Tragedy at Two

by Ann Purser

  “You know who I am,” Alf said. “I’ll make it short and sweet. I want you off this land by tomorrow morning. You never asked permission, and I wouldn’t have given it. Athalia Lee had no right to let you stay here, and I’m ordering you to go.”

  Did he know already about Sam Stratford and his wife? Harry could not be sure, but he answered as politely as he could. “We’re going today,” he said. “When we come back from market, we’ll pack up and be off in the morning. You’ll never know we’ve bin here, Mr. Smith.”

  “One more word,” said Alf. “I’d advise you to get rid of that dog. They’re illegal now, and I’ve had complaints.”

  “Who from?” said Harry sharply.

  “None of your business, but it’s enough for you to know he wears a uniform and drives a car with a siren. With me?”

  Harry nodded. He knew now that Alf’s missus had not told. Yet. “Must go now,” he said. “The best business is done early. Don’t you worry, Mr. Smith, we’ll be gone.”

  “And don’t turn up here again,” Alf said, a parting shot as the lorry moved forward and out on to the Tresham road.

  THIRTY-ONE

  SHEILA STRATFORD WAS FEELING BETTER. THE FEVER HAD gone, though she wobbled a little as she got out of bed. She decided to have a shower, get dressed and do a few small jobs around the house. She could hear in her head her mother’s voice saying, “Get up, gel. You’ll feel better when you’re properly dressed.”

  Alan’s wife had been in and tidied round, but Sheila did not think much of her housewifely skills, and reckoned there’d be a lot to do downstairs. As she thought, there were heaps of newspapers, Sam’s clothes, bags of shopping not unpacked, and ashes six inches deep in the fireplace. Was she being unfair to her daughter-i n-l aw? The heaps were quite tidy, and the ashes had been swept into a mound. But no, the girl was hopeless. Not brought up to run a house and family, that was for sure.

  When Sam came in at lunchtime, his face brightened as he saw the table had been set and Sheila at the cooker stirring soup.

  “Feeling better, me duck?” he said. “Now don’t you go doing too much at first. You had a nasty fluey cold, and that takes it out of you.”

  “I’m better doing something,” Sheila said. “Lying up there thinking stupid thoughts is no good to man nor beast—nor woman.”

  “What stupid thoughts?” Sam frowned. What was she on about now? He had decided to make a big effort and forget about that quiz night. Time things got back to normal, and that included no more clandestine meetings with Edwina in the woods. The pair of them were old enough to know better.

  “Never mind that now,” Sheila said. “Let’s have this soup while it’s hot. Are you going by the Farnden shop this afternoon? We need supplies. Josie has some chicken breasts that’ll do us nicely for tea. She gets ’em from the farm, so they’re really fresh.”

  “Yeah, sure. I can do that. An’ I thought I’d call on old Alf and see if Edwina’s got any eggs to spare. They’re different from shop-bought as chalk from cheese. Might make me a bit late, but you’ll be all right, won’t you?” Oops! So much for good resolutions, he told himself.

  Alarm bells rang in Sheila’s head at his words. They always did these days when he said he’d be a bit late. Still, if he was just going to Alf’s, that would be fine. And Edwina’s eggs were certainly good.

  “I might try a little walk in the fresh air this afternoon,” she said. “Perhaps up Junuddle and around a bit. Not too far. Now, d’you want some more?”

  Sam said quickly, “Not as far as the farm, Sheila. Not on your first day out of bed. Don’t want a relapse, do we?”

  MARK BROWN AND SALLY T-J HAD ALSO DECIDED TO ENJOY the fresh air. They had discovered a tumble-down shelter in the corner of Junuddle. It had once been a solid, brick-built shed, protection for the sheep when March winds brought strong torrents of sleet, or on baking summer days when the sun seemed dangerously close to the fields, parching the grass and drying up ditches and streams.

  Slowly the shelter had fallen into disrepair, with loose red bricks crumbling in heaps and slates fallen from the roof. Enough of it was still shielded from view, however, for Sally and Mark to settle down and have a smoke. Up to this afternoon, that was all that had happened.

  But now, when Sheila Stratford strolled along, taking deep, healing breaths, she was curious about glad shouts coming from the shelter. She stood irresolutely, listening until things had quietened down. After all, whoever they were, they were trespassing, and she supposed Alf Smith would want her to see them off his land. She coughed. Total silence, so she coughed again and walked towards the entrance. Peering into the dim interior, she could see two frightened faces in the gloom. She did not immediately recognise either of them, but walked in and said, “What d’you think you’re doing? This is private land.”

  “Nothing,” the girl said. “We’re not doing anything. Just talking and getting away from the world.” The boy giggled.

  Mmm, thought Sheila, and sniffed. Obviously not an innocent ciggy, then. Well, what they were up to was none of her business, but trespass was, and she told them briskly to get themselves together and be off as quickly as they could, before Mr. Smith came after them with a pitchfork.

  This time it was the girl who laughed. “Nobody uses pitchforks now! Anyway, Mrs. um—” Her posh accent reminded Sheila of someone. Oh, yes, now she guessed at the girl’s identity. Well, better confirm it.

  “I’m Mrs. Stratford,” said Sheila. “And what’re your names? No, on second thoughts don’t tell me. If I don’t know who you are I shan’t be tempted to tell your parents. Now get going, both of you.” She remembered what Sam had said about not going too far, and started on her way back home, thinking nostalgically of the sweet-smelling haystacks where she and Sam had done their courting on balmy summer evenings.

  MARK AND SALLY STRAIGHTENED THEIR CLOTHES IN SILENCE. “Have you done this before?” Sally said.

  Mark shook his head. “Not all the way,” he said, his voice muffled in embarrassment.

  “Nor me. D’you think I’ll get pregnant?”

  “For God’s sake! Don’t even mention it! That would really be the end for me. I’d be turned out, all my belongings in a red spotted kerchief, and told to go as far away as possible, never to return.”

  Sally laughed, peals of teenage laughter. “I expect they’d make me get rid of it.”

  “Costs a lot,” said Mark. “At least, I think it does.”

  “Money’s no object,” said Sally. “They think money can fix everything. Well, they’d be wrong this time. If I’m pregnant, I shall go through with it. I fancy the idea of being a teenage mum. And if it bothers you,” she added, suddenly angry, “I won’t say who dunnit. I’m used to managing on my own. I’m off, anyway. See you around.”

  Mark followed slowly. He watched until she vanished round a spinney at the corner of the field. Perhaps his reaction had been a bit selfish? Oh, God, if only he could think clearly. At the moment, his head was full of the swirling effects of the shared smoke. And, he admitted to himself, of his fir st go at the real thing, better than he had ever rehearsed.

  “HI, SAM,” EDWINA SAID. HE WAS STANDING BY THE KITCHEN door, watching her approach from her vegetable garden.

  “Alf about?” he said. “I’ve knocked and shouted, but no answer.”

  Edwina shook her head. “He’s gone to see his sister over the other side of Tresham,” she said. “Won’t be back for a couple hours. She’s a bit poorly. How’s Sheila?”

  “Much better, thanks,” he said. He moved towards her, but she sidestepped him and went into the kitchen.

  “My hands are covered in dirt,” she said, “but come on in. We can’t be too careful, can we, Sam. We’ve had one or two trespassers here lately.” She shivered at the thought of the man with the dog.

  “Where?” Sam said. “What were they after? There’s been some barn thefts locally.”

  Edwina smiled. “Not exactly barn theft,” she said slowly.
“Anyway, they soon scarpered when they saw Alf.” She dried her hands, and Sam moved towards her. She felt the old, dangerous, spreading warmth as he put his arms around her.

  “Two hours, me duckie,” he whispered in her ear, and led her towards the stairs.

  THIRTY-TWO

  JOSIE WAS BUSY IN THE STOREROOM WHEN SAM CAME IN. HE called her name, and she yelled “Hello, Sam. Just coming.” She had known Sam Stratford ever since Mum and Dad had moved to Farnden.

  “How’re you, me duck?” Sam said, as she appeared, smiling her usual welcome. There were times when she felt very far from smiling, but she always managed. A warm welcome to all comers had paid off. The village shop was doing well, when all around were closing down. Josie enjoyed being the hub of the village, and she was the recipient of many secrets and private thoughts. “You won’t tell anyone, will you, Josie,” yet another confidante would say, and Josie promised. What is more, she kept her word.

  “A dozen eggs, please,” Sam said. “And Sheila says a couple of those fresh chicken breasts you get from the farm.”

  He had remembered the eggs on his way home. What with this and that, and Edwina being on edge in case Alf came home early, he’d forgotten to ask for eggs. Never mind, Sheila wouldn’t know the difference. Josie sometimes took Edwina’s surplus.

  “How is Sheila?” Josie asked. She knew from Mum that Sam’s wife had been ill. “On the mend, I hope?” Sam said yes, she’d be back at work in a day or two. He looked around and took a box of Milk Tray chocolates from a shelf. “Dragon food,” he said.

  “What?” said Josie. “What did you call them?”

  “Dragon food. A German student working on the farm told me. He said that’s what they call presents bought by husbands who are late getting home. Roses from the roadside, an’ that. Dragon food. Food to appease the dragon!”

  Josie laughed and wondered privately why Sam needed to appease Sheila. Being late home wasn’t anything unusual in the farming community. If a job needed finishing, the worker stayed until it was done.

  The doorbell jangled behind Sam, and he turned. It was Alf Smith.

  “Thanks, Josie,” Sam said, picking up his purchases. “Cheerio, gel.”

  Alf Smith stood in the doorway, not moving.

  “’Scuse me, Alf,” Sam said.

  “Not so fast,” Alf said. “I want a word with you.”

  “YOU’RE NOT SO LATE AS I EXPECTED,” SHEILA SAID APPROVINGLY. “Did you get the chicken breasts? And the eggs from Edwina?”

  “Yep,” Sam said, dumping them on the kitchen table. His face was pale, and his expression grim. “By the time I’d finished helping with the pigs it was too late to go to the Smiths, so I got the eggs from the shop. Josie said she gets them from Edwina, anyway.” He had decided to make all his stories hang together, but oh, what a tangled web we weave. Echoes of the past! His Dad had been forever using the old adage to young Sam when as a boy he had been poaching, or chasing the vicar’s daughter.

  “Well, thanks anyway,” Sheila said. “I went for a little walk, not too far, and I feel a whole lot better. I’ll ring Lois and tell her I can start work tomorrow. It’s my old lady down the road, just a couple of hours, so I’m sure I can manage that. She relies on me to tell her what’s going on in the village, an’ that.”

  Sam grunted, and went through to the hall. “You all right?” Sheila shouted after him. “You look a bit ropey. Hope you’ve not got my bug!”

  “I’m okay,” he said. “Bit tired, that’s all.” And serve you right, at your age, he told himself silently as he trudged upstairs to change his shoes, Alf’s harsh words still ringing in his ears.

  LOIS SAT STARING AT A BLANK COMPUTER SCREEN, THINKING about Rob. She realized that the urgency had gone out of the family resolve to find his killer. Well, in a way, that was natural. Other problems came to the fore, needing urgent attention.

  When Lois last spoke to Cowgill, the case against the gypsies seemed to be hardening. But which gypsies? The whole lot hadn’t formed an avenging posse and ambushed Rob as he came home, drunk and helpless, she was sure of that. The most likely of them was the pair in the ratty old caravan, with the killer dog. But if that was so, why hadn’t the police got them in custody, or in for questioning, or some other ruse for preventing them from disappearing from sight? They were, so Cowgill had said, liaising with the local force where the gypsies had gone.

  In a belated blinding flash, Lois saw the answer. The brothers and their dog had not gone with the rest. They had obviously been outsiders hanging on to the coattails of the others while they were in Farnden, and by now could be anywhere in the country. Time for a word with friend Hunter.

  Lois looked at her watch. He should still be around, and she dialled his direct number.

  “Hello, Lois! How’s my girl today?” He sounded unchar acteristically bouncy.

  “No, you’ve got the wrong person. This is Lois Meade, and I’m nobody’s girl.”

  “All right, Lois. I am suitably humbled.”

  What was he talking about? Had he finally flipped, poor old thing? Lois got down to business.

  “It’s about Rob’s killer. You said it was looking like the gypsies were involved. I’ve been thinking. Which of the gypsies did you speak to?”

  “All of them,” Cowgill said, his voice now brisk and professional.

  “Including the two with the bull terrier? The illegal pit bull terrier?”

  There was a pause, and then Cowgill said he did not have the necessary papers in front of him, but he would check and get back to her.

  “Which means, I suppose, no, you didn’t even see the two men with the illegal pit bull?”

  “If they were on the site of the fire, we talked to them. I’ll call you back, Lois. Five minutes.”

  Lois felt better at having done something, moved the whole thing on a step or two. From all her experience of working with Cowgill, she reckoned that you cannot leave it safely to the local police, at least not if you want a swift answer.

  “Lois!” It was Gran, shouting from the kitchen. “Have you finished with the phone?” she continued, coming into the office. “I promised Joan Pickering I’d call her. She’s got this idea for a Farnden market in the village hall. Maybe once a month. People take stalls and sell things, and the WI makes a profit from renting out the stalls.”

  All this came tumbling out, and Gran’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm. “What a good idea,” Lois said, thinking how useful it would be for Gran to be involved. It would take her mind off family problems, especially Josie’s tragedy. It had really knocked Gran sideways, tough as she was. And it would be a good place for Gran to keep her eyes and ears open.

  “Five minutes, Mum,” Lois added, “then I’m done.”

  The phone rang on cue. “Lois? Apparently our men questioned everyone at the gypsy camp immediately after the fire was put out, but they don’t remember seeing the two with the pit bull terrier. They reckon they must have scarpered quickly, before they could be questioned. Can you describe them again? It might be important to follow them up.”

  Lois was furious. Of all the gypsies at the camp, the two with the dog were the most likely to have attacked Rob. And now they’d gone—probably where nobody could find them. She described what she remembered of them, and said she’d ask Derek, because he saw them, too.

  There was one more thing she could do. She would tackle Alf Smith, and see if he could help. Sam Stratford had been known to call him “gypsy lover” in the pub, but Lois reckoned she could coax a few facts out of him.

  THIRTY-THREE

  NEXT MORNING, MATTHEW VICKERS DROVE SLOWLY ON HIS way to Long Farnden. He was thinking about Josie Meade, and wondering how he could ask her tactfully if she’d like to see the new comedy film in Tresham. He’d checked out that it was a nonviolent family film, and colleagues at work had confirmed with a sly smile that it was a laugh a minute.

  His eye was caught by a pile of dirty, wilted flowers by the roadside. Another accident, he th
ought sadly. Then he remembered. Of course, it was where Rob had been beaten up and left to die. He drew into a gateway, got out of his car, and walked back. The least he could do was take them away. If Josie drove by—although she probably avoided that route into town—it would be a dreary reminder. He gathered them up, not noticing one separate from the rest, propped up against the fence a few yards away.

  He placed the pile in the boot of his car, and turned his car around. He would dump the flowers back at the station, but remove the cards and take them to Josie. A perfect reason to go and see her later.

  LOIS HAD DECIDED TO SEE ALF SMITH AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, AND as Derek and Gran were both out early, she took her jacket and made for the door. Then the phone began to ring and she reluctantly picked it up. It was a man’s voice, saying he had some information about Rob’s accident. He described the house he lived in, on the road where it happened. Would she like to meet him there straight away?

  Lois stiffened. “Not unless you tell me who you are,” she said. But the caller had gone, and she sat for a few minutes, wondering what to do. She could alert the police, but dismissed that idea. Whoever it was might be useful. She could go that way round to Alf Smith. That would be best.

  The phone rang again, and this time it was Josie. She was feeling low, and wondered if Lois could go shopping in Tresham with her. Was Gran free to take over the shop?

  “No, but I can get hold of Floss. She’s not cleaning anywhere at the moment. I’ll ring back.” She did not tell Josie about the anonymous caller. She would mention it in the car, and judge what to do by her reaction. The visit to Alf would have to wait.

  Fifteen minutes later, with Floss behind the counter, Lois collected Josie and they set off. “Thanks, Mum,” Josie said. Lois said that she had been going out anyway, but nowhere important.