by Ann Purser
“Oh, her!” they chorused, and then Hazel added that, in her opinion, Miss Yates deserved all she got.
“But seriously, team,” Lois persisted. “If you do hear of anything more like that, can you let me know? Poor Josie was really knocked sideways, and she’s still a bit shaky. I’ll make sure those scumbags get caught, if it’s the last thing I do.”
“On the job again, Mrs. M?” said Dot, looking eager. She was the only one of the team who’d dare to say such a thing, and Lois began to splutter crossly, but then she stopped and burst out laughing.
“Something like that,” she said. “Now, if we’re all finished, time to get on with our work. Bye, everybody. Oh, and Dot, can you stay behind for a minute or two? Thanks.”
After the others had gone, Dot looked nervously at Lois. “Did I do wrong?” she said.
“Don’t be daft,” Lois said. “No, I might well need your help on this Josie thing.”
“You mean my knowing about the criminal underworld of Tresham? If that’s not exaggerating,” she added, chuckling.
“Exactly,” replied Lois. “Ear to the ground, and all that. I’d be grateful, Dot. See what you can come up with, and give me a ring. Anytime.”
ANDREW YOUNG DROVE OFF, WAVING A CHEERY GOODBYE TO HIS colleagues, and headed towards Fletching and Mrs. Norrington. She was a nice woman, and he guessed the obvious wealth was newly acquired. Maybe the lottery, he thought. Anyway, she was not too sure what she wanted, and so was an ideal client for him. The girls had unanimously liked a heavy cream brocade for the drawing room curtains, and he had now completed the plans for the entire house.
He drew up outside Fletching Grange, and jumped out of the car, striding towards the door with cheerful enthusiasm. Nobody answered at first, and then he heard slow footsteps approaching. He was shocked as the door opened and Mrs. Norrington peered out at him. Her face was blotched and grubby, her hair untidy, and she looked as if she had slept in her clothes. He could smell alcohol on her breath.
“Oh, Andrew!” she said, and burst into tears.
“What on earth—” he said, and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
“Burglars,” she said. “Bloody burglars. Taken everything. Jewellery, pictures, silver, computers, everything.”
“But when?” he said. She sniffed hard, and said it had been sometime last night.
“But the alarm? Didn’t that go off?”
She shook her head. “I forgot to set it. Geoffrey will kill me. Do you want a drink?”
SEVEN
MRS. NORRINGTON LED THE WAY INTO HER DRAWING ROOM, which looked as if a party of drunken chimpanzees had careered about, knocking things off tables and out of china cabinets, pulling out drawers and scattering the contents on the floor. Even precious books had been dragged off shelves and tossed about like confetti.
“Have the police been?” Andrew asked immediately.
“Yep. They were good. Made lists, fingerprints and all of that.”
“Is your husband at home?” Andrew was beginning to feel inadequate. Surely some close member of the family should be here, propping up this poor woman.
“In Hong Kong,” she said flatly. “Goes there a lot, on business. I’ve phoned him, and he’s coming home as soon as poss.”
Thank God for that, thought Andrew. “So have you got someone coming to be with you until he’s home? I’m sure Mrs. Meade could arrange something, if not.” He was not at all sure about that, and was relieved when she said her sister from Birmingham would be arriving around teatime.
“Right, well. I’m dreadfully sorry,” he said, and backed away towards the door.
“Don’t go, Andrew,” she said, and began to cry again. “Couldn’t you stay for a bit, and we could go over the décor plans. It would give me something else to think about. And don’t worry about the money. Everything’s insured.”
Feeling very awkward, Andrew suggested he should help her clear up as much as possible, and then they could sit down and look at plans. She nodded, and waved her hands about helplessly. “Where shall we start?” she said.
An hour later, order was more or less restored. Pieces of broken china and glass were safely in the bin, and the books back in their shelves, though not, Andrew suspected, in the right order. They looked to him suspiciously like books by the yard, bound in mock leather and with some of the pages still uncut.
He was sorting out cutlery, and putting it back in place, when he felt something blocking the way at the back of the drawer. He reached in, grasped a cold, heavy piece of metal and brought it out. A gun. He stared at it in horror, and turned around to ask Mrs. Norrington about it.
“Oh, Andrew! Where did you get that?” she screamed. “Goodness, why did you bring that along?” She was retreating away from him rapidly, and stood behind the sofa, looking terrified.
He began to explain, protesting that he had only just found it in the drawer, when he heard the front door open and heavy footsteps approaching. Then a loud voice called out, “Melanie! Where are you?”
She rushed past Andrew and out into the hall, where her husband stood waiting. He put his arms around her protectively, and glared at Andrew. “I’ll get the police back,” she said in a muffled voice into his coat. He ignored her, and shouted at Andrew.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Give me that thing at once. Melanie, pull yourself together. And you,” he added, advancing on Andrew, “give me the gun, and kneel down on the floor with your hands behind you.”
Norrington had such an air of authority that Andrew obeyed. But his mind was working fast. “For heaven’s sake, man,” he said irritably. “The police have been already. My name is Andrew Young. Your wife has probably told you about me. I’m doing the interior décor on your house, and when I arrived this morning, I found your wife in a terrible state. We’ve cleared up a bit, but the whole place was turned upside down. All happened whilst she was asleep. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Norrington?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “That’s right. Andrew was very helpful.”
“The gun was in the back of that drawer,” Andrew continued. “I was helping clear up, and found it. Nothing to do with me. Perhaps you have some explanation?”
Norrington looked uncomfortable. “Is this true, Melanie?” he said, pushing her gently back from him, and picking up the gun from the floor.
She nodded. “He found it in the drawer. Took me by surprise. Sorry, Andrew.” She turned to her husband, and said she was sure Andrew wouldn’t hurt a fly. He had been so helpful. Perhaps he could go now, and the two of them could talk about all they had to do. “Including finding out what a gun was doing in our cutlery drawer,” she said, and walked towards the front door. “Goodbye, Andrew, I’ll be in touch. Thank you so much.”
Andrew got to his feet, and tried not to hurry towards the door. He managed to exit in a dignified fashion, and drove off without looking back.
HE WENT STRAIGHT TO LONG FARNDEN AND PARKED OUTSIDE Meade House. Gran answered the door, and said Lois had gone down to the shop to see Josie. “You all right, boy?” she said, staring at his pale face.
“Fine, thanks. I’ll go down to the shop, then.”
He left the car parked outside, and walked swiftly down to the shop. Lois was the only person there, apart from Josie, and they were laughing at some private joke. One look at Andrew, and both stopped at once. “Blimey! What have you been up to, Andrew?” said Josie, and Lois silently indicated the high stool by the counter.
“Long story,” Andrew said. “Do you think you could rustle up a coffee, Josie? We’ll man the store.”
“I’ll go,” said Lois. “Josie’s a bit nervous about leaving the shop at the moment.”
“She’ll be even more nervous when she hears what I’ve got to tell,” he said with a brave attempt at a grin.
MELANIE AND HER HUSBAND, GEOFF, SAT ON OPPOSITE SIDES OF the kitchen table, staring at each other. Melanie was the first to speak.
“Go on, then,” she said.
“Tell me where it came from, and what it was doing there.”
Geoff frowned. “I meant to tell you,” he said. “I bought it after we heard about those burglaries. Thought it would make you feel safe when I’m away. Then I forgot all about it. Sorry you had to find out that way.”
“So it just slipped your mind, did it? Such a little thing, buying a gun and leaving it around the house? I don’t believe a bloody word, Geoff. And where were you? That number you gave me was nowhere near Hong Kong. I may be a stupid blonde, as you’re always saying, but I’m not that stupid. Even you couldn’t get back from Hong Kong in the time it takes to get here from London! If you’re lucky! You’re up to your old tricks, aren’t you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” he said, and got up from the table. “Trust you to get us into a fix so soon after we’ve moved here! You’d better tell your boyfriend a good story as soon as possible. We don’t want him going to the law and have them sniffing about.”
“He’s not my boyfriend, and they’ve already been sniffing about. It seems to have escaped your eagle eye that the house has been thoroughly done over. I suppose I was wrong to call them in, was I? A revenge visit from a disillusioned colleague, to be expected and not talked about, was that it?”
He looked at her sharply. “So you know who did it?” he said.
“No, but you do,” she spat at him, and walked out of the house into the carefully manicured garden.
EIGHT
“WELL, ANDREW,” LOIS SAID. “THAT’S THE LAST TIME YOU or any member of my team goes to the Norringtons! My God, I could sue them for something or other, I’m sure!”
“Just wait ’til I tell Matthew!” Josie said.
They were all silent for a minute, and then Lois sighed. “I suppose,” she said slowly, “if you think about it, it must have looked very suspicious to that husband. Coming in and finding his wife terrified by a strange man holding a gun. In a way, you couldn’t blame him.”
Josie answered at once, her voice high and angry. “Yes, you could! The man is obviously a liar anyway. If Mrs. Norrington said he was in Hong Kong, how did he get back in no time at all after she rang him? Come on, Mum! You must see that?”
“Yes, I know,” Lois said. “But that could be nothing to do with his attack on Andrew. For all we know, the man was tucked up in bed with his fancy woman in Tresham. But that’s not our affair—it’s his!” she added, and laughed.
Andrew slid off the high stool. “You’re probably right, Mrs. M,” he said. “What do you think I should do? Wait until things have simmered down a bit? We might hear a bit more about it, and then make up our minds.” He made a rueful face and patted his briefcase. “After all,” he said, “it is a really good assignment for me, and I am a bit reluctant to lose it.”
“Fine,” Josie said crossly. “So the man comes stalking in, having arrived from Hong Kong on wings of song, threatens Andrew as if he was a criminal intruder, without giving him a chance to explain, and then we let him and his floozy of a wife get away with it? And I suppose I am not to mention it to Matthew?”
“He’ll know about the burglary,” Lois said placatingly. “It sounds like a big job, and the police will be keen to talk to everyone around. Especially you, Andrew, unfortunately. You were the first one, apart from the police, to enter the house after Mrs. Norrington found the wreckage, weren’t you? O’ course, if they ask questions about her husband and his speedy return, you’ll have to tell the truth. Better leave it like that at the moment.”
“And I suppose now you’ll go home and get straight on to your friendly neighbourhood Inspector Cowgill,” said Josie bitterly. “It’s Matthew who goes out investigating, you know.”
Lois diplomatically said nothing. This problem had cropped up several times lately. Lois had been associated with Inspector Cowgill for several years, and they had a good working relationship. On her side, she loved the whole process of piecing together snippets of information and arriving, with luck, at a successful conclusion. But she had her own strategies, and knew when to tell the police. Cowgill had no option but to respect this, and apart from wishing their relationship could be otherwise, he took pleasure in her company and made use of her talents.
Josie was her mother’s daughter. She was a strong character and an ambitious supporter of her fiancé, and had begun to resent her mother’s assumption that Cowgill must come first.
Andrew neatly smoothed over the awkwardness. “I shall give Mrs. Norrington a call,” he said. “I’ll tell her I understand her husband’s reaction, and say that I intend to do no more about it for the moment. That should get the message over. Their private life is their concern, as you say, Mrs. M. But I’ll make it clear that I should hate anything like that to happen again. Then I’ll concentrate on the décor job, and refuse politely to discuss anything else. I’d be quite glad if we three could keep it to ourselves for now. How would that do?”
“Perfect,” said Lois. “Good lad. Happy, Josie?” Josie shrugged, and made no comment.
“Oh, and by the way, Andrew, you could just keep your eyes and ears open whilst you’re there. No harm in that,” added Lois.
DOT NIMMO HAD NOT FORGOTTEN WHAT MRS. M HAD ASKED her to do. She lived in Tresham, where, many years ago, she and her sister, Evelyn, had married the Nimmo brothers within a year of each other. Dot’s husband, Handy—short for Handel—had been the undisputed boss of the Tresham gang of what some referred to as the local mafia. This was true, in that their network was quite widespread and had strict rules about gang loyalty and a policy of you-scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-scratch-yours, but it was more like a Masonic lodge than a ruthless killing machine.
“If one of us is in trouble, it’s our duty to help him out of it,” Handy explained to Dot when they were first married. She had accepted this, but could not help questioning gang loyalty when her much-loved husband was found floating facedown in a deep gravel pit up the road from the village of Long Farnden.
“And he were a good swimmer,” she said acidly to the police when they carried out a perfunctory enquiry. To her sister she confided that, as far as the fuzz were concerned, one less Nimmo was a bonus.
Dot remained in the house where she had lived since her marriage, and rebuilt her life. By coincidence, the house was in Sebastopol Street, where Lois had set up the Tresham office of New Brooms, and Dot had passed by a dozen times before deciding to go in and offer her services. Now, after making a success of the job in her own eccentric way, she considered she knew what loyalty really meant.
After a scratch meal of an out-of-date sausage roll and an apple, she dialled her cousin’s number and left a message that she wanted to talk to him. “Pronto,” she added. She hadn’t much respect for him and considered he was a softy, without any of the Nimmo guile or determination. But he had connections, and might well know of a couple of regular thieves operating in his area. He might even be interested in curbing their activities on his patch.
Following another line of thought, she put on her best coat and tidied up her blonde hair under a scarlet beret, and left the house. She had remembered an old friend, Gladys, the wife of one of the gang, who had been very helpful to her in the early months of her marriage. She lived not far away, and Dot found the door ajar.
“Gladys? Are you there? It’s Dot. I’ve brought half a packet of delicious sausage rolls for y’tea. Can I come in?”
A voice from the back kitchen yelled that of course she could come in. Wasn’t she in already, anyway?
Dot walked through, and found Gladys sitting at the table, checking her football pool results. “Me luck’s out,” she said without looking up. “The boys keep tellin’ me to give it up. Put y’money on a horse, they say. Stands a better chance, especially if I take their tips! Huh, in that case, I say to them, why aren’t you two rich, instead of scrapin’ around to keep us afloat?”
“Still at it, are they?” Dot said sympathetically. She waited, and Gladys looked up at her suspiciously.
“Who wants t
o know?” she said.
Dot shrugged. “Nobody I know,” she said. “Just polite conversation.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Gladys. “That’ll be the day, when Dot Nimmo has a polite conversation!” She cackled loudly, and then stopped, cocking her head on one side. “Is that them?” she asked.
Dot heard the front door slam shut, and wished she had left a couple of minutes ago. Still, she had every right to visit an old friend.
“Well!” said Gerald to Clive as they came into the kitchen. “Look who’s here! Still workin’ for the snout, are ya, Dot?” he said insolently. “Time you found yerself another husband. What do you think, Clive?”
“Too right,” he said obediently. “Some big bloke to protect you, Dottie Nimmo. From nasty men like us.” They laughed and jeered as Dot pushed past them and made for a quick exit.
No matter, she thought to herself, as she walked away. Sticks and stones, an’ all that. An’ I got me answer, didn’t I?
NINE
ROBERT TOLLERVEY-JONES SAT AT HIS DESK IN THE CITY OF London, staring at a page of one of his latest cases, and thought about Farnden Hall. His mother had decided to come up to town and had more or less ordered him to be at their flat at two o’clock sharp today. It was Tuesday, and he was sure she had originally said Wednesday, and had arranged his diary accordingly, but no, she insisted she had said Tuesday, and anyway, it was the only day she could possibly manage. He rearranged his appointments accordingly, and now awaited his first client of the morning.
His thoughts strayed again. Farnden Hall. It had been his childhood home, and it was a happy childhood. He had run wild round the estate, ridden his pony at local gymkhanas, played cricket with the village people on the bumpy pitch at the back of the village hall and spent his pocket money in the village shop. His father had been indulgent with his son, often countermanding rules laid down by his mother, and writing subversive letters to him at his boarding school. When his father died in a hunting accident, he had been heartbroken. And then, of course, his mother had become sole dictator.