by Ann Purser
♦
Lois had never travelled so fast in a car. On a motorbike, yes, when she was about sixteen and then it had been decidedly illegal. She sat in the back, where she could only guess, but reckoned they were doing at least a hundred. Chief Detective Inspector Hunter Cowgill’s tall figure in front of her obscured the view. When he turned to talk, she could see his shadowy face, and his expression was surprisingly relaxed. When he spoke, it was about anything other than the business in hand. “You’ll see, Lois,” he said in answer to her questions. “All will be revealed. We’re nearly there.”
“No, sir, we’re not,” said the driver, and Cowgill raised his eyebrows.
“Nearly to the conclusion of the case, I meant,” he said sharply. “Just keep your eye on the road, Sykes, and leave the talking to me.”
“Sir,” said the driver stiffly.
“So it was Betts,” said Lois. She refused to be silenced by Cowgill. It seemed to her that this was the ideal time to get as much information as possible. “Do you know exactly what happened?”
“More or less,” said Cowgill. “We have one or two gaps to fill in, but I’m afraid you’ll be looking for another cleaner.”
“Poor Gary, is he up to his neck?” said Lois. “And Hazel?”
“A good girl, Hazel,” said Cowgill. “Now Lois, tell me about that husband of yours. Is he making a good recovery? And what did he think about this midnight jaunt of yours?”
“Oh, he was over the moon, naturally,” said Lois crossly. Nothing like a bloody cop for caution. Never give too much away, no matter how in debt you are to a perfectly honest woman trying to serve the cause of justice…She broke into a sudden laugh, thinking that not even her mother would recognize that description. “You’re not goin’ to tell me anything, are you?” she said. “Can’t think why I’m here.”
“Because you’ll be needed. Just have patience, Lois,” Cowgill said. “We’ve warned Gatwick to keep a close eye on them when they arrive, but not to confront them unless they are actually about to take off for Rio.”
“It’s Rio, is it?” said Lois. She remembered again the holiday brochures. So he’d planned an escape route well-used by other criminals. “Not very original,” she said. “I’d go somewhere nobody would think of looking.”
“Like?”
“Oh, I dunno. Iceland, the South Pole, somewhere like that. Have we got much further to go?”
“Patience, Lois,” said Cowgill.
♦
Mrs Betts sat opposite her husband in the airport café, staring at a plate of pasta bake, wondering how she could get rid of it without actually eating it. Every time she got a forkful of the stuff up to her mouth, her stomach turned over and she felt violently sick. But he mustn’t know how she felt. If he got her talking – something he was very good at – she knew she would spill out the telephone call to Lois Meade, and then he would do something really stupid. When she tried to follow through on this thought, imagining just what he would do, the shutter came down in her brain, and she felt sick again. Perhaps if she concentrated hard on something else she could get some of the glutinous mass down her throat.
She looked across at him, tucking into his food with what could only be called gusto. How is it possible that I have been married to this man for twenty-two years, and now see a complete stranger – no, a murderer – sitting across the table? He had been a good husband, if a little bossy at times, but then, you expect that with schoolteachers. And to Prue he had been an excellent father. He had loved her, educated her, protected her. But that was where it all went wrong. She could see that now. He had loved her too much. Not in any unhealthy way, but wanting to keep her as a small child under his protection, long after she should have spread her wings. Then, of course, Prue had made her own escape and gone too far. Even so, it was not unusual these days, nor the end of the world, for a girl of her age to get pregnant.
Thinking along these lines, she got a portion of pasta into her mouth and swallowed quickly. Her gorge rose, but she detached her mind swiftly and thought of the major and Prue. She doubted very much whether Todd-Nelson had been the culprit. There had been that time when he’d brought her home from the pub, but Mrs Betts reckoned she would have known from Prue’s face if he had been…well, if he’d been Prue’s lover…Another forkful went down, and this time it was easier. Back to the major quickly. He’d obviously liked Prue, maybe tried it on a bit. But she could have sworn there was nothing more.
Who then? One of those young farmers in the pub, probably. That’s what her sister-in-law Betty had told her, cautioning her not to tell Mr Betts. “We don’t want a big scene in the pub,” she’d said, adding that Prue was keen enough, anyway. This had shocked her at the time, but not now. Prue was a young woman…Oh no, what was all this going to do to Prue? She felt the tears come into her eyes, and determinedly pushed another load of pasta into her mouth.
“Delicious, isn’t it, dear?” Mr Betts said.
She nodded, and, in a kind of desperation, finished up the plateful and put down her fork. “Is there anything else to do now, before we catch the plane?” she said.
They had spent ages in the queue, checking in their luggage. “Shame we can’t afford business class,” Mr Betts had said, glancing at the much shorter queue. It was then that she had seen that they were, in fact, en route for Rio de Janeiro, and not a friendly Scottish airport less than an hour away. She had not bothered to mention it. Nothing could surprise her now. All she wanted was for Lois Meade to walk across the cavernous entrance to Gatwick airport, accompanied by police officers, and find them sitting quietly at a table, finishing their meal. She could not bring herself to imagine beyond this point.
“Do you think I could have a doze, dear,” she said, and even managed a small smile. “I am really tired, and I’ve never been able to sleep on planes. I could stretch out on one of those long seats over there, and you could wake me when it’s time.”
“No wife of mine is stretching out on an airport bench like some no-good student,” Mr Betts said firmly. “Come on,” he added, and got up from the table. “We’ll sit together, and you can lean on me. It’ll be just like the old days,” he continued, and took her hand. “Just like when we were off on honeymoon, do you remember?”
She had great difficulty in controlling her tears now, and hurried over to a likely looking seat. “This will do,” she said, patting the place beside her. They arranged themselves comfortably, and he said she should shut her eyes and relax. “I’ll keep an eye on the screen for our flight number,” he said. He put up a hand towards her, and she flinched. But he stroked her hair and said, “We’ll be fine, dear. Just leave it all to me.”
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Forty-Eight
To a casual passer-by, they were a respectable couple waiting for a plane, the wife asleep on her husband’s shoulder and his arm around her. They were not at all noticeable, but they were the first people Lois saw as she and Cowgill, tall and stern in his dark suit, crossed the waiting area.
She put a hand on his arm, drawing him to a halt. “There,” she said quietly. “Over there, on the seat.” And then, unexpectedly, sadness overwhelmed her. She bit her bottom lip, and Cowgill looked at her.
“OK, Lois?” he said. “It’s going to be very hard for Mrs B, and you are the very best person to look after her. She remembered you. Don’t forget that.”
After a second or two, they moved forward. When they were a few paces away, Mr Betts turned his head and saw them.
In an instant, his alarm communicated itself to his wife, and she was awake, clutching his arm. He shook her off, and pulled from his inside pocket a small gun, pointed it at Lois and Cowgill, and shouted at them, “Keep away from me, or I shall shoot.”
Lois froze, but Cowgill slowly moved forward. Through the rapidly emptying waiting area, a number of men were now visible, also approaching as if on wheels, so steady was their motion. Policemen, of course. Cowgill will have organized it all, thought Lo
is. The little bugger doesn’t stand a chance. “I don’t think that gun’s real,” she said in a low voice, and Cowgill nodded.
“Can’t risk it, though,” he replied.
He cleared his throat, and Lois knew that now Betts would be encouraged to do the sensible thing and hand over the gun. She looked at Mrs Betts. A small woman, she seemed to have shrunk to a shadow, still close beside him, her face as white as paper. And then she heard the voice, loud and screaming.
“Dad! Don’t, Dad!”
Mr Betts’s head shot round to look, and in that moment Cowgill rushed forward and knocked the gun from his hand. Mrs Betts took his arm and pulled him back down on to the seat, where he sat with his head in his hands. Prue and Hazel, running now, hand in hand, came up, and Prue flung her arms around her father. Tears streamed down her cheeks and Cowgill, for once, looked at a loss. Nobody moved.
Then Lois walked forward and put her arm around Mrs Betts’s shoulders. “Time to go, I think,” she said. “There’s a lot of sorting out to do. Prue, you take your dad and mum and go with Inspector Cowgill, and Hazel will take me home. Got your car, Hazel?”
She waited until the family had been slowly ushered away from the now reassembling crowd, and then she turned to Hazel. “D’you want a coffee?” she said. She looked at her watch. “Bloody hell,” she said, “it’s the middle of the night.”
“Better call Derek, Mrs M,” said Hazel. “He’ll be worrying, for sure.”
Lois dialled home, and immediately Derek answered. “Lois? Are you OK?” To her surprise, she found she couldn’t answer. “Lois? Is that you? For God’s sake, gel, say something!”
Lois cleared her throat, and finally said, “Can you check Gran brought the washing in?” There was a moment’s silence, and then Derek said, “OK, me duck. We’ll check. See you soon. Love you,” he added, and rang off.
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Forty-Nine
Lois arrived home at dawn, and slept, on and off, for twenty-four hours. Derek gave orders to the family that she was not to be disturbed, and Gran took the kids off to Tresham, first to start clearing and packing up in her bungalow, and then on to the movies for a treat. It was Monday when Lois awoke to see Derek standing by the bed, holding a mug of tea.
“Mornin’ gel,” he said gently. “Time to get going.”
She struggled to sit up, and took the tea. “Ugh!” she said, making a face. “You’ve put sugar in it!”
“Phew!” he said, grinning broadly. “Glad you’re back to normal. Come on then, get up, the kids are skulking about looking worried, and Gran’s doin’ a fry-up to beat all fry-ups.”
He took the mug from her and pulled her out of bed. “Get moving, then,” he said, making it impossible for her to do so, holding her tight, and added, “Gran’s trying to do everything, there’s wet washing on the line…Time to get back where you belong, my gel.” He was smiling, but Lois knew he meant it.
“Right,” she said, pushing him away. “Ten minutes, and then I’m downstairs. You’d better be ready for me. And why wasn’t that washing brought in? There was I, stuck in the middle of bloody nowhere, and you couldn’t even…”
He put up his hands. “OK, OK, can we have a truce, just for now?” he said.
“Mum!” said Josie, when Lois appeared. “Where’s my library book?”
Jamie sidled up to her and touched her gently. “You all right, Mum?” he said.
“Fine,” said Lois. Douglas just looked at her without speaking. Lois said, “Anything up, Douglas?”
“Nothin’,” said Douglas, looking innocently surprised. “Should there be?”
“Now, now,” said Gran, standing over them all with a large frying pan. “Who’s for eggs and bacon, fried bread and sausage?”
♦
The staff meeting was a subdued affair. Hazel still looked bleary-eyed, and sat hunched up between Bridie and Sheila.
“Where’s Gary?” said Sheila. “He didn’t turn up at the surgery this morning, and it was all I could do to finish in time. I thought of ringing you, Lois, but held on, waiting for him, and then it was too late, and I thought I might as well carry on by myself.”
“Sorry about that,” said Lois. “Gary won’t be coming back, I’m afraid. He’s resigned.” She hesitated, and Hazel muttered something she didn’t catch.
“What’s been going on?” said Sheila. “Has Gary done something wrong?” She looked around at the others. Bridie had clearly been told at least some of what had happened last night, and Hazel looked steadily at the floor.
“Probably,” said Lois. “Sorry, Sheila, can’t say any more at the moment. But as soon as I can, I’ll tell you.”
“I liked him,” said Sheila stubbornly. “He was a good lad. Needed some proper mothering when he was growing up, I reckon. He talked to me quite a lot, y’know, Lois, when we had our coffee break, an’ that.”
“Yes, well…” Lois was determined to change the subject, and said that she would be looking for new staff, and that if any of them knew likely candidates, they were to let her know.
Bridie looked at Hazel, then said, “Is it all right if Hazel stays on, Lois? I know it was meant to be sort of temporary, but…”
“Fine by me,” said Lois. “But you’re young, Hazel, and what with everything being cleared up, an’ that, don’t you want to go off round the world, or something?”
Hazel shook her head. “I’m happy if you are, Mrs M,” she said. “It’s a good job, something new every day. And it gives me time to do other things I’m interested in,” she added, without looking at Lois.
After the others had gone, Hazel lingered. “D’you want a sandwich?” Lois said, “I’d like a word, if you’ve got time.”
The house was empty, except for the two of them. Gran had gone off to continue her packing, and Derek was working the other side of Ringford, too far to come home for lunch.
“How’re you feeling?” Hazel opened the conversation when Lois came back with the sandwiches.
“Fine,” said Lois. “But curious.”
“I’ll tell you what I know,” said Hazel defensively.
Lois said, “I don’t expect you to tell me everything. It’s not like that, I know. But I would like to know more about Gary’s part in all of it. And exactly what was the set-up at the theatre. You probably think I’m stupid – Derek does – but Sheila’s not the only one with a soft spot for Gary. I suppose what I’m saying,” she continued, “is that I’d like to help him, if there’s anything to be done.”
Hazel looked at her sandwich. Then she took a knife and cut it in quarters and rearranged them on the plate. Finally she looked up at Lois, and her eyes were sad. “Gary is hooked,” she said simply. “He controls it well, and can carry on most of the time so’s you wouldn’t know, unless you could recognize the signs. But it gets to him now and then, and he passes out, or loses it and does something stupid. Joanne Murphy was a cleaner at the theatre, and operated from there with quite a few contacts. That’s where Gary met her, and Betts too. Betts wasn’t in on the drugs, but he knew about it. He blackmailed Gary into helping him.”
“Sod it,” said Lois. She sighed, and said, “And Joanne Murphy? She’s not the big time?”
Hazel shook her head. “Just a little frog in a big pool,” she said. “And now she’s out of the way there’ll be a few frantic loonies about. But another like her will pop up in no time.”
“But Cowgill said he’d got her boss in Leicester. That’ll dry up the supply for a bit, won’t it?”
Again Hazel nodded. “For a bit,” she echoed, and began to eat her sandwich.
♦
It was Wednesday morning two weeks later, and Lois had three new possible cleaners to see. She arranged her schedule so that she could visit them all in their homes, and was just collecting up names and addresses from her office when the telephone rang.
“Lois?”
“Oh no, not you!” said Lois. “What do you want?”
“I knew you�
��d be pleased to hear from me,” said Cowgill. “It just that we’ve got this spot of trouble…”
“And it’s Wednesday,” said Lois, glad that he could not see her smile. She put down the phone.
EOF
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