by Ann Purser
Derek was silent. All his mellow feelings disappeared, and he stared at Cowgill. Then he said, "You didn't just spot me by accident, did you? You were lying in wait for me. Thought you could soften me up with a beer or two. I nearly fell for it," he added loudly, and got up from the table. "You do what you like," he said as a parting shot. "It don't matter what sodding evidence you got, my Douglas would never hurt a fly, and me and Lois will make sure you don't get your lousy fingers on his collar."
And then he was gone.
Cowgill finished his drink and went to the bar to settle up. "Didn't get far with that one, did you, Inspector," the landlord laughed. "Not losing your touch, I hope," he added.
The jokey comment echoed in Cowgill's head as he walked back to his car. He hoped to God he was not losing his touch, or his marbles, or anything else that he valued in his solitary life.
FIFTY-THREE
NOW WHAT TO DO? DEREK DROVE SLOWLY BACK TO LONG Farnden. He had abandoned his sandwiches, told the school headmistress that he had to go for an hour or so to sort out an emergency, and headed for home. Should he tell Lois about the new threat to Douglas? He'd managed to calm her down last night, but this morning she was looking anxious again. Derek remembered with relief that Douglas himself seemed to be treating the whole thing in a very breezy fashion.
He pulled up just in time to avoid a baby rabbit determined to commit suicide under his wheels. As he set off again, he recalled other times he had tried to keep unpleasant facts from Lois. It was impossible. She could worm anything out of him with very little effort. No, he would have to tell her, and probably about the meeting with Cowgill, too.
As he turned the van into the drive, he was relieved to see that the New Brooms vehicle was not there. He knew Dot Nimmo was due to see Lois this afternoon, and so she would soon be back. Meanwhile he could sound out Gran on one or two things.
"Derek? What are you doing back home?" Gran was ironing, with a radio play turned up loud. She lowered the sound, and added, "Did you get the message?"
"What message?"
"From the lady with the chicks. She'd got an emergency and wanted to get in touch urgently. I gave her your mobile number and told her where you were working. Did I do wrong?"
"I knew it!" Derek thumped the table with his fist. Gran looked alarmed and turned off the radio. He saw that he had frightened her, and said, "Nothing to do with you, Gran. You did the right thing. But there was no lady with chicks, and I never got the message." Then he told her about Cowgill, who'd set him up, and pretended to run into him by accident. "He got me in that pub and soft- soaped me until I nearly believed him. All designed to get me on his side, so I could persuade Lois to be nice to him again! Bloody cheek!"
Then he told her about the new anonymous letter, and asked whether he should tell Lois. Gran shrugged and said that he knew Lois as well as she did, probably better, but on balance she thought he should tell. "You know she'll wheedle it out of you if you don't," she said. He nodded sadly. A sharp knock at the door interrupted their conversation and Gran went to admit Dot Nimmo. At the same time the New Brooms van arrived and Lois stepped out.
Derek telephoned the schoolhouse and apologised, but said he couldn't be back until tomorrow morning. It was not a particularly urgent job, and the headmistress was very accommodating. Then he said hello to Lois and said he'd do a spot of gardening while she talked to Dot.
* * *
"IS IT A BAD TIME, MRS. M?" DOT SAID, AS LOIS TOOK OFF HER jacket and led the way into her office.
"No, not really. What was it you wanted to see me about? Must be something important to bring you all this way from Sebastopol Street!" Lois laughed, but got no answering smile from Dot.
"It is important," she replied. "I just come straight from Braeside to tell you. You'll probably say I should've told you before. But anyway, here goes."
She began at the beginning, when she had found the transvestite magazines in Mrs. Blairgowrie's bedroom, and been caught in the act by Big Alastair. Men dressed as women, Lois thought. How pathetic.
"Well," continued Dot, "Al is big in himself, but small in the brain department." She described how they'd tied her up and were going to keep her a prisoner somewhere with other people. Then she told how she'd got loose, recognised where she was, and done a bunk. "Lucky for me there was a Tresham bus come through an' I was on it like greased lightning."
"But why . . . how . . . ? How come you're still cleaning at Braeside? You are still cleaning, aren't you? And why don't you go straight to the police? This is very serious, Dot."
"A Nimmo go to the police? You should know me better than that, Mrs. M. An' don't you go tellin' your friend Cowgill. I can handle this." Then Dot told how she had faced them, threatened to tell unless they left her alone, and was confident she had the upper hand.
"Oh, my God, Dot," Lois said, and covered her face with her hands.
Dot waited, and then said, "I was worried that they'd go for you, Mrs. M. Do you want me to tell you what I think their racket is? It's only guesswork, mind."
Lois nodded. "Can it get any worse?" she said.
"Might do. The way they talked, this place they were takin' me wasn't the house across the road, where that foreign woman lives with Alastair. I reckon he was just givin' her instructions when I escaped. We were goin' on somewhere else. If you ask me, Big Al's not big at all. I reckon he's a small part of something big. I bet you a pound to a penny that he's in the white slave trade. Bringin' in illegals and findin' them jobs. Jobs that you wouldn't want your daughter to do. An' there's a sort of clearinghouse somewhere, where they're kept until they move on."
Lois was reeling under all this, and for the moment could only say that the woman he had in his own house was black, and so it couldn't be the white slave trade. But what Dot had said could certainly explain Alastair's offer to find cleaners for her. Why hadn't she thought of it herself?
Dot ploughed on. "You know Alastair used to work up the Job Centre years ago? He got the push under mysterious circumstances, so they say. But if you think about it, Mrs. M, he'd have some good contacts for gettin' people jobs."
"Did you see the woman who lives with him?" Lois said. "I did mention her to Josie, but she says she's never been in the shop. He goes to the supermarket, like most people, and uses the shop just for toothpaste or a newspaper. What about the day you escaped? You said he went in through the back gate of the house."
"I didn't see her at all. I reckon he keeps her chained up in the cellar."
Lois laughed. "Don't let your imagination run away with you! Is that all, then?"
"Yep," Dot said. "Except that now I don't hear nor see nothin' at Braeside. But I reckon something happened that stirred 'em up last time I was there. There was a phone call, an' then a dirty white van drew up outside and Mrs. Blairgowrie rushed out—no stick or dark glasses, mind—an' I saw her look into the back. Then they drove off an' she came in and ran upstairs to the bathroom an' was sick as a dog. I called to her but she said she was all right. Then all the doors was shut and it was quiet as the grave as usual."
"Did anybody visit while you were there? Any do-gooders to bring Mrs. Blairgowrie's shopping? Nobody like that?"
Dot shook her head. "Nope. Nobody except me. Anyway, Mrs. M," she said, looking at her watch, "I must be going, else I'll be late for me next client. I'll see you at the meetin'. But for God's sake be careful. An' tell your Josie. There's robbery with violence in a lot of village shops these days. I wouldn't trust that Alastair round the corner."
"I'll tell her," Lois answered. "After all you've said, I've a lot to think about. Still, thanks, Dot. You've been a huge help, as always. But please be careful yourself. Maybe I should take you away from Braeside?"
"No, don't do that. It'd look too suspicious. Then they'd know I told you, and might be driven to do somethin' really stupid and dangerous. No, don't worry about me, Mrs. M. It'd take more than the likes of Big Al to frighten a Nimmo. If I hear or see anything else I'll report ba
ck. And don't forget, this is between us two."
FIFTY-FOUR
NEARLY DARK, LOIS NOTICED. SHE HAD BEEN SO preoccupied since Dot's revelations, she had almost forgotten Jeems's customary last walk of the day. Now she walked with her dog through the quiet lane at the back of the houses in Blackberry Gardens, and looked over the fence at the Pickerings' new house. Not a new house, but new to them. Jeems stopped to produce a couple of neat turds and Lois dutifully bent down with a Dogpoo bag to pick them up. Suddenly Jeems pulled on the lead and began to bark. Lois turned around to see what had started her off, and saw too late a dark shadow behind her. Then Jeems yelped as a boot caught her in the side. She collapsed on the path and Lois fought like a tiger to release herself. But there were hands holding her in an iron grip whilst others tied a hateful-smelling gag around her mouth.
It was all done at great speed and in total silence. Lois was dragged back the way they had come, leaving the little inert body behind, and the next thing she knew she was being bundled into a car and driven off slowly along the main street. Along with others, she and Derek had campaigned against streetlights, and now she realised they could have saved her life.
Although she could not speak, they had not blindfolded her. She could see the two men in front had hoods and silly masks. She looked out of the window and just made out the dark shapes of houses she recognised. Then they turned off the road, round to the playing fields, and the car cruised silently to a halt. Now she was dragged out again and through a gate. With sinking heart, Lois knew where she was going. To Alastair John Smith's house.
In the small back bedroom, a bare bulb of low wattage shone on the moaning pregnant woman. She stared fearfully at Lois, and rattled off something in a foreign tongue, holding out her hands beseechingly. Then a contraction caught her and she screamed at the top of her voice. One of Lois's captors, now with bare shaved head, reached out and slapped her hard across the face. "Shut up, bitch!" he shouted, and at that point Alastair came through the door. He looked at Lois and smiled triumphantly.
"Well done, lads," he said. "Now then, Mrs. Meade, we require your services. Too late for cleaning services, which you so kindly offered. Midwifery is on the job list for today."
Lois shook her head and made loud noises. Alastair chuckled, walked up to her, and whipped off the gag with rough hands.
"I don't know nothing about being a midwife, you idiot!" she shouted at him, and his henchman stepped forward with clenched fist. Alastair barked out a command to leave her alone. He freed her hands and went to stand by the door. In his hand he held a gun.
"You've had kids yourself," he said. "Three, if I'm not mistaken? There's lovely Josie in the shop, interfering Douglas in Gordon Street, and now a young one who tickles the ivories? All bent on discovering who killed— "
The woman's scream was deafening. She arched her back and looked piteously at Lois. "Plea . . . ea . . . se!" she shouted. "Help me!"
"I'll get an ambulance straightaway," Lois said, and walked stiffly towards the door.
Alastair waved his gun at her. "Oh, no, you won't," he said. "This brat is going to be born without anyone knowing. When you've delivered it you can go home. And if you breathe a word about this to your loving husband, children, mother, and especially your cop buddy, the short life of this little black bastard will come to an abrupt end. Not to mention a nasty accident involving one of your loved ones, Mrs. Meade. We are very clever at revenge on people who get in our way. So clever that Tresham plods are still floundering in the dark."
"You don't know that," Lois said. "They could be comin' up those rickety stairs at this very minute."
Alastair half- closed his eyes and smiled. "Get on with it," he said in a whisper. "Or else I'll—"
This sounded so much like a schoolboy threat in the playground that Lois could not help laughing. "You and who else?" she said, and then turned to the weeping woman.
"Let me have a look, dear," she said, and then completely forgot everything except the need to make sure that this baby arrived safely and was protected somehow against the villains surrounding it. She dredged up memories of her mother's tales of births in the old days. "Hot water, clean towels, an' a pair of scissors," she said for a start, and hoped to God that instinct would help her out with the rest.
After what seemed like hours later, Lois saw the top of a tiny head, black-haired and plastered with white streaks, emerging from between the woman's legs.
"Push, dear!" she said for the umpteenth time. "Nearly there!"
An almighty push sent the baby slithering out into Lois's waiting hands. It was not breathing. "Christ! What do I do next?" she said.
"Thump it," said Alastair. The two thugs began to move towards Lois.
"No!" screamed the woman, and tried to sit up.
Lois turned and faced the three men. "If you touch me or this baby, I swear to God I'll see you in hell," she said. "And I always keep my promise."
To her surprise, they stepped back and stood against the wall. Alastair's gun-toting hand dropped to his side, and they stared at her.
She'd done her best with the cord, and now cleared the baby's mouth and nostrils as best as she could. She took hold of it by its heart-breakingly small ankles, tipped it upside down, and smacked its little bottom firmly. The resulting yell brought a seraphic smile to the mother's face, and Lois bit her lip. "It's a lovely boy," she said, and then, seeing her blank look, she repeated, "a boy," and showed his mother the evidence.
"WHERE ON EARTH IS SHE?" DEREK SAID. "DID SHE SAY WHERE she was going?"
Gran shook her head. "Just said she'd take Jeems for a short walk, and would be back in ten minutes."
"And how long ago was that?"
Gran said she wasn't sure. She was pale, and had been feeling guilty since Derek had woken her up and said Lois was not in the house. "I had a rotten headache, and took a pill to sleep it off. I'm still a bit woozy. And anyway," she added defensively, "where have you been?"
"Darts over at Fletching," he said, "as you very well know. We always have a few drinks after the match, and time goes." As he was saying this, he vanished into Lois's study and picked up the telephone. "Cowgill?" he said. Almost immediately Cowgill came on the line, sounding sleepy.
"Derek Meade here. Lois has gone missing. Took the dog for a walk and didn't come back. Gran went to bed and I've just got in. She could've bin missing for several hours."
"There in twenty minutes," Cowgill said, and was gone. As he screeched through the lanes to Long Farnden, he was more awake than he'd ever been. Police work had begun to build a picture of what was going on, and he knew without doubt that Lois was in danger.
Derek came rushing out and got into the car beside Cowgill. "Where is she?" he said. "Where is she?"
"I have to make a call," Cowgill said, and put a number into his mobile. "Dot Nimmo?" he said. "Inspector Cowgill. A man is on the way to pick you up and bring you to Long Farnden. Lois Meade is in trouble. Be ready in five minutes, please."
"Why Dot Nimmo? We're wasting time!" Derek said.
"I have reason to believe—," began Cowgill.
"Oh, God! Can't you talk like a human being?" Derek yelled. "Lois could be dead by now!"
There was a silence, and as Derek realised what he had said, he covered his face with his hands. Then he said, "Why do we need Dot Nimmo? We're wasting time!"
"Try to keep steady," Cowgill answered, knowing that whatever he said would make no difference. At least Derek had a legitimate reason to panic. Cowgill had to keep up a front of professional calm.
"Mrs. Nimmo can give us vital information. She will be here very shortly, and then we'll move," he said, and began to tell Derek what he intended to do.
FIFTY-FIVE
LOIS SAT ON THE END OF THE WOMAN'S BED, WATCHING carefully as the baby slept peacefully in his mother's arms. It had not been a difficult birth, thank God, and apart from suspecting that she had made a bodged job of the cord, everything seemed to her to be fine. The woman, to
o, was dozing, and the room was quiet. Alastair slumped on a rickety wooden chair, but was wide awake, and the other two sat on the floor, legs stretched out and backs to the wall. Every so often one of them nodded off, and his mate dug him in the ribs.
Lois knew she had to stay awake at all costs. For some reason, her threat had kept them at bay for a while, but although they had not replaced the gag or rebound her hands, the odds were against her being able to get help. Three of them, two fit and violent and one flabby and nasty and holding a gun. Her only hope was to be still and hope that all three would fall asleep at the same time. Some hope!