Perseverance Street (30 page)

‘So, do you think Bannister might go for Randle?’

‘Doubt it. Bannister’s just one copper, and only a sergeant at that. The police obviously don’t think this case merits a senior officer. Jimmy, you speak Italian, what I want to know is did you ever hear any of the Italians talking about children?’

‘And saying what, exactly?’

‘That’s just it. I don’t know why an Italian would want to buy a British child.’

‘Are
we talking … perverts here?’ said Jimmy, shocked. ‘I’ve heard about such stuff, but surely not to a little lad like that.’

‘We must hope not, Jimmy. I know one thing, the army wouldn’t want anything like that to get out. One of their own sergeants abducting a child for whatever purpose. It’d be worse than treason in the eyes of the public.’

‘Bloody hell! Too true. That’d be hushed up and no mistake.’

‘The police don’t seem too keen on investigating it either,’ said Charlie. ‘They’d sooner believe Lily killed her boy and buried his body somewhere.’

‘Did Randle say anything else?’

‘He said the Italian was a real fascist bastard.’

‘That might narrow it down a bit. We had over two hundred of them. A few were dyed-in-the-wool fascists, but not too many. Most of ’em hated the war – and Mussolini.’

‘I know,’ said Charlie. ‘I actually worked with that group of partisans who captured old Musso back in April and executed him and his mistress. They were merciless buggers, I tell you. I once handed them a couple of Eyetie SS lads who were trying to rape an Italian woman; dread to think what happened to them. Their top commander was an Italian count called Pedro Bellini, but I mainly dealt with a local bloke called Leonardo. I used to call him Loony Lennie – lucky for me he didn’t speak a word of English.’

Charlie went quiet for a while as his mind drifted back to his time with the Italian partisans, then he came back to the present.

‘Anyway,
this bloke also had a lot of money – or access to it. I’m thinking he spotted that Randle was as bent as a nine-bob note and made an approach to him. I’m guessing he was an officer; wealthy Italians tend to be officers.’

Jimmy shook his head. ‘I can’t think of anyone. I didn’t have much to do with them, actually.’

‘Could you ask around? Randle said he was a real fascist
when you got to know him
. This tells me that he hid his fascism.’

‘The known fascists weren’t allowed the same privileges as the cooperators,’ said Jimmy. ‘My guess is that this bloke was a cooperator because it suited him. If he was an officer he wouldn’t have been made to do any work like the non-coms.’

‘So, you’re looking for a secret fascist who’s probably an officer and rich enough to pay two grand for a small child.’

‘Two grand?’ Jimmy whistled. ‘That’s quite a few years’ pay for Randle. I can see why he’d be persuaded to do something like that.’

‘Would two grand tempt you to steal a child from its mother?’

‘I bloody hope not!’

‘No, me neither, nor any half decent bloke, but we’re talking about Randle who also tried to murder Lily, by the way.’

‘I know that, Bannister mentioned it.’ Jimmy looked at Charlie and said, ‘She’s a bit of a looker, this Lily. Are you and her …?’ He gave a meaningful nod, with eyebrows raised.

‘I like
her a lot.’

‘Which is why you’re going to all this trouble, putting your neck on the line for her. Does she like you a lot?’

‘We get on OK, but she’s got too much on her plate to bother with romance.’

‘There’s something else I meant to ask you,’ said Jimmy pointedly. ‘I was reading in the paper about that baby boy who was taken from his pram in Leeds. Apparently he was in the care of his grandparents – Jane and Godfrey Robinson. I remember when Lily was telling us about her in-laws looking after Michael she mentioned her father-in-law’s name. And there can’t be too many Godfrey Robinsons looking after their six-month-old grandsons in Leeds. So I assume it was him.’

‘So?’

‘So – you haven’t mentioned a word about Lily’s other son being abducted, which you would if it worried you.’

‘You think I took him?’

‘Did you?’

Charlie’s shrug told its own story.

‘You need to be on your guard, mate,’ warned Jimmy. ‘They could throw the key away on you after what you’ve done for Lily.’ He finished off his pint and plonked the glass down on the table. ‘Anyway, I’ll ask around and do what I can, but a lot of the blokes on guard duty now weren’t here when the Eyeties were. Quite a few went over with the D-Day lot.’

‘I know you’ll do your best, Jimmy.’

Bernard Randle
had a half smile on his face as he walked into his house. It wasn’t an expression Edith had seen too much of recently. It was a week after Charlie had met Jimmy in the Malton pub.

‘You look like the cat that got the cream.’

Randle’s grin broadened. ‘I’m the cat who’s just been discharged from the army. Too psychologically damaged by that psycho pal of Robinson to serve another day.’

‘What? Discharged on mental health grounds?’ said Edith, getting up from her chair to look at the contents of an envelope he’d just taken from his pocket.

‘Medical grounds,’ said Randle. ‘Honourable discharge on full pension, plus ninety pounds demob money and a new suit,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘Pack your bags Edith, we’re away from here in the morning.’

‘Leaving? Where to?’

‘Bournemouth.’

‘Bournemouth? At this time of year?’

‘It’s an overcoat warmer down there, Edith, even in November. We’ll find some digs then set about finding ourselves a house. We could have a nice new home by Christmas.’

‘What
about all our furniture and stuff?’

‘Most of it’s too old to be worth anything. Leave it for the next mug who comes to stay here. We’ll just take the odds and ends that are worth taking.’

‘I’ve been thinking we could buy a boarding house with the money we’ve got put away,’ Edith said.

‘I don’t care what we do. I just want to get away from this place and away from that bloody Robinson woman and her vicious bloody cronies. She’s getting too much of a nuisance, Edith. I don’t want that lunatic pal of hers coming after me again. We need to make a clean break.’

He hadn’t mentioned to her that he’d told his attacker about an Italian who’d bought Michael for £2,000. Better she didn’t know this. No one would ever know who this Italian was, much less track him down. He’d arranged to have his army pension paid into his bank as he had no forwarding address as yet.

‘Do we have to tell the army where we’ve moved to?’

‘Edith, right now thousands of men are leaving the army every month. Most have got homes to go to, many haven’t. The army’s got better things to do than to keep track of all its old soldiers.’

‘What about the police? Won’t they want to know where you are?’

‘Why should they? I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘What about the boy? Supposing he gets found?’

‘And how’s that going to happen? He’s a thousand miles away, and the police have no way of tracking him down. By now he’ll have a different name, a different identity and he’ll be learning a different language. What’s more he’s probably forgotten who his real mother is. Kids of that age don’t have much of a memory. The lad’ll have a far better life ahead of him than he would
living with that Robinson cow.’

Tuesday 27th November 1945.

Christopher
had been officially missing for a month and Michael for seven months. Bannister was getting fed up with Lily’s constant phoning. Her distress was genuine, fuelled by the lack of progress in finding Michael, about whom she also asked. She found the detective a good outlet for her frustration at the police’s reluctance to spend too much time looking for her older boy.

‘Has any progress been made in the search for my boys?’

His reply was always the same: ‘Nothing yet, I’m afraid, but we’ll be in touch the minute something breaks.’

‘Do you still believe I killed Michael, because while you do you’re not going to put your heart and soul into looking for him?’

‘We have no evidence to support that, Mrs Robinson.’

‘What about the rumour that Randle sold him to an Italian soldier?’

‘The only person I’ve heard that rumour from is Mr Cleghorn.’

‘It
was in the papers, Mr Bannister.’

Dee had eventually persuaded Henry Smithson to publish the story of the rumour in the
Craven Herald
. No mention of Randle, just that a British army soldier was rumoured to have abducted a missing Leeds boy and sold him to an Italian POW. A couple of nationals had picked it up but, with nothing to substantiate it, the story occupied just a couple of column inches in one edition before being dropped.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Robinson. We can’t allocate police resources to a lead based on a rumour.’

Charlie’s mother, Mary Cleghorn, had proved an invaluable help in looking after Christopher. On the days when Lily went to work the market with Dee they’d worked out a routine whereby Mary would reverse her car to the end of Dee’s drive and the baby was transferred from house to car without being seen by curious eyes. Lily had gone back to work in Leeds market, despite her altercation with Hilda Muscroft. Dee had suggested this as a further ruse to throw the police off the scent as to Christopher’s whereabouts.

‘They know I work Leeds market,’ she’d said. ‘I’ve been told they’ve been asking around about me – and you for that matter. Stands to reason they’ll keep an eye on my stall from time to time. If they see you and me there, and no Christopher, it’ll reinforce our story and keep them off our backs.’

The police did keep off their backs, as did Hilda Muscroft, who still visited the market but gave Dee’s stall a wide berth. The fact that Lily still had the cheek to work there, after all the trouble she gone through to shame her, frustrated her no end.

Jimmy’s
investigations around camp about this wealthy Italian fascist POW who might have shown an interest in children had come to a swift halt. He’d been foolish enough to mention Randle’s name in connection with his enquiries and word had very quickly got back to Major Bykers. Jimmy ended up being hauled in front of the officer and given a dressing down.

‘As you no doubt know, Sergeant Dunkersley, one person has already been reduced to ranks for starting this unseemly rumour, do you wish to follow in her footsteps?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Then not another word about it, Sergeant.’

‘Sir.’

Lily and Dee had just got back from Skipton market when she sat down and mentioned that her son had been missing for seven months to the day.

‘Seven months is a long time in the life of a four year old, Auntie Dee. I know kids of that age forget things very quickly. Do you think he’ll have forgotten me by now?’

Dee had put an arm round her. ‘His memory might fade, Lily girl, but not his love for his real mum. If you walked in on him right now he’d know you instantly. Wherever he is, no matter how well he’s being looked after, he won’t be getting a proper mother’s love. Kids forget many things but not that.’

‘Do you
really believe that, Auntie Dee?’

‘Oh, I know it, love.’

Half an hour later the phone rang. Dee answered.

‘Could I speak to Lily Robinson please?’

‘Who’s speaking?’

‘My name’s Brenda – Brenda Witherspoon from Eden camp. Lily knows who I am.’

‘Lily,’ called out Dee, ‘it’s Brenda Witherspoon.’

Lily came to the phone, murmuring, ‘Oh dear. I got her demoted … Hello, Brenda. Look, I’m sorry about what happened.’

‘What? Oh, never mind that. I’m leaving the army at Christmas. Just got engaged. I’ll be an RAF officer’s wife on Valentine’s Day.’

‘Oh, congratulations.’

‘Thanks. Look I should have been ringing you a month ago but Jimmy never told me, you see. He only mentioned it today when I found out he’d had a roasting back then from the CO.’

‘Mentioned what?’

‘About Major Mancini, the Italian who was asking about kids. Well, I say asking, it just came up in general conversation. He was a nice bloke and we got talking—’

‘What?’ exclaimed Lily. ‘You know an Italian who was asking about children?’

‘Well, yeah. He kind of confided in me that he and his wife couldn’t have children of their own. Men do that, you know. Confide in me. I’m a good listener.’

‘I see.’

Lily tried to contain her excitement. This phone call could lead her to her son.

‘I used
to take the post across to the prisoners’ compound,’ said Brenda. ‘Obviously, this was before the Italians left and after they’d surrendered, so the security levels were relaxed a bit. Prior to that we weren’t allowed to fraternise with the enemy, so there were a few months before they left when I got quite friendly with one or two of them.’

‘And this Major Mancini – you got friendly with him?’

Brenda giggled. ‘Only to talk to. He’s a bit too old for me – anyway he’s married.’

‘And rich, I’m betting.’

‘I got that impression. And Jimmy mentioned this bloke he’d been looking for might be one of them fascists.’

‘And is Mancini a fascist?’

‘Well, I never heard him grumbling about Hitler or Mussolini like some of the others. I think he only signed up as a cooperator so he could enjoy the privileges without being made to do manual work – with him being an officer. He told me he didn’t need the money.’

‘Do you mean he had money inside the camp?’

‘He was never short of a bob or two when he needed it.’

‘Where did he get it from? Through the post?’

‘No, all post was checked, even after the surrender.’

‘So someone on the outside must have been handing it to him.’

‘I imagine so. It wouldn’t have been too difficult. They were all allowed out of camp under curfew. He might well have had pals on the outside who gave him money.’

‘They
sound more like sympathisers than pals,’ said Lily. ‘Fascist sympathisers. I mean, where’s an Italian going to find pals like that in Yorkshire? The people round here have barely enough money to feed themselves. It had to be British fascists who were acting as some sort of go-betweens from Italy to here.’