on, it was as if she wanted his whole former life charted out in front of her.

  At first he thought it was just plain jealousy, because she felt he’d had some kind of grand, privileged life. She had been married to a surly fisherman at seventeen, brought two sons up on next to nothing, only for them to join the navy as soon as they were old enough.

  The fisherman husband had died in an accident at sea back in 1937, and she got just enough insurance money to furnish this rented house and let out rooms.

  But as he got to know Pearl better, he realized he’d been wrong in thinking she was just a dumb, lonely widow reaching out for the love and security she’d never had. He’d seen flashes of sharp intellect now and then. Indeed, it was probable that she suspected he was on the run, perhaps he’d even let something slip when he’d been drinking, and that she intended to use it to her advantage.

  Pearl wanted money, that much was plain, and she thought he had it but wasn’t sharing it with her. It was only a matter of time before she revealed her hand, and if he disappointed her there was no telling what she’d do. So there was nothing for it but to leave. And that was a shame, because he liked it here, especially his job at the hotel.

  He heard the key turn in the lock and sighed, because now he’d have to wait another day before going. Another day of telling her he loved her, that once the war was over he could claim his inheritance from his parents, and that together they could start a new life.

  ‘Why are you sitting there by the fire, Stephen?’ she asked as soon as she was through the door. ‘You said you’d paint the window frames in the back bedroom.’

  He looked up at her. She was wearing a midnight-blue coat and a black beret-style hat perched on the side of her blonde curls. As always, she looked lovely; few would guess she was forty-five, she could pass for thirty.

  ‘I wasn’t feeling too good,’ he said. The truth was he’d forgotten, but he wasn’t going to admit that. ‘I thought paint fumes would make me feel worse. And besides, I’ve got a shift at Drury’s at four this afternoon.’

  ‘I find it funny that you only have spells of not feeling good when I’ve asked you to do something for me,’ she said waspishly. ‘I might start feeling poorly myself instead of making the tea, or washing and ironing your shirts.’

  ‘Don’t take that tone with me,’ he said, jumping to his feet, anger welling up inside him.

  ‘I’ll take whatever tone I like,’ she said, tossing her head defiantly. ‘This is my house and you already get far more privileges than any of the other guests.’

  ‘Sleeping with you? Is that a privilege? I’ve heard that you sleep with any of your guests who you think might have a few bob.’

  The moment the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. It might possibly be true, but it wasn’t wise to make her angry.

  ‘You’ve had the privilege of me not going down to the police station and asking them if you are on their wanted list,’ she fired back. Her blue eyes sparkled with malice, and the speed with which the implied threat had come out of her mouth suggested she’d had it on her mind for some time.

  ‘That’s a ridiculous thing to say,’ he blustered. ‘As if I’d take a job in a hotel if I was wanted!’

  ‘You could with a false identity. The police are too busy right now chasing up black marketeers, deserters and local criminals to check out the Londoner in the smart suit hiding away in their town.’

  Archie sprang forward and caught her by the throat, pressing his thumbs on to her windpipe. ‘How dare you speak to me like that,’ he raged at her. ‘You’re just a cheap little tart, stuck in a dirty little town, even your sons don’t come back to visit you.’

  She kicked his shin, and it hurt, but that made him squeeze her throat harder and harder. All at once her eyes were popping, her face turning purple, until her bucking body became still.

  He let go of her and she slumped to the floor, her coat and dress riding up to show her stocking tops.

  For a few moments he just stood there, panting and looking down at her, shocked that it had all blown up so quickly and that he’d lost his temper.

  He didn’t feel remorse exactly. He was glad she was dead, because now she couldn’t talk to anyone. But he would have preferred to kill her away from this house, at least make it look like it had been done by a random madman.

 
; Pulling himself together, he closed the door through to the hall. He didn’t think there were any guests in upstairs, but someone could come back at any time. Then, opening the door which led down to the cellar, he lifted Pearl up, slung her over his shoulder and carried her down the cellar steps.

  She stored apples and potatoes from her garden, bottled fruit and jams down here. Shelves lined the walls, food stuff in one area, paint in another, and coal at the far end beneath a hatch that lifted up outside for deliveries. There was an old pram too, which must have been used for her boys. The sight of that made him wish he hadn’t taunted her about them not coming home. She didn’t really deserve that.

  He laid her down on a pile of old sacks, and saw her stocking tops were visible again. He put one hand on her plump, soft thigh, and felt a sudden arousal. But he shook it off, pulled her coat and dress down over her knees and went back up the stairs.

  Locking the cellar door, he poked the key down through a crack in the floorboards. With luck she wouldn’t be missed for a few days, and it would be even longer before a search was organized.

  His fingerprints were everywhere. But it would be pointless to try and wipe everything clean, as he’d be bound to miss one or two. All he could hope for was that the police wouldn’t question that the prints belonged to Stephen Lyle. They might find out he was thought to have been killed in the Blitz, they might even connect him with the murder of Mildred Find too. But that should keep them busy enough. And with London being bombed again now, they were unlikely to find any thread to connect Stephen Lyle with Archie Wood.

  Now he must pack his clothes and leave. London first. He’d have time on the train to plan where to go next, and how he was going to find a new identity.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  ‘Wilby, are you really suggesting we poke into Verity’s private letters? Shame on you!’ Ruby said in her most haughty voice, but then grinned because Wilby looked so guilty.

  ‘In my defence I will say she’s told us in the past that they weren’t soppy ones,’ Wilby said. ‘It just strikes me as odd that a man as level-headed and kindly as Miller sounds, who in his own words said Verity was “the one”, should suddenly write and say he’d met someone else. Neither of us met him, we can only go on what Verity has told us, but if we read his letters to her, we’ll get an understanding of what kind of man he is.’

  ‘She’s read bits of them to me,’ Ruby said. ‘I had hoped for something more titillating, they were lovely, very poetic letters, but not passionate.’

  ‘So does that mean you think he found passion with someone new?’

  Ruby screwed up her forehead as she considered the question. ‘Maybe, but if he had, wouldn’t the “Dear John” letter have alluded to that? I mean wouldn’t he say something like, “I thought it was the real thing with you, but now the real thing has come along I see you were just a very good friend.” That’s putting it a bit bluntly, but you get the general idea?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Wilby said. ‘Mind you, that’s a hard thing for anyone to say, especially if you are trying to let someone down gently.’

  ‘Then let’s do it,’ Ruby said, suddenly looking animated in the way she used to before the bombing. ‘We won’t read all his letters, just a random selection, and compare it with the final one.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll get them,’ Wilby said, getting to her feet. ‘This is a bit cloak and dagger, isn’t it? Verity would be furious, if she knew.’

  Ruby looked up at Wilby, suddenly feeling a surge of love for this woman who’d done so much for her. Under normal circumstances she knew Wilby would never sneak a look at anyone’s private letters, but Ruby sensed this was a ploy to get her involved with something as much as it was about sorting things for Verity.

  Half an hour later, the pair of them were reading a selection of six letters from Miller, and then the Dear John one.

  ‘You are right, Wilby,’ Ruby said ‘The Dear John has got a different tone. He should sound apologetic, sad even, but instead he sounds hurt. That line, “I came to a different world up here, I’ve found I’m not the man I was in London.” Even when he says about falling for this other girl, she is “a quiet wee thing who fits into the forest like a rabbit or a pheasant”. What kind of barmy talk is that? What man wants a girl like a rabbit or a pheasant?’

  Wilby laughed, Ruby had always been good at saying exactly what she meant. ‘Yes, it doesn’t sound as if he lusts after her, and surely the only thing that would make a man throw a girl like Verity over is red-hot lust!’

  ‘Ooh, Wilby,’ Ruby said, pretending to be shocked. ‘What would you know about such things?’

  ‘I’ve had my moments,’ Wilby said, folding her arms and trying to look fierce. ‘So if Miller’s heart wasn’t really in it, why would he pack Verity in?’

  ‘Because he wanted to see other women without guilt?’ Ruby suggested. ‘Or he just got cold feet at the thought of this leading to marriage? Or he did it to save face, because someone told him something about Verity?’

  ‘Who could tell him something about her? Did he have friends in London who might have been watching Verity?’

  Ruby shook her head. ‘I don’t think he knew anyone much in London except her.’

  ‘What motive would anyone have for splitting them up?’ Wilby asked.

  ‘Maybe Verity had a girlfriend who was jealous?’

  ‘Or a man who wanted Verity for himself?’ Wilby said.

  ‘The only person she’s ever mentioned to me as being a special friend was that girl who shared her house. I think she said she was called Amy,’ Ruby said. ‘But she didn’t become pals with her until after Miller had gone to Scotland.’

  ‘Maybe this Amy wanted her pal to go out dancing and suchlike, but Verity wouldn’t out of loyalty to Miller?’ Wilby suggested. ‘That could be a reason to split them up!’

  ‘From what Verity said about Amy, I can’t see her being that devious. Besides, she shot off one day, left the house and her job without giving Verity a reason. That was after Mr Wood came back and moved in.’

  ‘Ah ha,’ Wilby exclaimed. ‘Mr Wood! Doesn’t everything seem to come back to him?’

  Ruby shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t see how he could have had any part in Miller dropping Verity. Mr Wood never met Miller, as far as I know.’

  ‘Just suppose Mr Wood threatened Amy to get rid of her, because he wanted to be able to control Verity. Wouldn’t he want to get Miller out of the picture too, in case he turned up and got in the way?’

  ‘So how would he do that?’ Ruby asked. ‘It wouldn’t be any good just writing to Miller and threatening him, Miller wasn’t the kind to accept that.’

  ‘What if he wrote him a clever letter telling him something really bad about Verity, and suggested Miller save face by writing her a Dear John?’

  ‘It sounds a bit implausible to me,’ Ruby shook her head. ‘Do gentle souls like Miller care about saving face?’

  ‘Well, it depends what that rat wrote. He could have told Miller she was pregnant by another man, or that she’d caught a social disease – anything, really.’

  ‘A social disease, what’s that?’ Ruby laughed. ‘Is it like “Come-to-tea-itis”?’

  Wilby spluttered with laughter. ‘No, it’s one of those nasty diseases you get from sex. Soldiers get them in brothels.’

  ‘Oh, you mean syphilis and the like?’

  ‘Yes, dear, but let’s not dwell on that sort of thing, it’s so very vulgar.’

  Ruby smiled. ‘Well, why don’t we write to Miller ourselves? Tell him a bit about what Verity’s been through and say we have our suspicions that Archie Wood may have thrown a spanner in their works. If Miller did really want to pack Verity in, he’ll just ignore our letter. But if not, and he’s still pining for her, he might write back. It’s worth a try!’

  Wilby looked at Ruby’s flushed cheeks and the new sparkle in her eyes and felt that anything which made her look so animated was a good thing. It might not work out. Miller might be h
appy with his little woodland rabbit. Verity might be furious at them for interfering. And Bevan was likely to be cross that they didn’t consider his feelings, either. But as Ruby said, it was worth a try.

  Archie decided on the train to London that he would call himself David Close. The name had come to him out of nowhere, but he liked it. He pondered for some time on how to get some kind of proof of identification together. It was an offence not to carry an identity card, and although he hadn’t been asked by the police to show his yet, it was likely to happen before long. He needed a ration book too.

  On the one hand, with the Luftwaffe making night-time raids on London again, he could probably get around unchallenged, or even unnoticed, but on the other hand he did have a contact in Bermondsey to get a forged identity card. But he didn’t fancy staying in London; the police were sharper, people were naturally suspicious, and if he was forced to go into a bomb shelter he’d have to endure questions.

  So where else could he go?

  The north of England, the Midlands or Wales were out of the question. The natives were always curious about someone who didn’t share their accent. Bristol was a possibility, a big city and a pleasant one. There were docks there too, people constantly coming and going, which was good. He would go there, but first he’d go and see the man in Bermondsey for his identity card.

  Ruby took her time writing to Miller, as she wanted to get the tone exactly right. She needed to make it quite clear Verity knew nothing of her inquiry, as she’d accepted he had a new lady in his life. She felt she must also point out that Verity had suffered a great deal at her stepfather’s hands, and she suspected the man had in some way engineered Miller to call it off with Verity, so that he could more easily control her.

  She didn’t belabour the point of the physical and mental abuse Verity had suffered, leaving that to his imagination when she said she and Wilby had brought Verity to Babbacombe when she was released from hospital. But she said Verity was now working for the Post Office in the Torquay area.