Warning at One

by Ann Purser

  This was a long speech for Susie, and she trailed off in embarrassment.

  Douglas took her hand. "Don't worry, sweetie," he said. "Very useful information. You've done well. He probably did recognise you. Anybody seeing you come out of Clem's house would want a second look!" He squeezed her hand, and she moved closer to him.

  And anybody from Braeside seeing Susie with suspect Douglas Meade would be more than interested, thought Lois, and possibly put her on the danger list. But she judged Susie was frightened enough already, and so did not say anything.

  Derek came noisily through the back door and into the kitchen. "That old Beasley woman needs putting down!" he said furiously. Then he noticed the group at the table, and looked even crosser. "What on earth's going on here?" he said. "I thought I told you, Lois and Gran, that there was to be no more . . . Oh, well, forget it. Any more coffee in the pot?" He took a handful of biscuits and sat down. Gran tut-tutted and handed him a plateful of hot food from the oven. "Get that inside you first," she said, with a sideways look at Lois.

  They told him what they'd discussed so far, and Josie said

  that Mum wasn't telling them everything, but she supposed they'd have to get used to that. "She's practically an honorary member of Tresham special branch," she said.

  "Did Ivy get her heater working?" Lois said to Derek, patting his hand and changing the subject.

  "Yeah. I think she would've locked me in if I hadn't finished."

  "I reckon we should be going, Susie," Douglas said.

  "And me," said Josie. "Rob will be wondering where I am."

  "Don't let me bust up the conference," Derek said, but Lois could tell that was exactly what he wanted. Then the two of them could talk.

  AFTER DEREK HAD FINISHED HIS SUPPER AND THE WASHING-UP was done, the three of them migrated to the sitting room to watch television. Gran fell asleep almost at once, as usual, and Derek yawned a lot. Lois was wide awake, and watched the moving screen without taking in any of it. She had other pictures before her eyes. The friendly manager, always helpful and kind to old ladies. The WI outing, with the grey-haired woman steward whispering a vague threat. A strange, wellgroomed elderly lady going in and out of Braeside. A string of pearls. The same steward, wig askew, lolling sideways against a cupboard door in the museum's post office. The empty stool and a vanishing mug. And the mobcap lady's vivid picture of the body snatchers at work.

  She realised with a shock that the moving shadow in the schoolroom must have been a lookout, and it was her approach that disturbed them and sent them fleeing for the van. They'd sat there until she had gone to tell the manager, and then done a lightning snatch and driven away like bats out of hell.

  Derek reached for the remote control, and switched off. Gran did not move. She was snoring lightly, and Derek smiled. He turned to Lois and said softly that he thought it was safe to have a little talk.

  She sighed. "Yep," she said. "I wondered when you'd get round to it."

  "I'll start," said Derek. "All day I've had this rotten feeling that you're gettin' into deep water. Too deep, me duck. There's a lot known now, and for God knows what reason I trust Cowgill to put it all together and get the right answer."

  "Sure, we know a lot," replied Lois. "There's Skinny Man, and Braeside and Mrs. Blairgowrie," Lois replied. "And Susie being tied up, and the big man over the road. We know all of that, but we don't know why it's all happening. Surely we ought to have an inkling or two by now? I reckon they've been clever. Mind you, I think Dot Nimmo still knows more than she's telling. We've got to forget the murders for a bit, and find out exactly what they're doing, and why it's worth violent crime to keep it a secret. We should go right from the beginning, when Skinny Man was a recluse, buying lots of food, and living next to Clem."

  "What we should do, Lois, is stop now. If you want to know what I think—"

  "I know what you think, Derek. You've told me often enough."

  "I'll tell you again, then," he said, his voice rising. "You are being very irresponsible. It's not only you that's threatened. It's Douglas, of course, and also Susie, and all of us in the Meade family. And probably New Brooms as well. You said Dot Nimmo knows more than she's tellin'. So it's got to stop!"

  His voice had risen to a shout, and Gran woke up with a start. "What's happened?" she said anxiously. "Has somebody been murdered?"

  Derek looked at Lois with an angry face. "See? The poor old thing is even dreamin' about it. It's time to stop!"

  "Hey, less of the 'poor old thing,' if you don't mind," said Gran, fully awake now. "And if you want to know what I was dreaming, I was back with Lois's dad, standing in the back garden in Tresham, watching the fireworks over the way in the park." Her lip quivered, and she stood up. "If you two could stop shouting at each other, I might get a bit of peace," she said, and almost ran from the room.

  Lois sat quite still, looking down at her hands. "Haven't you forgotten something?" she asked quietly.

  "What?" said Derek. He was sorry about Gran, but had not relented.

  "Don't forget that Douglas is still under suspicion," she said. "Whatever the police say, they haven't taken him off the list. In fact," she said bitterly, "I reckon he's the only one on it so far."

  "So?"

  "So I intend to do everything I can to help. More than that, I mean to find out what's behind it all. If it means getting back in touch with Cowgill, then I'll do it. I'm sorry, Derek. I know what you're saying. But I can't stop now. Sorry, love."

  FIFTY-ONE

  DEREK SAT FOR A LONG WHILE IN FRONT OF THE DYING FIRE, thinking about what Lois had said. She had made it sound as if he did not care about Douglas. What rubbish! He knew without any doubt that his son could not have killed a man. He had always been a kind-hearted lad. There was that time when Mrs. Tollervey-Jones had asked him to go and help with the beating on a big shoot on her estate. He'd never been before, and never went again. When he came back, he had been violently sick, and Lois had been all for marching arms akimbo to tackle Mrs. T-J.

  No, Douglas would never be charged. The police weren't that stupid, whatever Lois said. He had no love for Inspector Cowgill, but he respected his ability to solve a case, and get it right. He had a new thought. Since Lois had not been in touch with Cowgill for a while, so far as he knew, the police might have a whole lot more evidence and be much nearer sorting it out than Lois and the others thought.

  Above all, Derek decided, he had a duty to keep the whole of his family safe. And in his opinion, Lois was heading straight for disaster.

  IN SEBASTOPOL STREET, DOT NIMMO LAY STRETCHED OUT IN HER new single bed. After both her husband and son had died, she'd gone to pieces and the house became a slum. Then, largely due to her job with Lois, who had given her a chance when nobody else could be bothered with her, she had come to a point where she was herself again and turned out the whole house, cleaned and redecorated it, and bought new furniture throughout. When she had first gone to Braeside, she had been puzzled by the rubbishy look of it all. Her own home was perfect now, but posh Mrs. Blairgowrie's looked like it had been furnished from secondhand shops and jumble sales.

  "Of course!" she said aloud. That was just what had happened. Braeside was only temporary accommodation. No doubt they moved around often. She wondered if Mrs. M had spotted it.

  Dot had gone to bed early and now could not sleep. The time was surely coming when she would have to tell Lois everything about the abduction and what she was nearly certain was going on. Every time she went to Braeside to clean, Mrs. Blairgowrie stayed out of her way. No more cosy chats over cups of coffee, no more fabricated tales of life in aristocratic Scotland. Dot made sure she had her mobile in her pocket, and got on with her work. The only conversation she had with Mrs. Blairgowrie was to announce her arrival and, in due course, her departure. Dot was not scared of what might happen. She'd been too well trained by the Nimmos in years gone by. But she remained alert. Big Alastair was obvi ously keeping out of her way. Now, although she overheard no te
lephone calls or conversations behind closed doors, she sensed a growing tension in the house. It was like a buildup to something big, something dangerous and secret. Or was it her imagination?

  No, Dot knew she was not big on imaginative thought, and relied on instinct and experience. She turned over once more, thumping the pillow, which had become a lump of rock, and made a decision. She would tell Lois tomorrow, after her morning at Braeside.

  THE HOUSE IN LONG FARNDEN WHERE THE PICKERINGS HAD spent happy years was now silent, except for the sonorous breathing of Alastair John Smith and the occasional sob from the pregnant woman in the back bedroom. He was unaware of her deep sadness, and even had he been aware, he would not have cared. She was a chattel, a necessary adjunct to the household, whose duties were to clean, cook, wash and iron, and keep out of the way as much as possible. He had, of course, noticed that the small swelling of her stomach, there when he'd first installed her, was now very large.

  The foetus was not so active now. The woman put her hands protectively round her stomach and whispered comforting words. Was it a boy or a girl? She had no preference, and was concerned only that it should make an entrance into this hostile world safely. So many unpleasant things had happened to her that she had no longer any idea of the passage of time, and so no notion of a date when the bump would become a squalling infant. She supposed it would be soon, but so far had no plans for what she would do. She sobbed more loudly, and was suddenly silenced by a furious knocking on the wall beside her narrow bed. It was him. She loathed and despised him, and was completely in his power. Unless . . . She dared not even allow the thought to enter her head. If you cut off the head of a worm, it wriggled away and survived.

  HUNTER COWGILL ALSO COULD NOT SLEEP. IN HIS LONELY BED HE thought of Lois. Should he call her tomorrow and ask her officially to meet him at the secret place? She was under no obligation to do so, and he expected that she would more than likely refuse. Still, he had to do something. Information had come his way which implicated Douglas more deeply. It was another anonymous letter, but this time it stated facts and times which required investigation. If he could have rejected them outright, saying he had no intention of following up ridiculous accusations, he would have done so, for Lois's sake. But it was more than his job was worth.

  He got out of bed and went down to the kitchen. It was chilly and still dark outside. He put on the kettle and spooned instant coffee into a mug. When he had stirred it and put in two brown sugar lumps, he sat down at the table and tried to think about the new evidence. Instead, he found his thoughts returning to other cases he had worked on with Lois's help. She had always seen through the mass of misinformation, false witness, deliberate red herrings, straight to the heart of the matter. In doing so, she had put herself and her family in danger. No wonder Derek hated the sight of him!

  Then he was back with the Clem Fitch murder. Douglas had a father as well as mother. He could talk officially to Derek instead of Lois. What could Cowgill say that would encourage him to help? What would he want most? That his wife and family were well out of it all, that he could get on with a peaceful life and enjoy the lottery money still sitting in the bank, increasing day by day like homemade bread rising with yeast.

  That was it, then. Tomorrow he would engineer a casual meeting with Derek Meade. He went back to his bed, his eyelids dropped, and he was asleep in minutes.

  IN A NOW SILENT HOUSE, DEREK PUT OUT THE SITTING ROOM light and prepared to go upstairs to bed. Perhaps tomorrow things would not look so bad. Maybe Gran could talk some sense into Lois. Some chance! He put out the hall light, and blinked when it was almost immediately switched on again from above. He looked up and saw Lois in her nightdress, staring down sadly at him.

  "What's up, me duck?" he whispered, so as not to wake Gran.

  "Can't sleep," she replied. "I'll come down for a minute."

  Derek stood at the foot of the stairs and held out his arms. Lois came down slowly and stood in front of him. "You need a cuddle an' that," he whispered in her ear, and lifted her up.

  She began to giggle. "Put me down!" she spluttered. "Don't want you in a silver frame just yet," she said. But Derek clutched her more tightly and made it to the top of the stairs.

  Safe and warm in bed, he held her close. "Give me a minute or two to get me breath back," he said, and added, "then we'll put everything right."

  FIFTY-TWO

  NEXT MORNING, LOIS LEFT EARLY FOR A MEETING WITH A possible new client, and after that she planned to call in at the office in town. Derek had gone off to a job in Waltonby and Gran was left alone, mug of coffee in hand, taking a short break from housework to watch a quiz show on television.

  The telephone rang and she decided not to answer it. Let it ring, she thought, and whoever it is can leave a message. But it rang and rang, and she realised Lois had forgotten to switch on the answer phone. She sighed and muttered, "No peace for the wicked," and got up to answer it.

  "Sorry to trouble you, but can you tell me how to get in touch with Derek Meade?" It was an educated woman's voice.

  "He's not here," Gran said, instantly suspicious. "What do you want him for?"

  "It's an emergency," the woman replied. "I've got no electricity, and we have chicks in an incubator. I've rung the electricity board and they say it must be in our own equipment. No cuts in supply, they said. Mr. Meade has been recommended," she added hopefully.

  "Give me your number," Gran said. "I'll give him your message."

  "I'm afraid I do need to speak to him urgently." Now the woman's voice was more authoritative. "I am sure he has a mobile."

  Gran reluctantly gave her the number, and said that if he hadn't got it switched on, and it really was urgent, she'd be able to find him at the schoolhouse in Waltonby.

  With a quick thank-you, the woman rang off. Hope I've done right, thought Gran, and having lost the thread, abandoned the telly.

  "ALL RIGHT?" SAID THE POLICEWOMAN, HANDING COWGILL A piece of paper with an address and telephone number on it.

  "Brilliant," he said, "you should have been an actress."

  He put on his jacket and went down to the back of the station to collect his car. As he drove along the familiar road to Waltonby he thought about Derek. Derek Meade had been a patient man, and sometimes a very angry man, and at times Cowgill had felt sorry for him. If only the two of them had been able to have a drink together in the local pub, talked man to man, he could have explained how valuable Lois's help was to him. He would never have mentioned his undying love for her, because he never intended to do anything about it. Never, he told himself firmly. But he would have told Derek that from what he knew of Lois, she loved what Derek called ferretin' and had a natural aptitude for working out solutions. She certainly didn't do it for the money, as he'd never paid her a bean.

  He slowed down obediently at the thirty-mile-limit sign, and cruised along, heading for the school. Sure enough, there was Derek's van parked outside. Cowgill drove past, parked just around the corner, and walked back to the pub. He looked at his watch. Coffee time. He had some notes to write, and he knew the landlord, so he'd be left undisturbed. Sitting by the window, with a good view of the schoolhouse, he greeted the landlord and settled down.

  After an hour, his patience was rewarded. Derek came down the garden path and got into his van. Cowgill could see sandwiches being unwrapped, and got up swiftly. "Back in a minute," he said to the landlord, and ran out. Why shouldn't he and Derek have a drink together? He could only ask, and if Derek refused, then he would have to think of something else.

  Derek looked at him with surprise and dislike. Cowgill motioned him to wind down his window, and Derek did so reluctantly. "What d'you want?" he said. "Have you been following me?" he added, frowning.

  "Good God, no," Cowgill said. "I've got minions to do that for me. No, I was having a chat with a useful friend in the pub, and saw you come out from the schoolhouse. Fancy a drink?"

  "With you?"

  "Yes. Why not? I'm off du
ty. We can talk about football if you like. I know you're a fan."

  "Lois told you, did she?" Derek put his sandwiches to one side. "All right, then," he said. He suddenly fancied telling Cowgill a few home truths. "S' long as we don't discuss Lois," he said, and followed his enemy into the pub.

  It took a while for the conversation to get going, with Derek answering in monosyllables, but when Cowgill said he hoped to go to the match on Saturday, and what did Derek think of United's chances, it was too much for the team's greatest fan, who gave him a detailed assessment of the possible outcome of the game. After that, they had another half, and the atmosphere warmed up slightly.

  Derek looked at his watch. "Time I was getting back to work," he said. He hadn't said any of the rough things he had in store for Cowgill, but now felt mellow and wondered if perhaps he hadn't misjudged the cop. After all, he had a job to do.

  "There was one thing I should tell you," Cowgill said, suddenly serious. "It's about Douglas. We've had another anonymous letter, giving more incriminating evidence, and again accusing Douglas of killing Clem Fitch. I was going to tell Lois that we'll have to face him with it, but then I saw you and— well— here we are."