Warning at One

by Ann Purser

  Alastair, seething behind the curtains of his front window, turned to the woman by his side and said, "Sod it all! There she goes, hopping on the bus like she'd just been visiting a sick relative." He turned away and gave the woman a shove. "Get me a drink. And pronto. Then go to your room. I need to think."

  WHEN THE CALL CAME, LOIS WAS DOZING IN AN ARMCHAIR, digesting one of Gran's three-decker sandwich lunches. "Hello? Who's that?" She struggled awake as Derek thrust the telephone into her hand.

  "Oh, Mrs. Meade, I'm really worried about Dot." It was Evelyn Nimmo. "She was supposed to be here for lunch before she went to work in Gordon Street, but she didn't turn up. I've tried and tried to ring her, but no reply. It's not like her, Mrs. M."

  Lois agreed that Dot was a good timekeeper, and said that she would be at Braeside this afternoon, but should be free at five at the latest. "In spite of appearances," she said, laughing, "Dot is usually a reliable member of my team."

  Evelyn did not laugh in return. She asked if Lois had any idea where Dot might have been, and Lois realised she was very anxious. "Shall I call Mrs. Blairgowrie? See if Dot has turned up there?"

  After Evelyn had rung off, Lois got up with a sigh and went into her study. She dialled Mrs. Blairgowrie's number, and when the old lady answered, apologised for bothering her and asked her about Dot. "She has come to you this afternoon, hasn't she?" Lois asked.

  "Oh, yes, Mrs. Meade. Always very punctual. We've had a nice chat over a cup of tea." She did not offer to bring Dot to the telephone.

  Lois hesitated, then said, "Would you mind asking her to give her sister a ring as soon as she leaves you? That is very kind. Thank you."

  In Braeside's warm and cosy sitting room, Mrs. Blairgowrie relaxed in her chair. Well, that had all seemed to go well. It was irritating that Alastair had insisted on taking Dot away before she had finished her work upstairs, but she supposed she would manage.

  FORTY

  "OFF TO ANOTHER DAY OF HONEST TOIL," DEREK SAID, "BUT I'LL fix that tap in the bathroom first. Thanks for breakfast, Gran. Great as usual," he said, giving her a peck on the cheek.

  Gran remarked that not everybody remembered to say thank you for the food she worked so hard at preparing. She was looking in Lois's direction, but unfortunately her daughter was reading the local paper. She was fascinated by a feature on the Tresham police force, and was irritated to see it was largely complimentary. A photograph of Detective Chief Inspector Cowgill dominated the page, and underneath was a quote: "We pride ourselves on our clear-up rate here in Tresham." And in the body of the article he was reported as having said that they were very close to an arrest in the case of Clem Fitch and his cockerel.

  "Huh! That's news to me," Lois said, and handed the paper to Gran as she heard the telephone ringing. Probably Evelyn Nimmo apologising for panicking. But it was Cowgill, and he said he had to see her at once. He would be over in twenty minutes. And yes, of course it was official business.

  "Can't it wait?" Lois said. "I've got to see a potential client at ten thirty."

  "No. Cancel it," he said shortly, and cut off the call.

  Twenty minutes later, he knocked at the door. Gran was there at once to let him in, and showed him into the sitting room. Lois followed close behind. "What's this about?" she said crossly.

  "Sit down, Lois," he said. "What I have to say is not good news."

  "The kids! There's been an accident?"

  "No, no. Nothing like that. No, it is to do with Douglas, but not an accident. I'm afraid new evidence has come to light on Clem Fitch's murder that means we have to bring him in for questioning."

  "What?!" Lois was aghast.

  Cowgill repeated what he had said, and added, "I am really sorry, Lois, but in the light of what has emerged I have no alternative. We shall, of course, be very discreet and get the whole thing out of the way as quickly as possible."

  "You mean you think it's rubbish? What new evidence, anyway?"

  "It is not rubbish, Lois," he said as kindly as was possible in the circumstances. "And you know I cannot give you details. I have to take it seriously. But I can assure you that I shall— "

  "Forget the crap!" Lois snapped. "Wait here a minute. I'll get my coat on."

  "Where d'you think you're going?" Derek said. He had joined them and taken Lois's hand, and now restrained her from rushing from the room. He turned to Cowgill. "When will you take him to the station?"

  "He'll be there by now," Cowgill said, still staring sadly at Lois. "And of course you can both come along and see him, if you wish. Though he may not want that," he added.

  "Is he in a cell?" Lois said, choking with anger.

  Cowgill did not answer, but walked to the front door and stood on the step waiting for them to decide.

  "Get going," Lois said roughly. "We know the way to the police station by now. Just leave us alone."

  Cowgill felt real pain as he walked to his car and knew that Lois would never forgive him and there was nothing he could do about it.

  DOUGLAS SAT BY HIMSELF IN AN INTERVIEW ROOM, WHICH WAS brightly lit with no windows to the outside world. He had been at home when the police came, fortunately. He had been given the day off by his boss, who had been aware that Douglas was staying in the office late every day, working many hours of unpaid overtime. "I know you're a new broom," he said, "but this is ridiculous. Take tomorrow off in lieu."

  Douglas had laughed, and said it was his mother who was a New Broom, and by the way, was his boss happy with the cleaning arrangements for the office? He could strongly recommend the New Brooms team, he said.

  So there he had been, still in his pyjamas, when Cowgill had knocked on the door and said would he kindly come down to the station as soon as possible, as he needed to ask him some questions. Douglas had asked why Cowgill couldn't come in and ask there and then, but it had been care fully explained to him, as if to a nitwit, that there were rules which had to be followed.

  Now he sat, with nothing to read or do. In his hurry, he had left his mobile and watch on his bedside table, and he awaited the next move with considerable impatience. The door opened, and at the sight of his mother, consumed with anger and anxiety, lurking behind a policeman, he suddenly laughed out loud. It was a ridiculous farce.

  "Mum! What the hell are you doing here? This is not the condemned cell, you know! And I'm long past needing parents with me," he added, seeing his father following behind. "Whatever it is this lot have in mind for me," he added. It must all be a mistake, he considered, and he pitied Cowgill when Lois turned on him. But for now, he could see, she was holding her fire, waiting to see what happened next.

  BACK HOME IN HER OFFICE, SUPPLIED WITH HOT, STRONG TEA by a worried Gran, Lois took from her bag a folded sheet of paper. Cowgill had slipped it to her surreptitiously when they left the station. "Strictly confidential, if you don't want me sacked," he had whispered. Now she unfolded it and read it slowly. It was a brief outline of new evidence gathered in the case of Clem Fitch, found dead upside down in an old lavatory in Gordon Street.

  Apparently new facts had been volunteered by an unnamed witness, said to have been visiting a house in Catchpole Street, which joined Gordon Street at a right angle, giving occupants in both streets a sideways view of each other's back yards. The witness had stated that on the night of the murder, he or she had had a clear view from an upstairs window of all the yards belonging to Douglas, Clem, and the unknown tenant the other side of Clem. The witness had seen Douglas emerge from his house, have an argument with Clem, who was shutting up his cockerel, and hit him so violently that he fell to the ground. The witness was apparently riveted to the spot, and continued to watch as Clem was stuffed into the lavatory. Douglas then rushed hastily back to his own yard and disappeared. The witness had seen nobody from the house of Clem's other neighbour.

  There was a note at the foot of the page, stating that this was evidence delivered by an unseen and anonymous messenger in an envelope left on the reception desk of the police station.


  Lois dialled Cowgill's personal number, and he answered immediately.

  "No time to waste," Lois said at once. "Have you tracked down this arsehole witness?"

  Cowgill winced. He knew from long experience that Lois's swearing was a sure sign that she was under pressure. "No, we've had no luck there. We have interviewed every single tenant or owner in Catchpole Street, but all are certain they had no visitors that night, nor were they themselves aware of anything unusual going on."

  "Well, they would say that, wouldn't they," Lois snapped. "None of that lot would want to help the cops. What d'you expect?" She didn't give him time to answer, and continued furiously, "And so, on this stinking piece of paper, written by an unknown, vanished liar, you have arrested my son and probably ruined his career for life!"

  Cowgill sighed. "I haven't arrested him, Lois. He is just helping us with our enquiries at present. You will be happy to know that he will be back home by now."

  "On bail?" asked Lois.

  "No, no. We have merely asked him to let us know if he is going out of town, with details of where we can get in touch."

  "And as a result of him having helped you with your enquiries, have you decided your extremely dodgy new evidence is rubbish?"

  "Well, actually, no, we can't do that at present. Douglas repeated that he was at home alone that evening, went to bed early after working hard at getting things to rights, and slept soundly until the morning. He woke late, curious why the cock hadn't crowed, and went to see. That's when he found Clem, he said. This ties in exactly with his first statement."

  "But no alibi, then," Lois said flatly.

  "Afraid not, Lois. But we have more work to do on that, and I shall of course let you know immediately if we can rule out Douglas completely."

  "I should bloody well hope so!" swore Lois, totally unrepentant. "If not, you can kiss goodbye to my help." She cut off the conversation, leaving Cowgill sitting with bent head and stooping shoulders. Suddenly he sat upright, rang for his assistant, and picked up his pen. "I'll find the solution to this one by the end of next week, if it's the last thing I do," he muttered to himself, and added, "and please God it's not Douglas Meade."

  FORTY-ONE

  MONDAY MORNING, AND THE MEADE FAMILY WAS DEPRESSED. Lois had had to tell Gran about Douglas in case it should get around by other means, and then Gran had made her own decision to tell Josie in the shop, and then Jamie. Lois had been furious at first, but then realised that Gran was probably right, and it was better coming from her than outside the family.

  "You'll be having the meeting as usual, Lois?" Gran asked at breakfast.

  "Why not?" Lois said sharply. "We're not in mourning, are we?"

  Gran bit back an equally sharp retort, and said she would make sure there was enough milk for coffee. She had to go down to the shop this morning, and would get a paper.

  Lois did not ask her why. She was too nervous to buy the local herself, but hoped desperately that Cowgill had kept his word. Discreet, he had said. But he was not the only one at Tresham police station, and good stories leaked out. Cowgill himself had often thought it was no coincidence that the com missioner was a big pal of the editor of the local rag. Reciprocally, of course, the information gleaned by local reporters could on occasion be very useful to the police.

  On her way to visit a new client in Waltonby, Lois turned all this over in her mind. There was nothing more she could do . . . But surely, this couldn't be true. There was always something. Maybe she should cancel her outing with the WI to the museum tomorrow and concentrate on ferretin'. But no, Gran would be so disappointed, and maybe she might hear something from the old tabs that could be useful. It was surprising how much they knew from the gossip network.

  Dot Nimmo had started this morning at the new client, and Lois expected to hear from her what had happened in the mix-up with Evelyn. It was really a private matter for the two sisters, but Lois liked to know what was going on. She pulled up outside the new house on an estate in Waltonby, and knocked at the front door. Dot answered, and smiled broadly. "Morning, Mrs. M," she said. "The missus is gone shopping, but come in. She was expecting you and dashed out for coffee. She's one of those dashers, if you know what I mean."

  Lois followed Dot into the neat, entirely beige sitting room. How did people do it? Not a mark on the carpet, no smudges on the arms of the chairs, no books propped open with reading glasses, or prints on the wall faded from being too much in the sun. Perfection. Still, that's partly what Dot was here for, and she asked her straightaway what had happened with poor Evelyn.

  Dot had had time to think out a sensible course of action, and had decided for the moment to lie. She had no desire to send Mrs. M steaming off into the dangerous clutches of Alastair/John Smith, and no Nimmo had ever given useful information to the police. She would bide her time, and in the meanwhile somehow get Slimy John and his so- called mother in her power so that she could go back there and find out more. Then she would alert Mrs. M.

  "Oh, it was just a misunderstanding," she answered casually. "Evie thought I was meeting her that day, and I knew it was the next. All sorted out now, and I apologised, though I'm certain it was her fault."

  "Right. Well, I'm glad it turned out all right. Now, where's that missus of yours?"

  "There," said Dot, pointing through the front window. "Just coming in. She's nice, doesn't give orders, and seems satisfied with my work."

  "Yes, well, we'll see. Make yourself scarce, Dot, while I talk to her. I'll see you later at the meeting."

  All seemed to be going well, and as usual the new client had fallen for Dot's apparently straightforward and plain-speaking approach. "You certainly know where you are with Dot!"

  "Good. Well, let me know if you're unhappy about anything. Anything at all." Lois left, feeling that here was another household in good hands.

  ALL THE OTHERS HAD ARRIVED WHEN DOT PUFFED IN TEN MINutes late. "Sorry, Mrs. M," she said breathlessly. "Big jam on the bypass. Lorry jackknifed, right across the dual carriageway. Why they didn't set up a diversion beats me. And o' course, once you're on the bypass you're stuck until—"

  "Yes, well, sit down, Dot. We must get on with the meeting." Lois was aware that she sounded impatient and irritable, but Douglas was at the back of her mind all the time. Douglas, her dear, helpful, accommodating elder son, her firstborn, suspected of an awful murder! It was a waking nightmare.

  "Mrs. M?" Sheila Stratford, the oldest member of the team, was looking at her enquiringly. She had asked a question, and Lois had not responded. "What do you think? Shall I take Andrew with me to the estate agents? I could do with strong arms to help move the filing cabinets. Haven't cleaned behind there for weeks."

  "Months," said Dot.

  Lois ignored Dot, and said yes, of course, that would be a good idea. She would leave them to liaise. From this point, she decided she must concentrate. She had a business to run, and the team was like a second family. They relied on her, and she would never let them down.

  "Thanks, Sheila," Andrew said politely. "I need to get the hang of things. Oh, and by the way, Mrs. M, do you want me to report on the interior décor side of the business at these meetings?"

  Lois nodded. "Yes, I do. You will find the girls have very good ideas on most things. Floss will be needing your help soon, anyway, when she finds a house. When's the big day again, Floss?"

  "October thirtieth," Floss said with a smile. "In some ways I can't wait, and in others, when Mum goes on and on about her plans, I'd like to creep away with Ben and get the whole thing done speedily at the Register Office."

  "Cold feet," said Lois kindly. "On my wedding morning I came out in a bright red rash, and told Gran I couldn't go through with it. You can imagine what she said!"

  "Who's taking my name in vain?" said Gran, coming in with the coffee.

  "Never mind, Mum. Just put the tray down there, and we'll help ourselves. We've more to do. All behind like the cow's tail this morning. Now, Andrew, update us." />
  Andrew cleared his throat and gave them a clear and brief description of where he'd got to with Susie and her house in Gordon Street. He wondered if he should mention seeing a woman going into number six, but decided against it. It was nothing to do with New Brooms.

  As if reading his thoughts, Lois said, "No more threatening phone calls, I hope, Andrew?"