by Ann Purser
AT HALF PAST FIVE, LOIS DROVE SLOWLY UP THE HILL to Cox’s farmhouse. She was deliberately early, and was relieved to see that the agent’s car was not yet there. Since making the appointment this morning, she had thought a lot about his call. Why should he be so keen, when she had done her best to show lack of interest? Well, estate agents are pushy and thick-skinned. But Lois suspected some other reason. A trap? She had decided on an alternative plan, and driving past the entrance, she found the narrow opening half a mile up the road and managed to edge the car into it, more or less hidden in the tall grasses and hogweed. She locked up and walked along inside the edge of the wood towards the farmhouse. Seating herself out of sight behind the broad trunk of an old oak, she waited, listening for the sound of an engine.
At about a quarter to six, she heard a car approaching, slowing down, and then the engine cut out. He had arrived. She did not move, except to creep round the tree until she had a good view of the farmyard but was still concealed. She saw the agent go towards the house, looking around as he went. He opened the front door and walked in. There was silence for a while, and nothing happened. Lois had cramp in her foot and carefully changed her position. Another car! She heard it first, then saw it turn into the farmyard and drive across to the other side of the yard, where it disappeared behind a barn. Again, nothing happened. She looked at her watch. Exactly six o’clock. The agent reappeared and stood in the centre of the yard, frowning and looking from side to side. Then he walked out into the road and peered in the direction of Long Farnden. Back into the yard, he suddenly put his hand to his mouth and whistled. Blimey, thought Lois, where did a smoothie like him learn to do that?
Now, as she was half expecting, two figures emerged from behind the barn. One short and rotund, and the other tall and thin. Not quite Laurel and Hardy, but close. Lois’s pulse was racing now. How long should she stay here? It was dangerous to move while they were in the yard, and she was certainly not going out to meet them, pretending she was house-hunting. A snatch of their conversation reached her.
“Well, where the bloody hell is she?”
“Been held up?” The tall one seemed to be spokesman for the pair. “Y’ know what wimmin are,” he added.
Ten past six. Time to go, thought Lois. But now another car, battered and dark red, turned into the yard. Oh God, not him! But it was Reg Abthorpe, and he strode over to the others. Now there were several raised voices, and Lois judged it a good time to leave.
“Look! Look, over there! There she is!” yelled the fat man suddenly. They all turned to look, and Lois ran. As one, they all followed, Reg Abthorpe galvanized into a surprising turn of speed. Then Lois tripped over a snaking bramble. They were gaining on her fast, and as she struggled to her feet, she felt a hand grasp hers and pull her up. Her feet hardly touched the ground as she was dragged along towards her van.
“Get in! I’ll drive,” said Derek, and they were back on the road and speeding towards Farnden in seconds.
“I EXPECT YOU TWO WOULD LIKE TO BE LEFT ALONE for a few minutes,” said Gran, taking one look at their faces. “I’ll turn the oven down, and then Lois can have her tea after.”
Lois and Derek sat silently gazing at the carpet. Finally Derek got up and went over to sit beside her on the sofa. He put an arm around her shoulders, and she buried her face in his comforting warmth for a minute or two. Then she said in a muffled voice, “How did you know I was there?”
“I didn’t,” Derek said. “I was just walking along the road and saw you running. I’d seen the rest when I passed the farm. They were so busy shouting at each other, they didn’t see me. I saw it all. And got you out.”
Lois sat up straight, and looked at him. “Thanks,” she said, “and sorry. But what were you doing walking up there on your own?”
“I suggest,” Derek said slowly, “that we forget it happened. But I want a promise from you that you won’t have no more to do with whatever’s goin’ on! Go on, promise!”
Lois sighed. “I can’t,” she said. “It’s best I say now that I can’t, and not have to break a promise. It’s just that they know me now, and I’ll have to watch out. Not up to me any more. But I will promise to be very careful, if that’ll do.”
After another silence, Derek said, “I suppose it’ll have to do,” and when Lois repeated her question about what he was doing up there by the woods, he said quietly, “It’s dark early tonight,” and turned on the television.
FOUR MEN WERE RUBBING THEIR SCRATCHED LEGS, and the short, fat one complained of a sprained ankle. “For God’s sake, what’s it all about?” he appealed to Reg Abthorpe.
The agent exchanged a quick glance with Abthorpe, and shook his head. “Enough for you to know we have to be very careful of this Mrs. Meade. Her cleaning business is a cover for snooping. Probably a snout for the cops. Mind you, she’s not that bright, if she comes snooping in a van with New Brooms all over it!”
Reg spoke now, and all turned towards him, as if he was the oracle at Delphi.
“Reg speaks,” whispered the tall one to his mate.
“What was that!” Reg quelled them with a brutal look. “As I was about to say,” he continued, “don’t underestimate Lois Meade. She’s crafty, and not in the least stupid. What’s new is that her husband seems to have joined up with her. Never heard of him being involved before. So we have to be extra careful.”
“How do you know all this about her, Reg?” The agent was respectful.
“I’ve got contacts,” Reg replied.
They locked up the house, and moved towards their cars. “ ‘Ere, Guv,” said the short, fat man, limping back towards Reg, “What about them two old farts? We got to do somethin’ about them soon, ain’t we?”
“No questions,” said Reg loftily. “Just do as you’re told. As always.”
T
HIRTY-S
EVEN
HUNTER COWGILL WAS HAVING A BAD DAY. WHEN he awoke in his lonely bedroom, he looked at the rain lashing the window from a dead grey sky, and pulled the covers up around his ears, willing himself to go back to sleep. But what dreams would come? He had crawled wearily out of bed and gone through the morning routine. Shaved, showered and breakfasted—after a fashion—then he had driven through the rain to the police station, where the lost, misguided and downright criminal awaited him.
He stood at the window of his office, and, realizing it was market day, hoped he might see Lois’s determined figure stalking through the rain. Instead, his internal phone announced that a Mr. Meade was in reception wanting to see him, at once if possible.
Cowgill sat down quickly. The last time Derek Meade had been in his office, he had accused the Inspector of having an affair with his wife. If only! Now what? “Send him up,” he said, and waited.
Derek came in with a steely look on his face. “Sit down, please,” Cowgill said. No good trying to be friendly, he realized. He would keep it strictly professional “How can I help you?”
“You know bloody well how you can help me—and the rest of my family,” Derek said. “I’ll come straight to the point. My Lois is involved with you again. Grassin’, or whatever you call it. I want it stopped. Right away, as from this minute. Refuse to take her calls, and have no more contact with her. She’s in danger already, from what I can gather, and I want it stopped!”
“Danger?” Cowgill said. “What danger?” What had Lois kept to herself? Perhaps this visit from Derek was opportune, if he divulged what Lois was keeping secret.
“Something to do with that farmhouse of old Cox’s. She won’t tell me anythin’ about it, but what I seen was enough. And don’t ask me any questions about it, else I shall be as bad as she is. So,” he said, standing up, “I’m goin’ now, and I expect my wishes to be acted on by you. I am,” he continued, with the ghost of a smile, “still the head of our house, though you might not believe it.”
Before Cowgill could remind him that he was in a police station, and that a Detective Inspector was entitled to ask him anything he liked, and expect to
receive an answer, Derek was out of the door and on his way down the echoing stone stairs. Cowgill thought of asking reception to delay him, but decided against it. He knew Derek meant what he said, and he also knew that he should do exactly as asked, if only for Lois’s sake. He knew she was headstrong, and however often she said she would be careful, in the excitement of the chase she could well do something foolish.
But then, she was an independent person. She had always refused money, and he knew he had no real influence over her. If he decided to have no more contact, she would just carry on by herself. It would be safer for her if he knew what she was up to, and could find out what she knew and hadn’t told him. By coffee time, he had convinced himself that, in spite of Derek, he would carry on as before, but maybe make more effort to keep contact, not less. He would just have to be more discreet.
A new meeting place? Perhaps the supermarket had served its purpose. There must be a limit to how many times Lois could claim an urgent bladder call. It might already have been commented on, even though the manager knew all about it, and had been asked by Cowgill to say nothing. Where else could he think of? It had to be somewhere easy for Lois to get to, and where she would naturally be seen regularly. An establishment belonging to one of her clients would be ideal, he decided. The owner would have to know, of course, and be trustworthy enough to keep his mouth shut. Or her mouth shut. Cowgill had a sudden inspiration. Farnden Hall, and the eminently trustworthy Mrs. Tollervey-Jones. But would she agree, and would Lois agree to involve one of her best clients in this game of cops and robbers? No, of course she wouldn’t. Nor would the ex-Chairman of the Bench.
He sighed. Perhaps if he forgot about it for a while, some other ideal location would come to him. Plenty of work to do, he thought, looking at the pile of papers on his desk. I’ll get through these this morning, and this afternoon I’ll prowl around, just like policemen are supposed to do.
* * *
LOIS KNEW NOTHING OF ALL THIS. SHE, TOO, HAD slept badly, but decided to concentrate on New Brooms’ work today. It was time she called on selected clients again, just to check that they were satisfied. Although she knew that most would not hesitate to complain if they were not pleased, it was good public relations to call in periodically and be her most charming self. After she had checked messages and post, she fetched her raincoat from the hall and told Gran her plans. “Best if I skip lunch,” she said, and then hastily added that she would make sure she picked up a sandwich somewhere.
“Huh!” Gran grunted.
A world of disapproval there, thought Lois, but continued out into the rain and drove off in her van.
“Good morning, Mrs. Pickering! Can I come in for a minute?” She was welcomed warmly and once more refused politely the offer of coffee. “I’m just looking in briefly,” she said. “Now that you’re a regular client, I’d like to check that you’re pleased with Jean Slater’s work. I know it must seem silly to you that Floss lives here and could do the job without going outside! But I do have a reason. If there was something wrong, you’d never complain about your own daughter, would you?”
Mrs. Pickering laughed. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “And yes, I am more than satisfied with Jean. Such a nice person, as well as doing her job thoroughly. I believe she had a very unhappy time recently?”
Lois never discussed the team’s personal affairs, and said she believed it was quite a while ago. “Are you sure you won’t have a coffee?” Mrs. Pickering was persistent, but Lois once more declined.
“Morning, Mrs. Meade!” Now Philip Pickering had joined them and was shaking her firmly by the hand. “Don’t go before we’ve had a chat,” he said. “Haven’t seen you for ages, and so much has happened.”
Lois at once agreed to sit down and have a chat. What could possibly have happened that Floss had not passed on? “Nothing bad, I hope, Mr. Pickering. Has Floss told you any more about that evening the two of them had been in the woods?” she said.
“No, no. And frankly, Mrs. Meade, I don’t expect either of them to come clean about that. No, this is good news … sort of. Floss has finally found herself a suitable boyfriend. A charming fellow, young Ben. But if the relationship looks like developing into something more serious, we would want him to be thinking about … well … Oh dear, this is difficult. How can I put it?”
“Like this,” said Lois bluntly. “You want to know when he’s going to get a proper job. Cleaning is no job for a man, and, for that matter, not really one you’d want to see your daughter doing for ever.” She smiled sweetly at him now, seeing his discomfort.
His wife rescued him. “That is exactly it, Mrs. Meade,” she said. “Thank you for putting it so well. We knew you’d understand, didn’t we, Philip?” He nodded, and was silent.
Lois looked at him. Surely there must be more to say? “I have to tell you,” she said, giving him time, “I do not know Ben’s plans, but I expect he’ll be off soon. He is still applying for jobs, I know that. As for Floss, you’ll know more than I do. She does enjoy the work, and has become a really good member of the team. Now, I must be going. Was there anything else?”
Philip Pickering put behind him thoughts of his beloved daughter being a skivvy for life, and said, “Well, yes. You remember that business with the cat? Nothing’s been done about that, and then those horrible crows on Ben’s gate.”
“And the dead rat on my doormat,” Lois added.
“What!” Mrs. Pickering’s eyes widened. “Are they on to you now? What are the police doing about it?”
Lois laughed. “Oh, they have it in hand,” she said. “Which means nothing much, I reckon. Still, it would do no harm to remind them. I’ll give them a call when I get home. I suppose you haven’t heard anything that might give us a clue?”
“Only something Floss’s father heard in the pub. Nothing he saw himself, but … well, why don’t you tell Mrs. Meade yourself?”
She looked encouragingly at her husband, who said, “I don’t know if it’s relevant, but Sam Stratford was telling a couple of farming chaps that he was fed up with nasty-looking strangers invading his pub. You know what the locals are like. The pub belongs to them.”
Lois remembered her father telling her how he’d once gone into a pub in the country, and everybody had stopped talking and stared at him. He’d had a quick half, and left as soon as possible. Frozen out, he’d said. Now she asked, “Did Sam say he’d recognized them at all?”
“No, complete strangers, he said. Mind you, I’ve seen a couple of unsavoury-looking characters up near the woods lately. Still, that’s nothing to go on, is it. People can’t help what they look like.”
“Could be interesting,” Lois said. “Would you give me a buzz if you see them again? Nothing like a bit of do-it-yourself policing. I can do without dead animals on my doormat, and poor old Gran nearly collapsed.”
“Yes, of course,” said Pickering quickly. “It’s been nice talking to you. I must be off, dear,” he added, turning to his wife. “Back at the usual time,” he said, and left the room.
Lois was quick to follow. Next stop, Miss Beasley at Ringford. The old dear is getting more and more deaf, thought Lois, as she knocked and received no answer.
She rang the bell, and could hear Ivy Beasley shouting. “All right, all right! I heard you the first time! I’m coming.” Lois stepped back from the door, and waited, knowing she’d be in for an instant raspberry. “Oh, it’s you,” said Ivy, opening the door a crack. “You of all people should know better. It takes time at my age to get to the door. What do you want, anyway? Not taking Bill away, are you?” She opened the door wider and glared at Lois.
“Certainly not,” Lois said. “He’d be heartbroken. You’re his favourite client.” May God forgive me, she said to herself.
“Good. Then what is it you’ve come about?”
“Can I come in for a few minutes? Just one or two things I wanted to check with you.” Ivy Beasley reluctantly stepped back and allowed Lois to enter. They sat in the kit
chen, and Ivy’s cat jumped on to Lois’s lap. She stroked it absentmindedly, and it purred like a vacuum cleaner.
“Every few weeks I like to visit clients and check that they are satisfied,” Lois continued. “There can be some small thing that people don’t think is worth mentioning. So here I am, if there’s anythin’ at all.”
Ivy narrowed her eyes. “You’re not telling the truth, are you, Mrs. Meade,” she said. “You know perfectly well I am very satisfied with Bill. I know what you come for. To pump me for what I remember about William Cox. Am I right?”
Lois sighed. “Yes, sorry, Miss Beasley. I’m owning up. You are quite right. The estate agents selling the house are trying to interest me in buying it. I went in to their office just to find out how much they want. Lots of people do it just to find out what their own house is worth. Now they phone me up, pestering like they do.”
“So what can I tell you? Whether it’s worth looking at? Or if the price is too high? I don’t get out much and have no idea on such things. You’ll have to ask someone else.”
She made as if to get up from her chair, and Lois said quickly, “No, no. I wondered if you had any idea if the Cox family owned the farm, or were just tenants. There’s several farms around here belong to Oxford and Cambridge colleges, and some of them stuck-up farmers just pay rent like any other tenant.”
“Ah, let me think,” Ivy said. She was quiet for a few minutes, then pointed with her stick to an old desk across the kitchen. “Look behind the clock,” she said, “and you’ll find a key. It unlocks the desk. Open it.”
Lois obeyed, and inside the desk saw small piles of envelopes, yellow at the edges, and a clutch of photographs secured with an elastic band. “What am I looking for, Miss Beasley?”
“In that little drawer at the back, there’s a few newspaper cuttings. Bring them to me,” she ordered.
Ivy took them, and began to sift through. “Ah, here it is,” she said, and handed a fragile cutting to Lois. “Read it out loud. I’ve forgotten exactly what it said.”