Johnny Swanson - Eleanor Updale [95]
‘Everything’s fine, Mrs Swanson,’ he reassured Winnie as he put away his stethoscope. ‘Keep him off school for a week or two, just to make sure he’s not brewing anything. After that I’ll do regular tests, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about with this splendid young lad.’
The doctor had a copy of the morning paper in his bag. The reporter who had christened Winnie ‘the Bloody Barmaid’ had written an article based on all the nice things he had learned about her during his conversation with Johnny over the apples and cheese.
THE ANGEL OF STAMBLETON
By Our Special Correspondent
Winifred Swanson, the war widow freed from prison (see page 1), was today hailed by friends and neighbours as a credit to the community, caught in a web of intrigue woven by the real killers of Dr Giles Langford. ‘Winnie was always there with a smile and a kind word,’ said Mrs Edna Slack (57). She visited me every day Nothing was too much trouble for her. I was lost without her when she was taken away.’ Millicent Roberts (34) spoke of Mrs Swanson’s devotion to her son, Johnny. ‘She worked all hours to keep a roof over that boy’s head,’ said Mrs Roberts.
WAR HERO
Young Johnny never knew his father, Private Harry Swanson (pictured, right), who was killed in France within days of the end of the war, just a month after his 20th birthday.
BOY DETECTIVE
It was Johnny (11) who rescued his mother from the gallows. Police in charge of the case refused to speak publicly at this stage, but it is believed that they feel great admiration for Johnny’s initiative and tenacity in proving his mother’s innocence and providing evidence which led to the arrest of three new suspects. Johnny, a pupil at
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That afternoon, Johnny went round to the shop, where Hutch had begun repairing the damage from the fight. He went upstairs to collect his rabbit, the Peace Mug and Winnie’s special box of medals and documents. He remembered the twelve remaining ‘transformation’ letters under the mattress. Without regret, he put the postal orders into their stamped addressed envelopes, ready to return them to the poor fools who so badly wanted to change their looks.
When he got downstairs, Hutch was taking delivery of the evening papers. He cut the string on the bundle and opened out the top copy.
‘Hey, Johnny, take a look at this,’ he shouted.
There was a picture of Frederick Bennett on the front page. The headline was in bigger type than usual. Johnny could read it from the other side of the shop: LOCAL SQUIRE ON MURDER CHARGE.
‘But that’s not right,’ said Johnny. ‘I told them. Mrs Langford was the killer, not Bennett.’
‘It’s a different murder,’ said Hutch, reading out the strap-line on the lead story. ‘Actress’s body found in wood. You were right, Johnny. Bennett got his girlfriend out of the way.’
‘What else does it say?’
‘Not much. Remember what that reporter said when your mother was arrested? Once they’ve charged someone, the papers aren’t allowed to print everything they know.’
The bell jangled as the battered shop door opened. ‘I’m glad you were paying attention,’ said a familiar voice. It was the reporter. ‘You’re right. There’s a lot of detail that will have to wait for the trial.’
‘Like what?’ asked Johnny.
‘Like the fact that the link to Bennett was confirmed by the blanket the body was wrapped in. It matches one that’s still in the back of his car.’
Johnny remembered slumbering under that blanket on the journey back from Wales. He shuddered.
The reporter continued. ‘The body was found in a wood more than twenty miles away. It chills me to think of it, but I may have seen the mud from that journey being washed off Bennett’s car.’
Johnny recalled the scene outside Bennett’s house too, but he said nothing.
‘Apparently the body was in such a state