by Ann Purser
Lois sighed. What else might have been used. A heavy stick with a gnarled knob at the end of it? Such as might have been cut from a scrubby roadside wood? One well polished from frequent use, and quickly wiped clean of the blood and hair sticking to it. Washed in a stream . . . running through the wood . . . known by a group of travelling undesirables who had been camping nearby? Oh, blimey, she muttered sadly to herself. This scenario was, of course, much the most convincing. Well, she was sure the police would be coming to that conclusion swiftly, and as she turned into Sebastopol Street, she made up her mind to take another direction. She pulled up outside New Brooms office, and went in to see what Hazel had for her to deal with.
MATTHEW VICKERS HAD COME INTO THE POLICE STATION LATER than usual. After a couple of days off duty, he had taken an instruction to visit an old man who claimed a gang of kids had persistently banged on his doors, both back and front, and had disappeared before he’d managed to get to his feet. Then, the last straw, his home help had stepped in a pile of excrement shoved through the letter box. Matthew had soothed the old man, taken details and promised to put a stop to the harassment.
“And when I’ve put a stop to that, the little sods will have moved on to some other vulnerable oldie,” he said aloud to himself. He was in a gloomy mood returning into the office, and was deeply ashamed of feeling uplifted for a second on learning of the murder of Josie Meade’s partner, Rob.
“Is the governor in?” he asked, and was told he had just arrived back from Long Farnden.
“Right, thanks,” said Matthew. As he left the room, his colleagues looked at each other. “Guess where he’s off to,” said one. There was no answer, but general laughter.
SEVEN
AS GRAN KNEW ONLY TOO WELL, THE WORST PERIOD FOR the bereaved is after the funeral and when all the attendant tasks have been dealt with. Suddenly there is a vacuum which nothing can fill, however many friends you have and however many clubs and activities you decide to join. You still have to come home to an empty house, with nobody to talk to. She had been in this position herself for some years until Lois had suggested she move in with them. Gran had burned her boats, sold her bungalow and followed the family to Long Farnden. It could have been disastrous, but they had all worked at it, and on the whole it had been a good solution.
Perhap Josie would come back to live at home permanently. She and Rob had made a nice little nest over the shop, but it could be lonely for her now. And she might feel safer in the house with the rest of them. It might be alarming if she heard burglars trying to break into the shop.
“Josie, dear,” she said, as her granddaughter got up from the table after lunch, “have you thought of staying with us, at least for a while? And where are you going now, duckie?”
Gran had noticed Josie had an umbrella in her hand. It was pouring with rain outside, the sky heavy and threatening.
“To the shop, of course,” Josie said firmly. “And thanks for worrying about me, Gran. But the shop is my life now, and I’m used to being independent. I don’t think I’d fit in back at home for any length of time now. Goodness knows what a muddle that Floss is making of the takings!”
“She’s a very nice girl, and a good cleaner. It’s nice that she and Ben have got that little house by the church. And now he’s got a job in Tresham, thank goodness. I know she wanted to stay in the village.”
“Being a good cleaner doesn’t make her a good shopkeeper, does it? It was nice of Mum to lend her to me, but I’m off now. Getting back into harness will be the best thing.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” Gran marvelled at how much Josie sounded like Lois. They were so alike, and yet seemed to get on well together. Perhaps the girl was right. A house with three bossy women in it would be an uncomfortable home for Derek!
CONTRARY TO HER EXPECTATIONS, JOSIE FOUND THE SHOP immaculately tidy, the till full of small change, and the safe securely locked. Floss had an attractive overall to keep her clean while cutting ham and cheese and handing out ice creams and sweets to sticky-fingered children.
She looked startled to see Josie back so soon, and rushed to get a stool for her to sit on. But Josie waved it away and said she was not ill. She even managed a smile for worried-looking Floss.
“I’m here to help,” Josie said. “You’re obviously doing brilliantly, and I’d be glad if you could stay for a week or two. There’s bound to be a lot of kerfuffle with the police and I’ll be called away now and then. I’ll make some coffee for us.” She vanished upstairs, and Floss was almost in tears herself when she heard muffled sobs. It was probably the first time Josie had come back home since Rob’s murder.
It was all round the village, of course. Everybody knew it was murder, and everybody had a firm idea of who had done it. Most had decided on a no-good gypsy, but a minority favoured the gang of youths who congregated in the evenings at the swings and slides in the play area of the recreation ground. They weren’t allowed there, but that made little difference. So far, they had drunk their drinks and smoked their smokes without bothering anyone else, and they had been tut-tutted over but left alone. All teenagers go through a bad patch, the village agreed, and this was relatively mild. But there was always one, the gang leader, who wanted excitement.
“And for excitement, read violence,” said the vicar, Keith Buccleugh—or Buckluck, as he was known in the village—to his wife, Marjorie. “What do you think, dear? Should I offer to talk to them, man-to-m an? They might open up to me, and give us some clues as to what really happened.”
He really believes it, thought Marjorie, looking at him fondly. But she knew he would end up as mincemeat if he approached the hooded ones and she said mildly that perhaps they should leave it to the police now. She was sure they would come to him if they needed his help.
“I suppose Mrs. Meade will be recruited again,” he said glumly. “She has quite a reputation now. Ah, here comes Josie. I asked her to pop in when she felt like it. Shall we have a coffee ready, Marj?”
For thirty married years she had hated that diminutive, but had never wanted to hurt his feelings by saying so. Sometimes she looked back on those years and realised she had spent far too much time protecting him from hurt feelings. A vicar needed to be tough, and Keith had never been. An overprotected and much loved child, he could never see unkindness coming. He really believed that everyone was basically good. What about original sin? He had shaken his head and not replied.
JOSIE HAD LEFT THE SHOP WITH THE INTENTION OF SPENDING, AT the most, ten minutes in the vicarage. At this stage she could do without the vicar’s sugary condolences, but she wanted to do the right thing and so, arming herself with the excuse that she had to get into Tresham to see Hazel at Mum’s office, she rang the doorbell.
“Come in, come in,” said Marjorie, “Father Keith is just on the telephone. He’ll be with us in a couple of minutes.” This was how he liked to be known, and it had taken some doing for the village to adjust.
“Morning, vicar,” Josie said, as he joined them. She was led into the sitting room, and as she sat down she mentioned her Tresham appointment. “But it is nice to sit and listen for a bit,” she said politely. “I’ve done nothing but answer questions for days.”
That should put a stop to old nosy, she reckoned, and sat back and smiled.
“Of course, Josie. It is my job to give you words of consolation, but this morning you can forget I’m a vicar. Think of me as just another customer of the shop, and we can chat.”
“Oh, and that reminds me,” Josie said, fumbling in her pocket, “I brought you a present.” She handed over a bar of the unsweetened dark chocolate he loved, and after that the ten minutes grew into half an hour, and Josie finally got up to go, thinking that he was not such a brainless twit as she had thought. He gave her a peck on the cheek and said he was always ready for a chat and a bar of chocolate, day or night, whenever she felt like it.
“Sweet girl,” he said to his wife, after she had gone. “We must do all we can to help. There
are more ways than one of gathering information.”
IN NEW BROOMS’S OFFICE, HAZEL WAS TALKING TO A CLIENT, so Josie went into the room at the back that doubled as storage and kitchen. She stood looking out of the window that overlooked the neat paved yard at the back and across to the new leisure centre going up on the old warehouse site. When Hazel came in to say the client had gone, Josie realised she had been staring out and registering nothing.
“The swimming pool will soon be finished, they say, so we can go and have a dip after work,” Hazel said. She looked closely at Josie and took her hand. “Come on, sit down and I’ll bore you with the latest exploits of my precious daughter, who is, as you know, a genius. You don’t even have to listen. And I shan’t ask you a single question.”
“Acting on orders from Mum?” Josie said.
“How did you guess?” Hazel replied.
EIGHT
LOIS HAD BEEN TO SEE A CLIENT ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF TRESHAM, and as she took a shortcut down Sebastopol Street she saw Josie’s car parked outside the New Brooms office. She had not intended to stop, but now pulled up. Neither Josie nor Hazel saw her coming, and were guiltily startled when Lois seemed to materialise from nowhere.
“Speak of the devil,” Josie said wearily.
“Hi, girls. Just thought I’d check to make sure all’s well. You okay, Josie?”
On an impulse, Josie turned and gave her mother a hug. “As well as can be expected, I suppose,” she said. “Did you want to talk to Hazel? I’m off home now.”
“Were you going to ask me something, Josie?” Hazel said. She was aware that her friend had arrived, said nothing very much, and was now leaving.
“Can’t remember,” Josie replied. “See you back at the buildings, Mum.” She walked towards her car and Hazel said, “Looks a bit lost, doesn’t she.”
“I’d do anything to help her,” Lois said. “But I can’t bring him back.”
“We can find the sod who killed him.”
“I mean to. But whoever beat him up might not have intended to kill him.”
“So what’s the difference?” Hazel said fie rcely.
“In law there’s a difference. But Rob’s dead either way. That’s all we need to remember. All of us.”
“GYPSIES ARE LIKE LARGE, SCRUFFY BIRDS,” SAID FATHER KEITH on a duty visit to the pub that evening. He was enjoying himself, and had had more than his usual half pint. “Alighting in a familiar nesting place, making use of what Mother Nature provides for them, and when she fails, they use their ingenuity to arrange for humans to supplement supplies, sometimes unknowingly.”
“It’s stealing! No need to wrap it up in poetic language,” Andrew Young said fiercely to the loquacious vicar. Andrew was the latest recruit in Lois’s cleaning team. The abiding topic was still the murder. No consideration was given here to the possibility that it might be manslaughter.
There was a chorus of agreement with Andrew, and the vicar judged it time to drink up and be on his way.
“Stupid bugger,” said Sam Stratford. “Lives on a different planet from the rest of us.”
“Hoping to,” said Derek and everybody laughed.
“But seriously,” Andrew continued. “I don’t know why they haven’t been moved on weeks ago.”
“Police won’t go near them unless they have to,” Derek said. “I remember my Dad saying about that site on the other side of Tresham that if a bomb dropped on the lot of ’em the crime rate in town would go down by half.”
“Even if they do get moved,” Sam said, “they leave sackfuls of litter behind. And not in sacks, either. Some other bugger has to clear it all up.”
The door opened, and Sam groaned. “Surely himself hasn’t come back for more,” he said.
But it was the same tall gypsy who had asked for work, and he came straight across to Derek. “Thanks, mister,” he said.
“What for?”
“We got work at that farm. Good bloke farms it. We’re not always trusted. Anyway, thanks.” His dark face warmed, and he smiled at Derek.
“S’okay,” Derek said in embarrassment, and turned his back. The others glared at him. “Doesn’t do to encourage them,” Andrew said quietly to Derek.
The gypsy, whose name was George, went to the bar and ordered a drink. He stood alone drinking unhurriedly and then walked slowly out of the pub. As he left, he look ed back at Derek who, astonished at himself, waved a hand in farewell.
“For God’s sake, boy!” said Sam. “You’ll be asking us to join the Friends of Farnden Dids next!”
“WHAT’S DIDS?” LOIS SAID, WHEN DEREK REPORTED WHAT HAD happened. To his surprise, Lois seemed pleased that he had made a fool of himself. In fact, she thought he’d not made a fool of himself. The others were the fools. He had thought of not telling her anything, but everything came back to Lois in the end. So he told her everything except sending them up to Thornbull’s. John Thornbull was Hazel’s husband.
“Where’ve you been all these years, Lois?” scoffed Gran. “Dids is short for didikyes. Gyppos to you and me.”
“They’re gypsies or tinkers to me,” Lois said.
“Oh, don’t you start,” said Gran. “Tolerance is all very well, but you have to speak from experience, and they’re a dirty rough lot. Always have been. They don’t respect our laws. Worse than foreigners.”
Neither Lois nor Derek said anything more, and the subject was changed.
“Josie phoned a couple of minutes before you got in, Lois,” Gran said. “She’s sleeping back over the shop tonight. I tried to persuade her to come here, but you know what she’s like once she’s made up her mind. Anyway, I said we’d expect her for breakfast. I want to make sure that girl’s getting food inside her. Bereavement can cause weight loss, you know. And she’s thin enough already. She’ll need her strength.”
“Maybe I’ll just pop down and make sure she’s all right,” Lois said.
“You might get a flea in your ear,” Gran said.
“She’s my daughter,” Lois said.
BEFORE SHE GOT TO THE SHOP, LOIS COULD SEE A CAR, NOT JOSIE’S, parked outside. As she got nearer she saw a man sitting inside. She stepped into the shadows and waited. After a few seconds, the man got out and stood looking up at Josie’s window. The curtains were drawn, but a light showed that she was there. Lois’s heart beat faster, and she wondered whether she should go back for Derek. But no, there wasn’t time for that. Then the man got back into the car, started the engine and drove away. As it passed under a street light, Lois was sure she recognised the face of the driver.
NINE
HAZEL THORNBULL ARRIVED HOME TO FIND HER DAUGHTER Lizzie in bed and asleep, and her husband John dozing in front of a discussion programme on television. She walked over and kissed the top of his head.
“Sorry to trouble your beauty sleep,” she whispered in his ear, “but did you remember to shut up the bantams?” Hazel kept a few bantams in the garden, not for the eggs, as they were not very good layers, but as pets. She loved the feathery silkies, and they all had names.
John jumped up and said, “Of course I did. Um, what did you say?”
“Never mind,” Hazel said. “Day go well?”
“Not bad. Them dids are good workers. Don’t say much, but just keep their heads down and get on with the work.”
“Gypsies?” Hazel said. “What, that lot from outside the village?”
“So they said. I asked them if they were moving on, because if they were they were wasting my time. I need workers who’ll last the season.”
“And?”
“They said they were staying as long as they could. The tall one actually laughed, and said you could never tell when the polis would evict them, but they were behaving themselves and hoped to stay until Appleby. He was quite a nice bloke. Had a sort of dignity about him.”
“Rubbish!” said Hazel loudly. “You can’t trust them round the corner! You’ll probably regret it, John.”
Then Lizzie appeared at the door looking w
orried and clutching Floppy Doggie, and had to be reassured that all was well and Mummy and Daddy were not quarrelling and it was time to go back to bed and sleep.
“You know everybody thinks it was one of those gypsies killed Rob, don’t you,” Hazel said, when all was quiet again. “Not everybody,” John said. “Now things have cooled down, now the Farnden branch of the Ku Klux Klan have decided not to go with a fiery cross to torch the encampment. A lot of people realise that it was much more likely to have been oafs drugged up and on their way to Tresham. Rob was drunk and was probably wandering around all over the place. And even he could get belligerent in his cups.”
“Rob? Josie’s Rob?”
John nodded. “I’ve seen him,” he said. “One night in the pub he was goin’ on about some policeman who fancied Josie, said he was taking advantage. Drownin’ his sorrows, was Rob. Landlord tried to stop him at his fifth pint, and that’s when Rob turned nasty. It was quickly settled, but we were all surprised.”
“I wonder if Lois knows about this,” Hazel said quietly. “Or if she’s been told that those two are working up here for us.”
“Nothing to do with her,” John said firmly. He was not keen on Hazel getting involved in Lois’s ferretin’.
“Of course it’s to do with her,” Hazel snapped. “Rob was nearly her son-in-law.”
“But he wasn’t, was he? Maybe that’s part of the picture. Anyway, I don’t want you mixed up with all that.”
“I know, I know,” replied Hazel. “We Thornbulls keep ourselves to ourselves. I’m off to check on Lizzie,” she added and disappeared.