Threats at Three

by Ann Purser

  LOIS HAD FELT CONSPICUOUS AS SHE MADE HER WAY UP PAULA’S garden path. Those unfamiliar cars were not casual callers. They were on the watch. She supposed Cowgill was expecting Jack’s father to show up sooner or later, though she did not agree. Surely he would stay well out of the way? Unless, of course, it had not been him who’d taken Jack.

  “Mrs. M! Come on in. Am I glad to see you! It’s been such a day, and we’re all at sixes and sevens. I apologise for the mess and muddle. . . .”

  “Don’t be silly, Paula. Here, let me give you a hand. Two New Brooms should make quick work of this lot!”

  Frankie was duly tucked up into his cot, and the twins were bathed and sat like angels in their pajamas drinking hot milk. Jack Jr. was nowhere to be seen, and Lois did not ask. She would find out soon enough.

  “He’s asleep again,” Paula said, without being asked. “After talking to that nice policewoman, he was really tired. Not eating anything yet. So I thought the best thing was to let him sleep.”

  “Quite right,” said Lois. “He’ll get his appetite back soon enough. Did he talk to you at all, after the policewoman had gone?”

  Paula shook her head. “No, not really. But . . .” She hesitated, frowning.

  “But what?”

  “Well, I’m not sure, Mrs. M, that what he told the policewoman was the truth. I know I shouldn’t doubt my own son, but you know what he’s like. It all came out smooth and pat, like he’d rehearsed it. I’ve got to know over the years when he’s lying.”

  “And you think he was lying this time?”

  Paula nodded, her lips clamped together. Lois saw that she was again on the verge of tears, and changed the subject.

  “Oh, by the way, Gran sends her love,” she said. “Wants to know if there’s anything she can do. She can be a nice old thing, sympathetic and not too nosy. That is, if she really tries!” She chuckled, and Paula’s pale face broke into a smile. “It feels like the first time I’ve laughed for months,” she said. The sound of footsteps coming downstairs caused her expression to change. She turned to the door, where Jack Jr. stood yawning. “Ah, here he is,” she said. “I hope we didn’t wake you, luvvie. Would you like something to eat now?”

  He didn’t answer for a few seconds, but stared at Lois. Then he said perhaps he’d try a sandwich.

  “Ham?” said Paula. Jack shook his head.

  “Chocolate spread?” said Lois, and there was a glimmer of a smile.

  “Cor, yeah. We got any, Mum?” he said.

  Paula went into the kitchen to prepare the sandwich, and Lois suggested Jack should sit down and chat for a minute or two. He looked at her suspiciously, but perched on the edge of the sofa.

  “I got a rocket from Derek,” Lois said casually. “For not locking my van. Still, it was a good job I didn’t. You were completely knackered.”

  “I could’ve managed,” he answered. “Plenty of traffic along that road.”

  “Glad you feel so grateful,” said Lois with raised eyebrows. “Come on, Jack, give a little.”

  The chocolate sandwich arrived, and Jack began to eat, nibbling at first, but then wolfing it down. “Can I have another, Mum,” he said.

  “Please,” said Lois, automatically.

  Jack stood up, upsetting his plate. “Shut up!” he shouted. “You’re not my mum, nor anything to do with me. You got no right to come in here asking me questions about what happened!”

  Lois gazed at him calmly. “I haven’t asked you a single question about that,” she said. “Anyway, I haven’t time to waste. I must be going, Paula. Let me know if you need anything. Shall I tell Gran you’ll be in touch?”

  Paula frowned. “Sorry about—well—you know . . . Thanks a lot for coming round, and for everything. I’ll be back at work very soon, I hope.”

  ON HER WAY HOME, LOIS SAW THE ADSTONE CAR GO BY AT SPEED, and realised there were meetings happening all round the village, organising last minute details for the soap box grand prix. It was going ahead now, with only one week to go, and there was great relief that it would not be overshadowed by a missing child from the village. Should she be at one of these meetings? Ah, well, if there was a WI one, they could do without her. The soap box was finished, and now parked up at the hall being test driven by Mrs. T-J. She hoped the old girl wouldn’t crash too many times. After all, a jar of jam is vulnerable.

  “How were they?” Gran said, as she came into the kitchen.

  “Much better,” Lois said. She had decided to keep to herself Paula’s confidences and the possibility that Jack was lying.

  “That child needs a father,” Gran said. “Where is he? You’d have thought he would come forwards now Jack’s back. After all, they’ll catch him sooner or later, and if he gives himself up of his own accord, it’s bound to go easier for him.”

  “We don’t know why he’s disappeared, if Jack’s story about a sleepover in Tresham is true.”

  Gran pounced. “You mean it may not be true? Lois, what do you know?”

  “Nothing more than you,” Lois said honestly. “It could be that Hickson vanished because he knew he’d be suspected, once the news broke.”

  “Well, let’s hope he comes back. That poor woman needs a man about the place. Maybe they should get some counselling, see if they could get back together.”

  “Maybe,” Lois said. “But shall we talk about something else now? What’s new with the soap box arrangements?”

  “There’s a pub entry meeting tonight. Derek’s gone down there.”

  “I saw Gavin Adstone on his way. He’s helping the pub lot, isn’t he? Surely they don’t need Derek as well. Oh, yes, now I remember,” she added, “don’t tell me. Our Derek’s a roving coordinator. . . .”

  Gran smiled. “Yeah, well, I reckon he’d rather be roving down to the pub than to any of the others. I know there’s a Youth Club one tonight. I saw Hazel in the shop, and she said John has to decide on who’s driving their soap box. It was going to be Jack Jr., apparently, but I doubt if he’ll be allowed to now.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Lois said. “It’d be good for him. Take his mind off the past couple of days.” She looked at the clock. “I might slip round and see Kate Adstone. She was talking about helping Paula by collecting Frankie from nursery with Cecilia, and looking after him for a couple of hours. Paula will be needing as much work as I can give her when all this is over.”

  It was a lovely calm evening, still warm from the day’s unbroken sunshine. If only it could be like this next week, they should have a really profitable day. And a lot of fun, too. The soap box had brought the village together in the best way. Nothing like a bit of good-natured competition. She thought of the unresolved question of what had really happened to Jack Jr., and decided to leave it until tomorrow, when her brain had cleared.

  When she reached Kate’s house and rang the bell, there was a long silence and she began to think nobody was at home. But surely it would be Cecilia’s bedtime? Then she saw the net curtain twitch, followed by the sound of locks and bolts being undone. What on earth was going on?

  “Oh, it’s you, Mrs. Meade.” Kate looked worried. “Do you want to come in?”

  Lois nodded and walked into the neat sitting room, all the toys now tidied away into a big red plastic box. “I hope you don’t mind my calling,” she said. “I saw Gavin on his way to a meeting, and thought it would be a good time to tell you about Paula.”

  “Of course,” Kate said. “Please sit down. Would you like a coffee?”

  They talked for a while, and Kate seemed pleased that Paula would entrust her small son with her for a while after nursery. “I did wonder whether she would go off the idea after what happened to Jack. What did happen to him, anyway?”

  Lois gave her the authorised version, and skipped on to ask about Cecilia. Assured that the little girl had settled very happily now, she prepared to leave. But Kate said quickly, “No, don’t go yet. It’s so nice to chat to someone when Gavin is out, and I expect your husband is with the l
ads, too?”

  Lois sat down again. “Are you nervous about something, Kate?” she said. “I couldn’t help hearing all those unlockings! Not scared of anyone, are you?”

  “No, no,” Kate said airily. “It’s Gavin. He always insists I lock up securely when he goes out in the evenings. Especially since the Hickson business.”

  The conversation stumbled on. In the end, Lois said she had to go, as Gran would wonder where she was. “Gavin should be home very soon,” she said. “And look, it’s not really dark yet. Listen to that blackbird! There’s a couple of them calling to each other. Come out here and listen.”

  As they stood in the quiet evening, listening to the liquid notes of the blackbirds, the sound of a rough engine broke the spell. Kate froze as a shabby white van drew up outside her gate. The window was lowered, and a voice shouted out, “Twelve o’clock sharp tomorrow, Mrs. Adstone! Be there!” And the van moved off, juddering as it gathered speed.

  Kate turned and rushed back in, followed by Lois. “Who was that? Did you know him?”

  “No, no, of course not. Never seen him before. Must have got the wrong house. Sorry to have kept you, Mrs. Meade. Goodbye now.” And Kate more or less shoved Lois out of the house and began to lock and bolt the door once more.

  Lois shrugged. If Kate Adstone was having an affair with a man in a scruffy van, it was her business. But it hadn’t sounded like that, and Lois was pretty sure it was the right house. He’d used Kate’s name, hadn’t he?

  FORTY-SEVEN

  THE MAN, WHOSE CURRENT NAME WAS ROSS, RETURNED TO his sister’s house and parked his van outside, obscuring any view of the turgid canal water on the other side of the road. The house was in darkness. He supposed she was out at one of her many social engagements. Whist, bingo, a coffee evening with her Oxfam mates somewhere in the town. Well, that was good. He would have the house to himself, and could use her telephone to make some calls.

  He drew the curtains, opened a beer and settled down. The first call was the most important. He dialled a familiar number, and waited.

  “Hello? It’s me. Ross. Yeah, mission accomplished. What? Yes, of course I made sure she heard.”

  The voice at the other end of the line asked if he was certain she had been alone. Ross thought quickly. A small lie was necessary here. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I went to the pub first, and her bloke was there, buying drinks all round for some reason. Something to do with this soap box grand prix they’re putting on in Farnden next Saturday. I think they’d finished their vehicle, or something. You’d’ve been proud of me. I managed to get in on the round meself!”

  “So she was alone, except for the kid?” the voice said.

  “Yep. I kept it short. She was scared, o’ course.”

  “And did she say she’d be there?”

  Another necessary lie. “Oh, yeah. Said she was looking forwards to it.”

  “Liar,” said the voice. “Anyway, you’ll be for it if she doesn’t turn up.”

  The call was cut off abruptly, and Ross saw that his hand was shaking. Sod the bugger! If only he’d never got into his clutches. That’s how his sort worked, of course. Caught you when you were down, in his case sacked unjustly, and then made themselves indispensable.

  His next call was to the dodgy character who’d been his second-in-command at Barcelona Street. “So what’s happened about that girl? Cops took her away, I suppose? Did anybody talk? All got away before they got there? Good. Keep in touch, and don’t forget that if you blab it’s your life or mine. And I’m keen to hang on to mine.”

  That should fix him, he thought, and hung up. Now the most difficult one. He had to find out where Hickson was hiding out. The score was still not settled. There was no news on the telly. The story had gone quiet, but the evening paper had a small paragraph saying the police were still looking for the boy’s father. He knew Hickson had been popular when he worked with the gardening lot at the parks depot. He had good cause to remember that! He rubbed his ribs where the pain still caught him, especially in wet weather.

  Well, he had had one or two mates, too. Not that they had supported him much at the time, but he could give one of them a ring and see if he’d heard from Hickson. He still had his number somewhere. He searched and found it in an old notebook in his pocket, and dialled. His luck was in, and he recognized the voice. “Hi, mate!” he said breezily. “Guess who this is?” The answer was quick and final. A click, and then the dialling tone.

  Ross sagged in his chair. He finished his beer and opened another. Friendless, he said to himself. All except for that bugger who had him by the short and curlies. He needed to think, and as always when silence began to close in and threaten panic, he switched on the telly.

  “GOOD MEETING?” LOIS SAID, AS DEREK CAME INTO THE SITTING room a little unsteadily.

  “More of a celebration, ac-ac-actually,” he said. “Soap box Speedy Willie is finished, and christened with a bottle of champagne presented by the publican!”

  “Shouldn’t they wait until they’ve won the grand prix before cracking open the champagne?” said Lois dryly. She didn’t grudge Derek his celebration. He had worked really hard on this whole event, and deserved a break. “I wonder how they got on at the Youth Club? Hazel said John had to choose a driver.”

  “He came into the pub just before I left,” Derek said. “They’ve decided to let young Hickson drive it, all being well. Unani . . . unanimous decision, apparently.”

  “Is it safely built?” Lois said, with a sudden shiver of doubt.

  “Oh, yes. They’ve had technical advice from the college. It looks a really streamlined job, too. It’ll be great for the kid if he wins. And hey, you know he was supposed to turn up at choir the night he went missing? Well, Tony Dibson was in the pub, and he said the lad had sent a note of apology. He’s still going to join, as soon as he’s sorted out.”

  “That’s all right, then,” Lois said. All seemed to be going to plan. So why did she have this nagging feeling that something was still wrong, dangerously wrong?

  FORTY-EIGHT

  I WISH I DIDN’T HAVE TO GO, BUT THE CLIENT SAID THIS WAS HIS only free time. I shall be back about four o’clock,” Gavin said. “What are you going to do with yourselves, poppet?”

  The question was addressed to Cecilia, but Kate answered. She had had a terrible night, with not a wink of sleep. Over and over in her mind she had considered the best thing to do. Gavin had expressly forbidden her to go anywhere near the Café Jaune in Tresham, today or any other day, without him.

  But the man had been so threatening! If only she could sort it out without having to tell Gavin. If she did tell him, she knew he would just storm off and tackle Tim Froot head on, and she feared that hot-tempered Gavin would come off worst. He seemed to have put the whole thing out of his mind at the moment, so in the end she decided to wait until he had gone and then see how she could get into Tresham without the car. There was a bus on Saturday mornings, she knew, but had no idea what time it went. If she turned up with Cecilia, Tim Froot wouldn’t be able to do anything bad. And after all, a café was a very public place. Then she could sort him out in no uncertain terms and come straight home again. It was nine o’clock now, and Gavin was on his way out of the door. He need never know.

  “We shall be fine,” she assured him. “Might do a bit of gardening, and then go round to see how Paula Hickson is getting on. Little Frankie might come for a walk with us. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Cecilia?” she added, cuddling her daughter close.

  “Take care, then. Bye, both,” he said, and blowing a kiss he was gone.

  Ten minutes later, Kate had telephoned Josie at the shop and established that the bus went from there at a quarter past ten. Just time to clear up and get Cecilia ready, and then they could be at the shop in good time. Now she had made the decision, she felt much better, and quite strong enough to deal with half a dozen Tim Froots, so long as they were safely observed by a café full of people.

  There was a small queu
e waiting for the bus, and Kate joined on the end, folding Cecilia’s pushchair to be ready to load it. She stood behind Father Rodney, and just to make conversation asked him why he was catching the bus and not taking his car into town? He replied that the parking on Saturdays was impossible, and in any case, the bus gave him a chance to chat to parishioners who were not necessarily churchgoers.

  They climbed into the bus, already fairly full, and Father Rodney shepherded Kate and Cecilia into a seat and then sat beside them. “Will you come to me to give Mummy a rest?” he said, smiling at the toddler. To Kate’s surprise, Cecilia held out her arms, and went without a murmur to sit on the vicar’s lap and look around at the other passengers.

  “Going shopping, Kate?” he said, after they’d got going again. “Gavin not with you today?”

  “No, he’s gone to see a client. Back this afternoon. We’re just going into town for an outing, really. Something to do. We’ll have lunch somewhere, and then catch the bus back this afternoon.”

  “There are two today,” Father Rodney said. “One about two thirty, and the other just after four. I hope to get the early one. I’m just going to Waitrose to get my favourite drinking chocolate! Josie doesn’t have it in the shop yet.”

  “It’s a long way to go for a jar of chocolate drink,” Kate said with a smile. “I think chatting to likely converts is the real reason! Anyway, we’re very glad, aren’t we, Cecilia, to sit next to someone we know.”

  And so the conversation proceeded comfortably until they turned into the Tresham bus park, and slowly the bus emptied. The vicar said he would walk with Kate into the middle of town. She looked at her watch, and said she would come into Waitrose with him and buy some of the magic drinking chocolate. It was only eleven o’clock, and when he suggested having a coffee in the supermarket coffee bar, she willingly agreed. He insisted on taking charge of Cecilia in her pushchair, and Kate found herself thinking what it would be like to be a vicar’s wife. It was different, she quickly realised. People made way for him, and it was as if an invisible barrier surrounded all three of them. How odd, she thought. Worse than being a doctor! There were three pedestals she wouldn’t want to inhabit: the pulpit, the doctor’s surgery and the teacher’s desk. There was no doubt that people still set these slightly apart from the rest, giving them extra respect and keeping a little distance.