by Ann Purser
“I’ve had a lot on my mind, in case you’d forgotten,” said Lois sharply. “But tell me, anyway. I had wondered. Thought maybe somebody had half-inched a suit of armour from the hall, though I can’t say I’ve ever noticed one.”
“Imitation,” said Inspector Cowgill.
“Come again?” said Lois.
“Polywhatever sort of stuff…the suit was made of it. Very well made, painted up to look just like the real thing. Just like you’d have on stage, in a play. We cut him out with very little trouble. Well, here we are,” he added, his voice now quite cheerful, and before she could reply, he’d thanked her again, said he looked forward to hearing from her, and disappeared at speed in his car.
♦
“Fancy a night out at the theatre?” said Lois to Derek.
He stared at her. “You gone crazy?” he said. He could just about be persuaded to go to the cinema, if the film was about football, but theatre was a foreign land to Derek, and he did not intend to venture abroad.
“There’s this amateur lot in Tresham,” said Lois. “Seems they’ve got a good comedy on, so the girls were telling me. Medieval stuff, damsels in distress, knights on white chargers, all that kind of thing.”
“Oh my God!” said Derek. “Are you serious? Ah,” he added, “wait a minute. Did you say ‘knights’?” Lois nodded. No flies on Derek. “So,” he continued, “there’s an ulterior motive for this outing? Something come up to do with the major, now no longer a member of that poncey lot? Last seen givin’ a very convincing performance as a dead knight in armour in Dalling Church? Come on, Lois. I’m wasn’t born yesterday. If you want to go sleuthing in Tresham, take one of your pals. Bridie Reading’d like a night out for once. Take her.”
Lois shrugged. “OK,” she said. “Thought you might like to come along and give me a bit of a hand. Two pairs of eyes are better than one.” Derek did not reply, burying himself behind the sports page of the evening paper. “Fine, thanks a lot,” said Lois. “I’ll ask Bridie, then. And next time you want me to drive you and your pissed pals back from a match, think again!”
She dialled the Readings’ number, and Richard Reading answered the telephone. “Oh, it’s you,” he said grumpily. Like all bullies, he was temporarily deflated now his victim had turned on him. But he was biding his time, he told himself. Keeping a low profile. He had plans, he’d told his reflection in the shaving mirror that morning, and not unconnected with Lois Meade. “I’ll get her,” he said, and deliberately left Lois hanging on for several minutes before fetching Bridie in from the garden.
“Hello? Oh, hello, Lois. Did you want to know…? Oh, nothing to do with New Brooms. A play, did you say? Well, I don’t know…it doesn’t sound much in my line. Oh, hang on, here’s Hazel just come in. Wants a word with you.” Lois heard Bridie telling Hazel about the play, and wondered what it was Hazel wanted.
“Mrs M? I was going to ring you. That Mrs Jordan…you know, the one with wig! Well, she’s asked for more hours next week. Seems they’ve got extra performances of this play. Very popular, she says. Will that be OK?”
Lois confirmed this, and then, on the spur of the moment, asked Hazel if she’d like to see the play. “You’d know what Mrs Jordan was talking about then,” she said. To her surprise, Hazel seemed keen.
“What about Mum, though?” she said. Lois could hear Bridie being far from keen in the background, and then Hazel said, “Right then, Mrs M, what time and where?”
They made the necessary arrangements, and Lois put down the telephone. She looked at Derek, slumped in the armchair, snoring gently. Of course he wouldn’t want to go to a play. What was she thinking of? Poor bugger wouldn’t want to go off to Tresham after a hard day’s work.
She walked over to him, and leaned over, kissing the top of his head. “I love you, Derek Meade,” she said. “I love you just as you are, football, pissed pals and all.” He did not stir, but when she’d gone out of the room, he opened one eye and smiled.
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Fourteen
Hazel Reading sat in Tresham Hospital at the bedside of a very pale, hollow-eyed Prudence Betts. The nurse had been reluctant to admit her into the private room where Prue lay sleeping. Hazel had had to force a small tear, and stress what close friends they were, before she was told, “Five minutes only. And if she doesn’t wake, then out you go.”
Hazel’s watch showed she’d been there three minutes. Two minutes to go, but maybe they’d give her a bit longer. This was very important, and she needed to talk to Prue urgently. She looked around, making sure nobody was watching, and gave Prue’s white hand a gentle pat. No reaction. She tried again, and this time Prue stirred. Her eyelids flickered, and then she was looking at Hazel, though her eyes were clouded, unfocussed.
“Prue?” whispered Hazel. “How’re you feeling? No, don’t try to speak. Just listen. They’re going to chuck me out in a minute, so try an’ take this in.” She paused, looking anxiously at the still figure. To her relief, Prue nodded. It was a very slight nod, but there, without doubt. “Right. Now then, it’s goin’ to be all right. You’re not to worry at all. All over now. Get better quickly, ducky, and don’t worry. See you soon.”
The nurse came into the room, looking at the watch pinned to her uniform. “Time’s up,” she whispered. Hazel stood up, and blew a kiss towards Prue, who had closed her eyes again. The nurse waited, holding the door open until Hazel had left without speaking. As she hurried down the long corridors and out of the hospital, she felt tears springing out and down her hot cheeks, and this time they were unforced.
♦
“This should be a bit of fun, Mrs M!” said Hazel, her natural chirpiness restored.
They parked in the multi-storey in Tresham, and walked down the main street. All the shops were closed, of course, but quite a few people were still about. They passed a group of kids standing in the wide doorway of the library. “Hi, Hazel!” shouted one of the girls, and the others turned round and stared.
“Friends?” said Lois. There was a lot she didn’t know about Hazel Reading, and she was curious.
“Just a girl I used to go to school with,” said Hazel lightly. “Now, don’t we go down here?” They turned off down a dark passage that led into a back street of terraced, red-brick houses. Some were neat and newly-painted, and others had dirty curtains permanently drawn. Lois shuddered to think what went on behind those.
“It’s down here somewhere,” she said. “A converted shoe factory, they said.”
From the scruffy, narrow street, they entered a new world. A rich benefactor had bequeathed a large sum of money to the Tresham Dramatic Society’s theatre for restoration, and as Lois led the way inside, it was as if they were entering a warm, red velvet-lined box. The theatre had a capacity of around two hundred, had raked seating, and a colourful safety curtain, hand-painted with the comic and tragic masks of drama. There was the promise of a richly rewarding evening, and Lois and Hazel sank into crimson plush seats with rising excitement.
About ten minutes into the play, Lois felt Hazel stir in her seat and lean forward, as if to get a better look. Then she heard a sharp intake of breath, and Hazel turned towards her, mouthing something silently. Lois couldn’t get it. Hazel repeated it into her ear in a very soft whisper, but not soft enough for the man in the row behind them. He shushed at Hazel, making much more of a racket than she had with her whisper, but she subsided in her chair.
Lois stared hard at each of the three cast members on stage. Two men and a woman, all heavily made up, bewigged and dressed in elaborate costumes. The audience had warmed up, and the antics of one of the men, tall and thin, with an accentuated gangling gait, brought roars of laughter. Lois looked more closely at his face under an untidy wig. There was something about it…Then he turned and looked full-face at the audience, grinning at their reaction. Gary Needham. Gary was the gawky young fool, and playing the part very well indeed.
At the interval, Lois and Hazel struggled out of the aud
itorium with the chattering crowd, and made their way to the bar. “What would you like?” Lois wondered if she’d remembered to put enough money in her purse for the gin and tonic she was sure Hazel would request.
“An orange juice, thanks,” said Hazel, “but this is my turn. You paid for the tickets. So what’ll it be?”
Lois said she’d have a glass of white wine, if Hazel could ever make it to the crowded bar. Finally they had their drinks and were settled at a small table in the corner.
“How about our Gary, then?” said Hazel. Her expression was serious, and Lois wondered why she did not find the spectacle of Gary making a fool of himself as funny as she did.
“He’s good,” said Lois. “Wonder why he didn’t tell us he was in it? Still, why should he, really…He’s got trouble enough with Brooms, him being the only man in a woman’s world, an’ all that. I know what Derek will say when I tell him!”
“Load o’ bloody fairies! That’s what my dad would say,” said Hazel, still unsmiling.
“Oh, come on, Hazel,” said Lois. “It’s not as bad as that! Give the lad a chance. You have to admit he’s doing very well on stage, anyway.”
“And what else,” muttered Hazel to herself, and got up from the table, saying she had to go to the toilet. Lois sipped her drink, looking round at the crowd. It was like a private club, she thought. They all seemed to know each other, and over in the corner she caught sight of Mr and Mrs Betts, the schoolmaster from Waltonby and his wife. They were in earnest conversation with another couple, and she thought she recognized the tall, straight back of the man. Then he turned, and she saw that it was Detective Inspector Hunter Cowgill, and he was coming towards her.
“Evening, Mrs Meade,” he said, as if they were casual acquaintances meeting socially. “Very good performance, don’t you think? My wife and I are thoroughly enjoying it. Especially young Gary,” he said. “I expect you’ll be going round backstage to congratulate him after the show,” he added, and it sounded like an order.
Sod that, thought Lois, and said nothing. Cowgill turned to go, and Lois looked around for Hazel. A shrill bell rang, signalling the end of the interval, and Lois made her way back to her seat. Where had the girl got to? Just as the curtain rose, a commotion at the end of the row proved to be Hazel making her way across feet, handbags and rolled-up coats, until she reached her seat.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “Long queue for the Ladies.”
“Shush!” hissed the man behind them, and the theatre became silent, waiting for the opening of Act Two. The audience, now thoroughly warmed up by laughter and interval drinks, responded vigorously to the continuing high jinks on stage, and Gary’s character drew more laughs than any other.
As the play ended, Lois was slow to get to her feet. “Come on, Mrs M!” said Hazel. “Let’s beat it. Follow me…”
But Lois frowned. “No, just a minute, Hazel,” she said. “Maybe we should go round backstage and have a quick word with Gary? Tell him how much we enjoyed it? That’s what people do, don’t they?”
Hazel stared at her. “Some do,” she said. “D’you really want to? I mean, we could tell him tomorrow, or whenever?”
Lois shook her head. “No, I think we’ll go now. It’d be nice for him. Come on,” she said, decisively now, and led the way. They found the stage door in a dark, narrow passage at the side of the theatre, and knocked.
“Yes?” said a woman’s peremptory voice. No light fell on her face as she stood leaning against the door frame.
“Can we speak to Gary Needham for a minute, please,” said Lois.
“Well,” said the voice, “look who’s here…Gary!” she yelled. “Your adoring public is at the door!”
“Come on, Mrs M,” said Hazel, tugging at her sleeve. “Let’s get out of here.”
But Lois was annoyed. She was being patronized, and did not like it. “You can cut that,” she said sharply to the woman, whose voice sounded oddly familiar. Maybe because she’d just seen her on stage. “Just get Gary Needham,” she added, “and be quick about it.”
Then Gary’s figure appeared in silhouette against the light from inside. Lois found herself pushed to one side by Hazel. “It’s me, Gary, and Mrs M is here with me, wanting to congratulate you on your performance,” she said quickly.
“Oh, right,” said Gary uncertainly. “Hang on a minute. Too crowded in here.” He fumbled round the door frame, found a switch, and suddenly a light shone from above the door, illuminating Lois and Hazel. Gary stepped out into the passage. He had gathered his wits now, and said how very nice of Mrs M to come round. He was so sorry he couldn’t invite them in, but there wasn’t room to swing a cat, let alone a glass of champagne! “Like the show, then, Hazel?” he said, finally looking in her direction.
“Yep,” she said. “You were good. Very lively. Must be exciting when it goes well. Get a high from it, do you, Gary?” she added.
Lois wondered at Hazel’s dry, clipped tone, and broke in quickly. “We had a great evening. Never knew we had such talent in New Brooms!” she said, and then, puzzled by the failure of what should have been a jolly five minutes celebrating Gary’s triumph, returned with Hazel to the car.
They drove for five minutes or so in silence. Then Lois said gently, “What’s up, Hazel?”
“Nothing.”
“Right,” said Lois, “if you don’t want to talk about it. But don’t forget I’ve known you since you were a screaming brat. If you’re quiet, it means something’s up.”
The silence persisted for another five minutes. Then Hazel sighed. “Trouble is, Mrs M,” she said, “you don’t know enough, and I know too much.”
In the darkness inside the car, Lois did not turn her head. Good thing I’m driving, she thought, and don’t have to look at her. She might find it easier. “About what, in particular?” said Lois.
“Oh, you know, everything,” said Hazel wearily. “Stuff I hear in the pub, around the place. You and Mum think you had a wild youth, but you don’t know nuthin’. Anyway,” she added, “it’s nothing to do with me, nor you, and we’re best out of it.” She seemed about to say more, but hesitated.
“You might as well tell me,” said Lois. “There’s nobody else. Your mum’s not up to listening, is she? And I can’t see your dad being much of a help.”
“I don’t need any help, Mrs M,” said Hazel emphatically. “And I’ll just say this. Gary Needham’s fine as a cleaner. Can’t be faulted, according to Sheila Stratford. But keep an eye on him, Mrs M. I been askin’ around people who know him, and he’s one to watch.”
Lois drew up outside the Reading house, and saw the front door open. Richard Reading’s belligerent figure emerged. “Hazel?” he yelled. “About time too!”
Hazel turned to Lois. “I won’t ask you in,” she said with a grin, “and thanks for the evening out. It was great.” Then she was out of the car, pushing past her father and gone from Lois’s sight.
“Night, Dick!” Lois called. No sense in antagonizing him more than necessary. She didn’t know about Gary yet, but she did know that Dick Reading was one to watch.
She turned the car round and headed off towards Long Farnden, thinking about Gary and his subdued reaction to seeing them. And that woman who’d opened the door…definitely familiar, and not from the stage. She’d spoken to her before, she was certain. Then it came to her, and the revelation was a shock. She had last heard that voice in a grubby, untidy room on the Churchill Estate in Tresham. It was Joanne Murphy, and Lois could not think of a more unlikely place to meet her again.
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Fifteen
“First thing tomorrow,” Lois said, her back against the old Rayburn, drinking cocoa and warming up, “I shall ring Gary and ask him to come over and see me.” The radiating heat relaxed her as she told Derek about the evening’s surprise appearance of Gary Needham. She left out her brief conversation with Hunter Cowgill, but included the unpleasant exchange with Joanne Murphy.
“What the hel
l was she doin’ there?” said Derek. “The way you told it, she was a lazy slag who spent most of her time watching telly and smoking.”
“Yeah,” said Lois thoughtfully, “but there’s more, apparently.”
“Something you’re not telling me, Lois,” said Derek. She shook her head, and he took her empty mug and rinsed it under the tap. “Well,” he continued, “just remember what I said. Don’t you get involved in that major business. Could be a lot more there than meets the eye.”
“That’s the trouble,” said Lois, “nothing meets the eye. So far, nothing at all. Haven’t heard a really bad thing said of Major Todd-Nelson. Except from Dick Reading, of course, and you can’t count what he says about anything. The major was a lonely man with a weakness for young women – an’ I mean women, not girls – and a member of an amateur dramatic society. Maybe not a very nice man, but there’s plenty of those. But there’s something, Derek, ferretin’ away under the surface. Like one of them nasty insects that burrow under the skin.”
“So long as it’s not under our skin, I’d advise you to leave it alone,” said Derek. “And now to bed, sweet maid,” he added with rare dramatic inspiration, making Lois laugh.
They went up the wide stairs arm in arm, and just before they settled for sleep, Derek said seriously, “That old bloke probably was up to something rotten,” he said. “I’ve heard some muttering in the Waltonby pub since he was done in. It’ll all come out in good time, ducky, so don’t you get mixed up in it. Let that Cowgill bloke sort it out on his own. That’s what he’s paid for.” He turned over, and Lois yawned. “Mmm,” she said, “Night, Derek. Sleep tight.”
♦
Next morning Lois rang Gary early. “When you’ve finished at the surgery,” she said, “can you drop in here on your way to the pub?” She had assigned this job to Gary, and so far he was more than satisfactory.
The landlord, Geoff Boggis, had told Derek that he’d no fault to find at all. “Fast and efficient, you can tell your Lois,” he’d said. “And he doesn’t gossip. You hear all kinds of things in pubs, but Gary doesn’t want to know. Does his work, has a coffee and a quick chat about nothing in particular, and then goes. That’s how I like ‘em.”