by Purser, Ann
Justin retired to his bedroom, and sat for a while, staring out of the window at the dark, cold fenland. He did not really want to talk to anyone. He felt a stranger in his own home, and realised that the presence of Robert Pettison in the house was disturbing. He fell into a light doze in his chair, and dreamed that his uncle was wheeling himself miraculously upstairs, and finding his way into his bedroom, gun in hand. He awoke with a start, hearing his mother’s voice calling him for supper.
*
Back in Farnden, Lois sat in her office, waiting for Dot Nimmo to call. Gran and Derek were watching television, and she had retired to take the call. There had been a message on the phone, and when she had tried to call back, Dot had been engaged. Lois’s thoughts were far away, up in the fens of Lincolnshire, where she had never been, but imagined as looking something like the tulip fields of Holland. Justin would be very out of place there, surely, she thought. How did the son of a tulip farmer get to be a swinging young actor in the Midlands. She supposed his parents had decided on private education, and then university, in order to give him a broad education, but had succeeded only in producing a smooth young man, like many other smooth young men, with ambitions to make enough money to live in a luxury executive dwelling, somewhere in a leafy suburb.
But was Justin really one of them?
“We know nothing about him,” she said aloud, and then continued to remember exactly what they did know. His father had died, and he had a strange preference in his choice of pets. Pets? She stood up suddenly. Of course they were not pets, nor were they Justin’s! He was an intermediary and an actor, and of course she knew who was boss.
Her phone rang, and it was Dot. “Thanks for ringing back, Mrs M,” she said. “Just checking that it’s all right for me to work at the zoo tomorrow.”
“As it happens, yes. We’ve lost a couple of baby elephants and you may be able to help us find them.”
Thirty-nine
Justin padded over to the window to draw his curtains back, and was relieved to see a clear blue sky and a brisk wind blowing the few trees in the farmhouse garden. He had been dreading a wet day for his father’s funeral, but now, with any luck, they should be able to smile a little, and welcome guests who had come to mourn the loss of a loved one.
That’s what Pettison had said! An old friend, not a distant relative, nor a colleague. No doubt he would want that forgotten. Looking back, Justin remembered that his mother had never shown to him any curiosity about the barn where he had occasionally housed animals in transit. And Pettison had always been around, ever since he was a child. He had taken him for granted, and Father had talked of him as a business associate. Had Mother known all along what his father and Pettison, old school chums, were up to? Father must have told her, years and years ago. She would expect Robert to be here.
An old friend and business associate. Was that it? Justin began to shower and dress, and all the while he was thinking how he could get Pettison to tell him the truth. He reckoned that his father had not become an associate willingly. He had been a strictly law-abiding person in every other respect, and a regular churchgoer. But Pettison had exercised a hold over him in some way. That was his specialty!
“Justin! Breakfast’s ready!” His mother’s voice brought him back to the present, and he vowed to find out from Pettison exactly what the relationship with his father had been.
*
The church path was lined with wreaths and floral tributes, and when the coffin, with its spray of white lilies, was taken from the hearse, Justin, with his mother on his arm, followed slowly behind. The organ played some of his father’s favourite Mozart, and every pew was full.
“Dad must have been popular,” he whispered to his mother, and she nodded, unable to speak.
The service went smoothly, with Father’s friends stepping forward and giving short tributes to his loyalty, his kind heart and steadfastness. Justin was the last to speak, and he delivered the encomium in a shaky voice.
Pettison was in his wheelchair at the back of the church, well wrapped up against the cold, and Justin could hear his voice singing hymns in a loud voice. Hypocrite! Just you wait until we’re back in Tresham, he thought angrily.
Now it was time to lower the coffin into the grave, and Justin and his mother threw in handfuls of earth with a last prayer. “Rest in peace, Dad,” he said to himself. “Rest in peace.”
*
“So when is Justin coming back?” asked Josie, sorting out new stock to go on the shelves.
Lois had arrived early, saying that she needed more porridge oats. “Don’t you know, dear?” she replied.
“I’ve heard nothing, and I’m glad. Sooner or later, we’re going to have to tell him we no longer have the shrews. If that’s what they were.”
“I suppose we could make up a story about them being collected, and leave it at that,” said Josie.
“Collected by who?” said Lois. “He’s bound to be suspicious.”
“Well, that’d be better than having to admit they were stolen. He did ask us to look after them.”
“Which we did, to the best of our ability. Not our fault if the shed got broken into.”
“It didn’t, Mum. Don’t you remember? I unlocked it in the usual way with the key. I suppose we should tell the police? I haven’t even told Matthew yet. I keep remembering Justin saying we were not to tell anyone.”
“But we told Cowgill, and his niece. They know the poor little things have gone.”
“Well, let’s hope Dot finds them in the zoo. I must say it’s the last time Justin uses the shed for his weird pets! It’s the funeral today, so he could be back here tomorrow, or even later on today.”
Lois paid for her porridge oats, and said they would keep in touch. “And you be careful, my duckie,” were her last words as she left the shop.
*
In Tresham, Betsy Brierley was struggling from the car to her front door, carrying four heavy bags of shopping from the supermarket. As she approached, the door opened and Ted stood there, holding out his arms to help.
“Phew! I don’t know, Ted, we seem to get through an awful lot of food. Just dump them in the kitchen, and I’ll sort them out later. I’m dying for a coffee, if you’ve got the kettle on.”
When she had taken off her coat and settled down with a hot drink, Ted, who had up to then been silent, began to speak.
“Betsy, we shall have to be a bit careful, you know. My hours at work are being cut. The current economic situation, an’ all that. So perhaps we’ll give up the luxuries for a bit.”
“What luxuries? A bit of cream and a couple of peaches is hardly luxury living, is it.”
“No, dear, of course not. But you know what I mean. Oh, and by the way,” he said, on his way out to the kitchen, “I found a strange-looking mousetrap in the washhouse, and a couple of dead mice in it. Funny-looking mice, but anyway, as they were very dead, I put the whole thing in the bin. Must have been our neighbour’s. They weren’t Pettison’s were they? He looks after his stuff too well. I know you’re not partial to mice so I thought I’d get rid of them. They were rather pathetic, actually, curled up together as if they’d frozen to death.”
“Ted Brierley!” said Betsy. “You have just thrown away two and a half thousand pounds! Of course they were Pettison’s. I had to collect them from Farnden. Still, if they were dead, they were no use anyway. Make sure you cover ’em up with plenty of rubbish. The bin men come today, don’t they? Right. Now, can I have another dollop of cream in this coffee, or would that count as luxury living?”
Forty
The ambulance had arrived in the early afternoon to collect Pettison, and Justin waved him off with mixed feelings. A part of him thought it was actually very loyal of his uncle to risk pain and discomfort to come to say farewell to an old friend. At the same time, he was haunted by suspicions that Robert had turned up to make sure no incriminating evidence was left behind. Uncle and his mother had been in close conversation, and had changed
the subject as soon as he came into the room.
It had all been so stupid, Justin thought regretfully. Pettison had been ever present in his life, calling in to see his father frequently. There had been a kind of family conspiracy to keep quiet about the endangered animal trade, and for years before he went away to school he had believed that he and his father were actively helping Uncle Robert to do something worthwhile with his breeding programmes. He supposed his parents had assumed that the truth, that his father was colluding with Pettison’s illegal trade in rare species, had dawned on him gradually, and they never mentioned it. And he never mentioned it! Good God, how ridiculous! And now, he thought, Mum will continue not to mention it, and so shall I. And if my dream of establishing the zoo comes true, post-Pettison, as legal, with no sidelines, it will be the best in the land.
“All ready for the off, Mum,” he said, entering the kitchen for a last snack before he set off in the Fiat. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right? I could stay another day or so.”
“No need, dear. I’m going to Vera’s first thing tomorrow. I’ll ring you to make sure you get back safely.”
“Fine. Now, is there anything else?”
“No, unless you’ve got any animals out there in the barn? Don’t forget them; otherwise, they’ll starve!”
Wow! What an opening! “Nothing there now, Mum,” he said. “I took the last lot away. What did you think of them? Did they appeal to you as pets? We’ve had lots of them over the years, haven’t we?”
And then Mum didn’t answer, and he had said nothing more, recalled Justin, as he sped through the fens. At last, trees and hedges began to appear and he was ashamed to feel a sense of relief at being away from it all. All the questions he could have asked about the early times of his father and Pettison, all had gone unsaid.
But he could not leave it there. Things had changed, and he intended as a priority to thrash out the exact nature of the link with Pettison. He was sure his father would never have agreed willingly to anything illegal. There must have been some pressure involved. From the beginning. And from his own point of view, he wanted no “from generation unto generation” rubbish from Uncle Robert! Above all, when, as was likely, the trade was uncovered by the police, he wished to make sure his father’s name was cleared.
When he reached Farnden, it was six o’clock and dark. The bright overhead light outside the shop lit up his entry to the back of the building, and he coasted in, shutting off his headlights so as not to announce his arrival. He had no appetite for conventional sympathies, and hoped he could creep in and up to the flat without anyone knowing. He saw a light on in the stockroom, and cursed. Josie must be sorting things out in there. But she did not appear, and he shut and locked the flat door with relief. Then he thought of the animals. Oh well, they’d probably been fed this evening. “I’ll look at them tomorrow,” he muttered, and collapsed on the sofa, where he fell immediately into a dreamless sleep.
*
Next morning, Justin awoke with a painful neck where he had been lying cramped up on the sofa, still in his clothes. He looked at his watch. It was half past nine, and he would have barely enough time to shower, and put on his good suit, and speed into Tresham in time for a meeting with the solicitor who was helping with his father’s affairs.
He was on the road, clean and fresh, when he remembered the shrews. “Damn!” he said aloud, and slowed down. Should he go back and feed them? But no, Josie would have realised what had happened, and looked after them. He quickened up, and arrived outside the solicitors’ offices on the dot of half past ten.
The loose ends of his father’s financial affairs were soon tied up, and when he went out to the Fiat, he noticed the petrol gauge was low, but not alarmingly so, and he decided to risk it.
He was beginning to feel anxious now, with a vague suspicion that something was wrong. He had waved to Josie as he left Farnden earlier, and she had not smiled in reply. Pettison had said he was to hang on to the little animals or, in an emergency, get them to Betsy Brierley, who would know what to do with them.
He put his foot on the accelerator and pushed the little car to its top speed. The straight stretch of road whizzed by, and as he slowed down to drive through Fletching, he heard the unmistakable sound of a police siren. Damn and blast!
“So sorry, officer,” he said, as the policeman came up to his open window. “Not concentrating, I’m afraid.”
“Very dangerous, sir, particularly at that speed. I’m afraid it’ll be a ticket this time. You know what to do, I expect.”
“Thank you,” replied Justin, and managed to refrain from committing himself further.
When he rushed into the shop, he found Josie sitting on her high stool, reading a newspaper.
“Hi, Justin,” she said. “Good journey?”
“So-so,” he said. “Animals okay?”
Josie took a deep breath. “I am afraid they’re not there. Somebody either collected them or stole them, and the odd thing is, the door was not broken into. So sorry! I didn’t want to have bad news for you when you must be feeling sad. Did the funeral go smoothly?”
Justin did not answer. Why had Pettison insisted on him giving Betsy a copy of the shed key? In case of emergencies, he had said. Well, now they had an emergency, and he knew who to ring immediately.
“Excuse me, Josie,” he said. “I must make a quick call.”
At this point, Mrs T-J came through the door. “Good morning! Lovely morning, though cold.”
“Hello, Mrs T-J,” said Josie. “Afraid it’s not such a lovely morning here. I’ve just had to confess to Justin that I’ve lost his elephant shrews.”
“My dear, how awful! Justin, your new tenant? Well, I wonder what he was doing with them.”
“They were special,” replied Josie. “Elephant shrews are special apparently. Golden rumped ones are very rare, and an endangered species. Not indigenous to this country. Bred in captivity, this lot, I think Justin said.”
“Dear little things, actually, with their goldy-coloured bottoms,” said Mrs T-J. “Used to see lots of them on travels with my husband. Forests being cut down or burned low, you know. Natural habitat for lots of rare animals being lost. Such a shame.”
*
“Betsy? Justin Brookes here. What have you done with them?”
“Done with what?”
“You know perfectly well. Those shrews. I had to go to my father’s funeral, and found them gone when I returned. I gave you the copy of the shed key, so don’t waste my time. Where are they? I need to hand them over today.”
“Sorry about your dad. Don’t bother about the animals.” Betsy put her hand over the receiver and hissed at Ted, “What did you say you did with them?”
“They were stone-cold dead, Betsy dear, and I wrapped them tenderly in newspaper and put them in the bin. You can tell him that with my compliments.”
Betsy scowled at him, and uncovered the receiver. “I’ll hand them over, Justin,” she said. “Got to go down to the zoo anyway, this afternoon. So I can go up to the house and meet the customer.”
“And take your share of the loot? Always handed over in cash, isn’t it? No flies on you, Betsy. Well, it’ll be between you and Uncle Robert when you next see him. But don’t upset him too much. He’s still a bit frail. And watch out for yourself. Some of uncle’s customers can be very unforgiving.”
“Don’t you worry, dear. And thanks for the advice. Anytime you want a favour, just you let me know.”
What me? Oh Lord, save me from the weaker sex, thought Justin. He made himself a cup of coffee and sat down on his sofa to think.
*
“Who was that, dear?” said Ted suspiciously.
“Justin, wanting his animals. But I fixed him. I said I’d take them to the rendezvous myself. Being helpful, see. The poor soul just back from his father’s funeral. Now, we’ll have a quick lunch and then I have to go into town again. Forgot to get some moisturising cream from Boots. I used the last this morning.
I’ll get some crumpets for tea. I don’t know,” she added. “My head will never save my legs!”
Driving back into town, Betsy planned what she would do. It was extremely unlikely that the pet shop would have elephant shrews. She hoped there would be something like them, about the same size, that could be wrapped up and passed off as the real thing, at least until she had the cash safely in her pocket. Of course, she should never have left them in the cold washhouse. Poor little things. But it was really Pettison’s fault for importing little animals into the climate of this country.
It’ll be risky, but as long as the man who comes to collect doesn’t ask for a close look, all should be well. For the moment, anyway.
*
“Sorry, love, we’d never ever see any of those,” said the pet shop assistant. “Probably a protected species, I’m afraid. Can I suggest an alternative? I’ve got a pair of lovely piebald mice. Very pretty, and tame. Bred in captivity, and will eat from your hand.”
Ugh! thought Betsy, but she said they would be fine, and please could she buy a carrying case as well. “And wrap them up well,” she said. “It’s really bitter out there today.”
She was nervous as she placed them in the boot of her car. Suppose they escaped and ran around her legs when she was driving! Telling herself not to be silly, she drove out of town and approached the zoo. Margie Turner saw her coming and waved her through the gates. She drove swiftly up to the house, and in the yard behind, she saw a black car, not one that she recognised, with a figure sitting in it.
Parking next to it, she waved at the man, and got out. He joined her, his hat pulled well down over his face.
“How d’you do,” said Betsy. “Very cold today, isn’t it?”
“We might have some snow,” replied the man.
“Well, we got that out of the way, didn’t we. Very James Bond, don’t you think? Anyway, here’s the consignment. Hand over the cash, and then we can be away from here. You never know when you might bump into a policeman, since that nasty accident in the zoo.”