Fear on Friday (24 page)

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L
OIS LET HERSELF INTO
H
ORNTON
H
OUSE WITH A KEY
Doreen Jenkinson had given her. Doreen had told her she was off golfing with Mrs. Slater very early in the morning. “Early bird hits a straight ball,” Doreen had said, not very wittily. Lois had no idea what she was talking about, but said it would be fine. She would carry on with the routine, and if there was anything special Doreen needed doing, to leave a note on the kitchen table.

The house, as usual, was immaculate, and Lois reflected that if she whipped round with a duster and the vacuum, she could finish in half an hour, and nobody would be the wiser. She scolded herself; if she suspected one of her team had the same subversive thought, they’d be out on their ear. She glanced at the kitchen table, and saw there was a note for her. It reminded her that the silver candlesticks in the dining room could do with a polish. “Right,” Lois said, “message received.” She crumpled up the paper and threw it into the bin.

She switched on the portable radio, turned down to a respectful level, and set off upstairs to start on the bathroom as usual. Without interruptions, Lois found a kind of rhythm in the work, and hummed along to the thudding beat. Mrs. Jenkinson had said she would not be back before lunch, and as Lois moved into the kitchen, the last room on her list, she noticed she still had half an hour to spare. Cupboards? She opened several doors in the units, and every cupboard was tidy and regimented. Copper saucepans, ornamental only, hanging on the clean white wall? She took them down to clean. Fumes from cooking discoloured them quickly, so it would be a job well done. Finally it was time to go, and she remembered the rubbish had not been emptied. She took it out to the wheelie-bin, catching sight of Doreen’s serewed-up note as it fell.

Something clicked in Lois’s mind as she slowly picked the paper out of the messy rubbish.
CANDLESTICKS IN DINING ROOM NEED A SHINE
-
UP
!—D.J. Why was that familiar? Lois gazed out at the garden, tamed and conquered since poor
old Cyril’s day. Blue capitals? Oh, my God! Cowgill … the mystery man …

She put the paper in an unused Dogpoo bag in her pocket. Setting the elaborate burglar alarm, she locked the door and headed up the street, reminding herself that anybody could write with blue pen in neat capitals. Even so, she went straight into her office, shut the door, and lifted the telephone.

T
HE SUPERMARKET WAS CROWDED
. M
OTHERS AND
small children cluttered the aisles, and as Lois walked casually down towards the bread counter, a toddler suddenly changed direction and walked uncertainly across her path. “Oops!” she said, and then noticed the red-faced mother was Hazel’s friend, Maureen, apologising profusely. “So sorry! Oh, it’s you, Mrs. M. Well, I’m even more sorry. I’m afraid Robert’s not too steady on his pins yet. Oops! Must go …” There was another flurry of anxiety as the toddler crashed into a shelf full of herb jars, which wobbled and then cascaded to the floor, rolling under shoppers’ feet.

Smiling to herself, Lois resumed her zig-zag approach to the room where she was to meet Hunter Cowgill. Toddlers were so lovable! She wondered when Josie would get going. What was it like to be a grandmother? Josie was a warm-hearted girl, and would make a good mother.

Lois idled by the counter, then asked for an oatie loaf and four chocolate muffins, and smiled as she heard a loud childish wail. She was a nice girl, Hazel’s friend. Maureen …
Maureen what? Lois suddenly turned around and retraced her steps. But she saw only the girl, her toddler now in his pushchair, and festoons of shopping bags, heading for the car park. A shout from the bread counter called her back, and she collected her purchases. “Just going to use your loo,” she said, and in a stage whisper. “Got permission … bladder weakness, you know.” The salesgirl raised her eyebrows, but turned to the next customer and forgot Lois.

Cowgill was sitting at a small table, reading a newspaper, but stood up as Lois came in. Her colour was high from chasing uselessly after Maureen, and tendrils of dark, silky hair had slipped their moorings. She had changed from working clothes, and was smartly dressed for once. He took in her easy grace, comfortable in black jacket, shortish skirt and—as always, his heart skipped a beat—her long, slender legs in schoolmarm black tights.

“Seen enough?” said Lois, reverting to the playground. “Now then,” she added, softening her voice, “sec what I’ve got for you.” She reached into her bag and extracted the Dogpoo carrier.

“Lois! Is this a joke?” Cowgill retreated in horror.

“No, o’ course not. This is all I had in my pocket at Hornton House. It’s a clean one!” She pulled out the crumpled note, and handed it to him. He got out an ice-while handkerchief and carefully look the paper from her. “Bit pointless, that,” said Lois. “It’s been in the rubbish bin, and got my prints all over it.”

“No matter,” Cowgill said. “Does no harm to follow the proper routines.”

Lois sighed. “Have a chocolate muffin,” she said, handing him the paper bag.

“Lois! You’ve tried that one before, and the answer’s still no thanks. Now, this is very useful indeed, and a smart piece of work on your part. Leave it with me, and I’ll report back when we’ve done the tests.”

“Have you got those letters—the blackmailing ones? I wouldn’t mind seeing one.” Lois was furious. Just handing
over the note wasn’t enough. This was clearly a breakthrough, and she intended to be part of it.

“Not a chance, I’m afraid,” Cowgill said. “But I’ll keep you informed. Anything else for me?”

“Wait a minute!” Lois said. “Let’s at least talk about Doreen Jenkinson, and what she was doing blackmailing Norman Stevenson. If you add this to him asking me to snoop on Howard, doesn’t that add up to something interesting?”

“
If
is the important word,” Cowgill answered placatingly. “First our experts must compare this note with the letters. We shall know for certain then. I agree with you that it is probably the most important lead we’ve had so far, but it never does to get too excited too soon.”

Lois groaned. “Thank God your lot never took me on as a Special,” she said. “I don’t think plodding is in my line.”

Cowgill laughed. “No,” he agreed. “You’re more useful as you are.”

“Huh! Well, I’m off now,” she replied. She had thought of telling him about Susanna Jacob, but decided to say nothing. Still some work to do there.

He came towards her and put his hand gently on her arm. “I am grateful, you know,” he said. “You are much appreciated.”

“Oh, my Gawd,” said Lois, and went swiftly out of the room.

N
EXT STOP
,
THE
N
EW
B
ROOMS OFFICE IN
S
EBASTOPOL
Street. Lois was calling there, anyway, but now she wanted to check up on Maureen. She parked outside the office, and noticed a familiar car outside Rain or Shine. Where had she seen that before? It was a dark green, anonymous-looking Audi, but with one distinctive feature. Discreetly stuck on to the rear window was the legend: “Stop Prejudice, Fight Ban.” Hunting, of course. Lois laughed to herself. Outside that particular shop, it could have a very different meaning. Not that there was a ban on Fergus
Forsyth’s goods for sale—quite the reverse. Even Boots Chemists were reportedly thinking about planning a sex toys counter, and poor old Fergus would soon be out of business, what with Ann Summers and other like-minded shops everywhere and pictures in the papers of girls brandishing shiny, plastic vibrators! Lois was not easily shocked, but she was the first to admit she was conditioned by generations of her family who firmly believed that sex was what went on behind closed curtains, at night, and in bed, and was a private business between two—what was it? Consenting adults?

But the green car. She had seen it parked often outside Hornton House. It was the Slaters’ car. What did the Slaters want with Fergus Forsyth? Maybe what all his customers wanted, but Lois doubted this. She reckoned they would balk at calling, when a phone call would order what they fancied to be posted or delivered anonymously. No, she’d place a bet that it was Jean Slater, and would give a lot to be a fly on the wall in Fergus’s back parlour.

“Morning, Hazel,” she said. “It’s really afternoon,” Hazel replied, glancing at her watch. “Shall I get us some sandwiches from round the corner?” A new takeaway shop had opened, its owners presumably convinced by the Council’s projected plans.

“Good idea,” said Lois. “I’ll hold the fort. Chicken for me.”

When Hazel had gone, Lois sat down facing the window, waiting to see who emerged from across the road. It was quiet. Very few cars passed, and Lois glanced down at Hazel’s diary of appointments. One at three and another at three thirty. Both were new names, and she thought again of Susanna. When was she coming back? Lois decided to call without warning at the Jacobs’ house on her way home.

Nothing happened outside Rain or Shine, and Hazel returned with sandwiches, full of a story she’d heard in the queue. Work was due to start on the leisure centre in three weeks time. “Might save old Fergus’s bacon,” she said.
“His business has taken a dip lately. The upsurge after old Jenkinson’s death has fizzled out, and he was moaning the other day that the postal orders had fallen off too. Seems sex is coming out of the closet!”

“When were you talking to him?” Lois said quickly.

Hazel laughed. “Don’t worry, Mrs. M,” she said. “I haven’t taken to patronising Rain or Shine. Don’t need any o’ that yet. No, he comes over sometimes if no clients are here. Doesn’t stay long, but I reckon the poor bloke gets bored. He’s quite nice, really. Tells me things that he should probably keep to himself. But he says he gets desperate for the sound of a human voice sometimes.”

“What things does he tell you?”

“Oh, you know, famous customers, marriages he claims to have saved, that sort of thing.”

“Has he ever talked about Howard Jenkinson?”

Hazel shook her head. “Never,” she said. “I asked him something once, and he clammed up and scooted back across the road.”

Lois was silent for a few minutes, and Hazel opened the sandwiches. “Is this just a social call, Mrs. M? Or did you have a special reason for dropping in?” Hazel was no fool.

“Not really,” Lois said. “Just passing. I’d been to the supermarket. Oh, and I saw your friend Maureen there, with a wandering Robert causing chaos around the aisles! He’s a nice little chap. What does his father do? I’ve never heard you girls talk about him.”

“That’s because he’s vamoosed,” Hazel said cheerfully. “Did a runner before Robert was born. Little lad has never seen his father.”

“Are they divorced, then?”

“No, never married. Maureen Smith is still Maureen Smith, and says she intends to remain that way!”

“What a shame, though, that Robert’s got no father,” said Lois, trying not to show mounting excitement. Maureen Smith. Best friend of Susanna Jacob at school? They would be about the same age. But it was probably a coincidence.
Smiths were not exactly uncommon! “Is Elizabeth with her today?” she said. “Or is Grannie on duty?”

“No, she’s next door with Maureen. I expect she’ll bring her in any minute. She usually does, after she’s had her lunch. We have a little game and a cuddle. It’s really working out well.”

“That’s good,” Lois said. “Well, now I’m here I’d quite like to check through the records for a while. Past clients and so on. Shan’t get in your way.”

“You’re the boss,” Hazel said. “And I’m always pleased to see you, as you know.” She smiled warmly at Lois, and they settled down happily until the door opened and Maureen came in with Elizabeth, just as Lois had hoped.

They played with the baby and chatted generally, and then Lois said casually, “I was talking to an old friend of yours, Maureen. At least, I think you were at school with her. Susanna Jacob? Ring any bells?”

“Susanna? Yes, of course it rings bells! Haven’t seen her for ages though. What’s she doing these days?”

“Working for us,” Hazel said, and frowned. What was Mrs. M up to? Not like her to waste time on trivial conversation. “She’s our latest recruit. Not that she’s much help at the moment, is she Mrs. M? Off sick. I think she’s a bit of a wimp, personally.”

“Hazel …” Lois warned her with a sharp look.

“Goodness, that’s a bit of a come-down for our Susanna, isn’t it?” Maureen looked quite pleased. “What’s the story?”

“It’s not that unusual,” Lois said, a little stiffly. “We’ve had all sorts on the Learn. Like young Gary, and Bill Stock-bridge.”

“And Enid,” said Hazel loyally. “She was a piano teacher, and well educated and that.”

“Okay, okay,” Maureen backtracked. “Just that our Susanna, well … Anyway, she always was unreliable. Spoilt rotten at home. Daddy’s little darling. Got away with murder! And she had all the boys drooling after her. Still, we got on all right. Didn’t see much of her after I left school
and my Robert came along. Then I heard she had that business with—” She stopped short, and bent down to pick up Elizabeth, who had begun to grizzle.