by Ann Purser
“Sit down, Josie, and take no notice,” Lois said. “We’ll have a nice quiet evening watching telly. Your dad should be home any minute.”
Lois brought Josie up to date with what she knew about the Mowlems, and they all had a good laugh at the thought of Mrs. Tollervey-Jones holding up two ruffians at the end of her sword stick. “You should have seen her!” Lois said. “I wouldn’t like to get the wrong side of her in court.”
“She’ll be retiring soon,” Gran said. “And moving to the village. She’ll have time on her hands after all what she’s been used to.”
“Plenty of time to put us all in our places, then,” said Josie. “She’ll be dangerously near the shop. In and out every spare minute, I shouldn’t wonder!”
“It should be very interesting,” Lois said, “and here’s your dad. We can have supper as soon as he’s ready.”
“Steak and kidney pie,” said Gran. “Just what the policeman ordered.”
“Gran!”
FIFTY-TWO
BY THE TIME GERALD AND BERT WERE IN THE OUTSKIRTS OF Pickering, it was completely dark, and Bert looked at his watch.
“They won’t let us in, coming so late,” he said. “Perhaps we’d better find somewhere to stay. And don’t say Harry’s farm . . .”
“Mum didn’t say where the hospital was. She was too upset, and then the signal kept breaking up. There must be signs.”
“Or we can ask a policeman,” said Bert.
Gerald was too anxious to see the joke, and stopped by the kerb. “We could kip down in the car,” he said. “Then go good and early to the hospital. It’ll be easier to find it in daylight. There’s some old rugs in the back there. I’ll drive into a side turning somewhere, and we’ll do the best we can.”
“How’s the petrol? I ain’t got much more money.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Gerald. “Now we’re here, we won’t be going back in this car,” he added gloomily.
“Our tail is still behind us. Perhaps we should offer him a rug?” said Bert.
SAFE AT HOME, WARM AND SECURE, LOIS NEVERTHELESS FELT restless and ill at ease. She looked at her watch. Eleven o’clock. The Mowlems should be under lock and key by now, if Mrs. T-J’s hunch that they would go to the hospital was correct. But if not, they could be driving through the night to a hideaway anywhere in the country. And then all the time she and Dot had spent in Pickering would be wasted. “Derek,” she said as he got up to prepare for bed, “I’m going to ring Cowgill. And no, before you start, I shan’t sleep if I don’t.”
“I forbid it!” said Derek. “You’re being absolutely ridiculous.”
Lois frowned and stared at him. “Forbid! Forbid? Since when did you forbid me to do anything? I’m going into my office, an’ I’ll be up to bed when I’ve found out what I need to know.” And she stalked out of the room, leaving Derek scratching his head.
She dialled Cowgill’s number, and waited. Just when she was about to give up, he answered. “Lois! Is something wrong?”
“Yes,” she said. “I can’t sleep.”
Cowgill was fully dressed, wide awake, and had been working on some papers before he would allow himself to go to bed. “Sorry to hear that, my dear. I can suggest several lovely ways to help, but I won’t.”
“No, don’t, for God’s sake. My husband has just forbidden me to ring you at this hour, so I don’t need any more muckin’ about. The thing is,” she began, now beginning to feel a little foolish, “I can’t stop thinking about the Mowlems. What’s the latest? And don’t tell me you are pursuing enquiries, because that won’t do. Please, Hunter.”
Cowgill paused. He could not remember when Lois had ever said “please” to him in that pleading voice, so he answered her truthfully. “Mrs. Tollervey-Jones was right,” he said, “so far. We picked up the trail very quickly, thanks to your call, almost as soon as they left. They’ve been followed to just outside Pickering, and it looks like they’ve bedded down for the night in the car. Our chap is out of sight but near enough to monitor their movements.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“There is a complication, but not serious. They obviously think young Mowlem is in hospital in Pickering. But, in fact, he’s in York. Much too serious for the facilities in Pickering. No doubt they’ll find that out in the morning, and we’ll trail them back to York.”
“Why don’t you just pick them up now, and take them to the hospital? You could let them see Clive and then do whatever it is you need to do. I suppose you’ll hold them in custody, an’ all that?”
“Ah, well, that does sound the most sensible thing, but we are trying to do what Mrs. Tollervey-Jones instructed. And I say ‘instructed’ advisably, Lois. She telephoned me after your call and said we should, in her words, ‘Pick them up after they have seen the brother. Give father and son time to catch up on their ill-spent past. Could be very useful,’ she said. Wrongly or rightly, I have decided to do it her way. Call it a parting gift on the occasion of her retirement from public service, that kind of thing.”
“That’s stupid!” Lois said, irritated that Mrs. Tollervey-Jones had thought it necessary to speak to Cowgill personally. “They might get away, if they decide after all to abandon Clive. Gerald has done it before and could easily do it again.”
“But Bert is with him this time. That could make all the difference. Anyway, my dear Lois, they won’t get away. Trust us. We know what we’re doing.”
“Mm. Well, let me know first thing how things work out. And if Gerald and Bert vanish into thin air, I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Trust me,” said Cowgill seriously. “Good night, Lois my love, sleep well.”
FIFTY-THREE
DAWN BROKE OVER PICKERING, AND A HEAVY MIST DAMPENED down sounds of human activity in the small lane where Bert and Gerald had parked. Bert woke first, and looked across at Gerald. His head was resting against the door frame, and he appeared to be peacefully asleep. Bert wondered whether to wake him, and looked at his watch. Seven thirty. Gerald stirred, and Bert remembered when he used to sit with the boys when they were children and couldn’t get to sleep. They always shared a room, and it seemed as if when one was awake, the other couldn’t sleep. Like twins, they were, except for the difference in ages.
“Gerald, wake up,” he said, gently shaking his shoulder.
“What? Where? Oh, blimey Dad, what time is it?”
“Time we was on the move. We need a bite of something an’ a hot drink, and then we can find out where the hospital is.’Ere, put this cat out to do his business. He’s just farted. Best get some milk for ’im, too.” He looked behind him and saw the car that had shadowed them all the way from Tresham. “Hey! Look back at the tail,” he said. “That car is empty, ain’t it?”
Gerald hauled himself upright, still half asleep. He looked back, and said, “It was empty. He’s just coming back with paper bags in his hand. Took a chance there. Now he’s got breakfast, and we haven’t.”
Bert thought for a moment. “Look, Gerald,” he said. “If they’d wanted to pick us up, they could’ve done it several times over. They’re not going to. But they mean to keep tabs on us, just the same. We got to carry on with what we came for. You stay here an’ I’ll get us some grub. The money’ll just about take care of that. And as you said yesterday, we’ll no doubt be getting a lift home.”
Gerald blinked the sleep from his eyes and agreed. “Be quick as you can, then,” he said. “They start the day early in hospitals, and they’re bound to let us in, especially with our police escort . . .” He locked the car and watched Bert disappear up the road.
It seemed to Gerald that only five minutes had passed before Bert was back, signalling to be let in.
“Sodding hospital!” he said. “I asked the man in the bread shop, and he said any serious accidents got taken to York Hospital. Or somewhere else. Can’t remember the name. I mentioned a man tossed by a bull, and he said right away that he read about that in the local paper, an’ he’d defini
tely been taken to York.”
“Damn and blast! Why didn’t I ring Mum and check?”
“Well, why didn’t you?”
“Because you know perfectly well what she is. It’d be all round the hospital that we were on our way. As it happens, we don’t need to worry, what with Sherlock behind us. But I never thought.”
“Right,” said Bert. “It ain’t that far, maybe twenty-odd miles, back to York. We can eat as we go. Start the engine an’ we’ll check the petrol.”
There was more left in the tank than Gerald had thought, and they moved off. As they passed the plainclothes cop, Bert gave the man inside a cheery wave. It was not acknowledged, but at the next junction, they saw their shadow three cars behind them.
“Ah,” said Bert, “glad he’s caught up. It’d be lonely without him, wouldn’t it.”
The lights changed to green, and Gerald started to move forward with a jerk. “Steady on, boy!” said Bert.
“Oh, give it a rest, Dad!” said Gerald loudly. “You’re beginning to get on my nerves!”
“Sorry, I’m sure!” said Bert. “Never mind, we’ll soon be there an’ it’ll be mission accomplished.”
“If he’s still . . . well . . . you know . . .”
“Alive?”
“Yeah. I can’t help thinking we’re goin’ to be too late. Mum said it was a very serious accident. She sounded desperate.”
“Don’t give up hope, boy. We Mowlems are a strong lot. Clive may look a bit of a weakling, but he’s got a good constitution. Remember how sick he was with measles when he was a kid? Blowing on their fingertips, they were. But he came through. Now, slow down so’s I can read this sign.”
After what seemed like an eternity, they finally drove into the hospital car park. “Hey, look at this!” said Bert, getting out and reading a charges notice. “They make you pay to visit the sick here. It’s a disgrace.”
It took some time to explain who they were, where they had come from and who they wished to visit. At last it was sorted out, and they turned to follow the red line that led to Clive’s ward.
“Well, this is a surprise!” said a voice behind them, and there stood Gladys, staring at Bert in astonishment.
“Hi, Mum,” said Gerald. “How is he?”
Bert stood back, whilst Gerald gave his mother an awkward peck on the cheek.
“Much the same, but stable. That’s what they say. He sleeps most of the time, but now an’ then he surfaces. Doesn’t seem to know me, but they say I should be by his side in case he regains consciousness properly.”
“You mean he will?” said Gerald anxiously.
“They don’t say. You’d better go on up where they told you, an’ I’ll have a word with my ever-loving husband here. We’ll join you in a few minutes.”
Gerald walked quickly through long echoing corridors, until he came to the right ward, and then explained to a nurse who he was.
“Come this way, please,” she said, and opened the door of a side ward. In a forest of wires and tubes, Clive lay motionless, his eyes closed. The nurse brought a chair close to the bed and indicated that Gerald should sit down. Then she left, saying he had only to call if he wanted help.
Gerald stared at his brother. Several minutes passed, and nothing seemed to change. Then he thought he saw Clive’s eyelids flicker. “Clivey boy? You awake? It’s Gerald, come to see you.” Nothing. More minutes passed, and then he heard his mother’s voice. The nurse came in and said that Gerald must come out now and let his father take his place.
“Clive?” said Bert as he sat down beside the bed. “Wake up, boy. It’s yer dad here. Long time no see, eh?”
Clive’s eyelids flickered again, and his eyes opened. He looked straight at Bert, and said clearly, “Dad? You out, then?”
FIFTY-FOUR
AT NINE THIRTY, LOIS DIALLED COWGILL’S NUMBER.
“I thought you were going to ring me first thing?” she said.
“This is first thing!” Cowgill said. “I had my hand on the phone ready to talk to you.”
“Huh! I’ll believe you. Thousands wouldn’t. Anyway, you sound cheerful. What’s new?”
“Ah, let me see. A fish and chip shop in the back streets of Tresham was vandalised. Wet fish all over the pavement. Culprits caught red-handed. And here’s a good one: Two schoolboys pinched ladies’ knickers from a lingerie shop in the High Street. Claimed they wanted them for their mothers, who denied—”
“Cowgill! I swear I’ll swing for you if you don’t cooperate!”
“I couldn’t let that happen,” he said, his voice serious now. “Oh, the thought of it! No, sorry, Lois dear. It’s just that we have had one piece of good news, and I feel quite light-headed.”
“Could you bear to share it with me?” asked Lois, restraining herself with difficulty.
“Of course. Now, first of all, young Mowlem has regained consciousness and is doing remarkably well. It seems the gratifying turn in his condition was triggered by a visit from his father. Not, by the way, that Bert is known for his sympathetic handling of the sick, but he seems to have done the trick. He and his other son, Gerald, and the redoubtable Gladys, are all at a hospital in York, discreetly held in custody by the local police. Oh yes, and Matthew is up there, ready to bring Gerald back to Tresham.
“But Gladys and her husband haven’t done anything. Can’t they go free? It’s just that foul thug Gerald that needs to be kept safe until justice can be done. As you know, Derek won’t press charges, but he’d not be at all pleased if Gerald sodding Mowlem went free.”
“Lois, Lois. How many times have I let you down? Of course Gerald Mowlem will be charged and brought to court. There will be much work to be done before it is all cleared up, but Gerald will be in our care until that time. You can be sure I shall keep you up to date with progress. Meanwhile, Clive will continue to improve, we understand, and will be able to be of help to us. His father and mother, too, whilst reestablishing their relationship, will be on hand to answer our questions.”
“Wow, so all’s right with the world and everything tickety-boo? Nothing more for me and Dot to do, then?”
To her great surprise and amusement, she heard the extraordinary sound of Chief Detective Inspector Hunter Cowgill singing into the phone. She was speechless as she listened to the words of one of her late father’s favourite songs: “‘Stay as sweet as you are, don’t let a thing ever change you . . .’”
“You can sing!” she said when he had stopped.
“Best tenor voice in Tresham Choral Society, though I say so myself,” he answered. “Must go, Lois. Work to do. Bye, love.” And he was gone.
LOIS FOUND IT VERY DIFFICULT TO SETTLE DOWN TO NEW BROOMS’ cleaning schedules. There were a number of messages on her phone, three of them from potential new clients. She had been worried that the gloomy financial situation in the country would mean a loss of customers in her business. But so far, this had not happened. Women were still hiring cleaners. Lois did not judge. She was sometimes tempted to tell an overweight client that it would do her a power of good to get down on her hands and knees and give the floors a good scrub. But as far as her team was concerned, they were all trained to treat clients as needy people whose lives could be made sweeter by the ministrations of New Brooms.
“Lois?” It was Derek, dressed for work. “What are you doing, staring into space? I’m off now. Everything sorted out for you? I can see from your face that all is well. Anyway, I’m late, so you can tell me all the news at lunchtime. Bye, duckie.”
Lois watched from her window as Derek’s van drove away. Perhaps she would not attempt work this morning. She felt completely drained, and decided to fetch Jeems’s lead and take her for a walk through the woods. The trees were turning now, a riot of red, orange and yellow, and the sun had cleared the mist from the village. On the way back, she would call in and tell Josie that her wedding dress was ready for the first fitting.
She turned away from the window, and as she went towards the door, her
phone rang. “Mrs. Meade? Felicity Tollervey-Jones here. I thought I would come down and help my mother-in-law with her sorting out and packing. Would you be able to give us a hand? I should be with her soon after lunch. Such a lot to do! And apparently the Norrington man, in spite of being so slimy, has actually got cast-iron finance to buy the hall. Wants to be moving in as soon as possible. His wife is spending a lot of time measuring up and so on, much to Ma’s disgust! Any chance of you being free? Ma is full of praise for your efficiency.”
“So sorry,” said Lois. “Very important engagement with my daughter this afternoon. Tomorrow morning perhaps?”
WHILE COWGILL WAS LIFTING LOIS’S SPIRITS WITH HIS NEWS, THE chief protagonist in the drama was not feeling so good. Things had not gone as Gerald had imagined. He had had genuine anxiety about his young brother, but he had also seen himself as the hero of the hour, bringing Clive back to life. But instead, it had been his feckless old father who had stolen the limelight. Now he sat in silence, locked in a room by himself, waiting for the next thing to happen. Questions, questions, he thought. Well, I got my story right for Dad. He was convinced. So that should be all right. Serious provocation. But then he remembered the sophisticated methods now used by the police to find out exactly who and what had hit Harry on the back of his head. Not just fingerprints, but all the other malarkey they could use.
He sat in a fog of self-pity until the door was unlocked and Matthew came in.
“Morning, Mr. Mowlem,” he said. “We shall be taking you back to Tresham shortly, but before we go, I’d like to establish one or two details whilst our memories are fresh.”
Gerald was not deceived by Matthew’s courteous tone. He had had too much experience of being handled by the police to be fooled by that. No, he must be on his guard from now on. His story must be watertight.