Scandal at Six (Lois Meade Mystery) (23 page)

Forty-
f
our

L
ois looked at her watch.
I
t was too early to find
M
rs
T
ollervey-
J
ones, so she had spent a happy half hour looking in the library for details of elephant shrews.
I
t was too late for rescuing them, but in case more turned up, she wanted to know what
J
osie would be dealing with.
A
fter finding shrews, and learning more about them, she turned to chimpanzees.
S
he had been struck by
D
ot saying they could be violent.
T
he general image was of an intelligent, friendly animal.
B
ut then, you could say that about dogs, and yet small children had been savaged by pet dogs.
A
s she trawled through the websites, it was obvious that there was a huge and lucrative network of quite legal suppliers, and mostly the animals were sold with a full supply of documents from health authorities and vets.
T
here were also fraudsters, more difficult to trace, and dangerous to know.
W
ild animals should be in their natural environment, the law said, not treated as amusement for human beings.
N
o wonder
P
ettison called them his people.
S
he believed he genuinely thought of them as equals.
H
ow ridiculous and pathetic!
P
erhaps he should be expending his energies on saving forests and jungles and the planet in general.
O
r maybe he thought that was what he was actually doing?

She returned to her car, and drove slowly back to Farnden. She was early, and hoped that Mrs T-J was at home. Luckily, she spotted the old lady in her back garden, sweeping up leaves and debris from particularly hard frosts, and greeted Lois with a big smile.

“Wonderful! You could not have arrived at a better time, my dear! I’ve done quite enough for a woman of my great age. Come along in now, and we’ll have a nice hot cup of tea.”

As advertised by chimps, thought Lois, and, with a sudden feeling of hopelessness at the thought of the huge and shady trade they were up against, she followed her into the house.

“You’re looking a bit down, Lois. Are you sure you’re feeling better? Shock can be quite difficult to recover from. You must give it time, my dear. Anyway, here’s tea, and I’ve baked old-fashioned currant buns for us. To hell with slimming, I say!”

Lois laughed. “I think you’re fine as you are, Mrs T-J. What was it that nice Japanese friend of yours called you? A lovely English gentlewoman. And quite right, too. Now, you did say you had something to tell me? Was it about possibly spotting your burglar in the cattle market?”

“Yes, it was that. But there was more to it than I said on the phone. After the auction had finished, I made my way round to the auctioneer’s office. An old friend, you know. I asked him about the man I saw, and he remembered him, but couldn’t tell me his name. He’s often there, at the auctions, and sometimes has a woman with him. Doesn’t bid for anything. But Sam Downing, the auctioneer, said he’d seen him afterwards, when he went to get his car, in a huddle with a couple of other people. So is he the charming Justin Brookes? Or am I mistaken?”

Lois brightened, and said she was sure it could have been. “Did you notice anything unusual about the burglar, anything you might recognise again about the man at the market?”

“I’ll give it some careful thought. He was quite a pleasant burglar, in his way.”

“Mm, well, we shall see. These buns are delicious! May I have another, please?”

*

I
n a private ward in
T
resham
G
eneral
H
ospital,
R
obert Pettison stared out of the window at the wintry scene. He was bored. Each day, his condition had improved, until he had no tubes or monitors attached to him, and was able to walk with a stick around in his room, holding on to the furniture. Daytime television was appalling, and he hadn’t sufficient concentration to read a book. The newspapers were full of bad news. A magazine brought to him by a kindly nurse, full of pictures of the royal family and their relations, had bored him further. He knew one or two of the distant ones, and had thought perhaps he could make a few pounds telling a more juicy story than the one in the magazine. But blackmail was a dicey business. He had no interest in it, except where it had become vital, such as with Justin’s father, and that was hardly blackmail!

Who would have thought that the young Desmond Brookes, so promising a pupil at their school, until they were summarily dismissed, would have thought it beholden on him to go back to the dreary fenlands and take over the family farm? A first at Oxford, and offers of good jobs galore. That could have been his future.

And now his son, Justin! Nothing like his father, who had grown into a mild man with a dread of trouble, dating back, no doubt, to his bullied days at school. Justin was for years a biddable young chap, and he, Pettison, had made use of this. Now he had changed, with the death of his father.

A nurse knocked at the door and came in. “You have a visitor, Mr Pettison. May he come in? Ah, I see you’re sitting out in a chair. Well done, my dear!”

“Who is it?”

“A Mr Smith. Says he is an old friend.”

“Smith? Unlikely. But let him in,” said Pettison. “And turn him out again in ten minutes’ time, please.”

The nurse showed him where the alarm button was, and then opened the door wider. A strange-looking man came in quickly. He was small and thin and had dark brown hair and a moustache. He wore cotton gloves and a black jacket and trousers.

“Who the hell are you?” said Pettison.

“Never you mind,” the man said in a muffled voice. He seemed to be having trouble with his moustache. “Put your arms above your head and keep them there, now!” he added, and before Pettison could reach for the bell to summon a nurse, the man produced a gun from his pocket, and pulled the trigger. Red paint squirted out and hit Pettison on the side of his face, and then directed downwards, until his whole visible body was covered. He spluttered, touched his bell to summon help, and then slumped to one side

The visitor ran, like a shadow, out of the hospital and away. The whole episode had taken no more than five minutes.

Forty-
f
ive

“W
ho was that man?” said the hospital receptionist, as a dark figure ran by the desk and out of sight.

“Goodness knows,” said her colleague sitting next to her. She was a volunteer worker who helped visitors find their way around the vast hospital complex.

“He looked in a hurry! Maybe he was late for meeting somebody. Hey, listen, there’s alarm bells ringing somewhere. Do you think it could be him?”

“I don’t remember him coming in, though he could have, while I went to the shop for tissues. I expect you were busy with someone else.”

They then had a conversation about security in general, and agreed that they should stay at their post, in case someone else tried to get out unseen. “Doesn’t matter however many measures are put in by the authorities, there’ll always be ways of getting in and out without being noticed,” said one.

“Like that man over there, walking straight past us! Hi! Come back here.”

She stood up and gestured to the man, who returned to the desk.

“So sorry, sir,” said the first receptionist. “My colleague obviously did not recognise you. Please carry on.”

“So what was that all about? I thought we agreed—”

“It was the new consultant, you dope! Don’t tell me you’ve never seen him before? He’s famous.”

“Not to me, he’s not. It would have been polite, at least, to check in with us at the desk.”

*

I
t was getting dark, and Justin walked round to the entrance to his flat, but then thought that before he went up, he should check there were no lingering telltale signs of the shrews’ occupancy. It had been dark when Betsy collected them. The shed key was on his ring, and he unlocked and looked around. He could see that much of it had been cleared. No signs of a cage or food. Betsy must have taken them all.

He looked around, and wondered what he could do with the space, now he had decided not to handle any more illegal animals. Derek had obviously taken what he wanted to keep, and stored it in the old pigsty at the bottom of the vegetable garden. And recently Josie had said Justin could do what he liked with the neglected patch. She had grown things there when she lived over the shop, but now had no spare time, and so it was not used.

He quite fancied growing a few things there. It would make him feel more rooted to something permanent, with a few gooseberry bushes and maybe cabbages and lettuces. It would be good exercise, too, digging over the plot, ready to do some planting.

He began to whistle, and went upstairs to the flat feeling much more cheerful. He would ask to borrow some gardening tools this afternoon and make a start.

As he unpacked all the things he had so recently taken away, he felt a fool. He really would like to go and have a word with Josie, but she had said that her mother had told her about his rudeness, and she wanted no more to do with him on a personal level. He must use his own entrance, and as long as he paid the rent on time, and kept no wild animals—or tame ones, for that matter—he could stay.

He dialled his mother’s mobile, and sat down in a comfortable chair. “Hi, Mother. How are you? And how’s Vera? Hope you’re not getting up to mischief, the pair of you. No, of course I’m not! I’m still in the flat. Planning to do some gardening soon. Yes, fine, thank you. Now you take care, and I’ll be up to see you as soon as possible.”

The kettle was boiling, and he made himself a cup of coffee. Then he unwrapped the sandwich he had bought in Tresham, and began to eat.

*

I
n town,
D
ot
N
immo came out of her house and locked the door. She was about to get into the car when she saw Betsy Brierley come out into the street. She looks a bit wild, thought Dot, and waited to see what would happen next. She enjoyed a good marital punch-up, as a viewer of course, and was pleased to see Ted Brierley follow Betsy along the pavement. He caught up with her after a few yards, and grabbed her arm. This was going to be good, thought Dot.

Ted pulled Betsy to a halt, and she turned on him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” she shouted, slapping him round the face. He recoiled, and then went in again on the attack. But Betsy had had enough. “Get back indoors, and I’ll explain one more time!!” she shouted, and then turned to look at Dot. “And you can mind your own business, Dottie Nimmo!” she yelled. “There’s a thing or two I could teach you, you boring old fart!”

Dot roared with laughter. “Very good, Betsy,” she called. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. Come and have a cuppa with me when I get back. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

In a couple of minutes, it was all quiet again. Derek pulled up outside the New Brooms office at the other end of the street, went inside and greeted Hazel, who said he had missed a good sideshow. “I could hear every word, right down here,” she said. “Betsy and Ted were at it again, with Dot joining in.”

“Women!” said Derek. “At least you’re a rational person, Hazel. I don’t often come in here, but it’s always calm and pleasant. You’re a good girl, and Lois is lucky to have you.”

“Thanks,” said Hazel. “How can I help? I guess you don’t want a cleaner for your office!”

“No, we’ve got Gran, who is a law unto herself. No, I’ve been working in town, and wondered if you’d got an evening paper? I like to check the football results, and the man on the corner has sold out.”

Hazel reached across her desk, and produced the paper. “It is delivered every day,” she said. “Half the time nobody looks at it. You take it, Derek. You’re welcome.”

By the time he reached home, tea was laid on the kitchen table, and he eyed the chocolate sponge set in pride of place.

“Lois in?” he asked Gran. She nodded, and said her daughter was at last being sensible and was reading the evening paper in the front room by the fire.

“Ah, well that makes two evening papers. I got one from Hazel. I’ll tell Lois tea’s ready, shall I?”

The chocolate sponge was a shadow of its former self by the time tea was finished, and Gran said she’d be surprised if any of them could eat supper. “You’d better go and sit by the fire and let it sink,” she said, and Lois and Derek dutifully went through.

They had been settled only a few minutes when Lois said with a chuckle, “Oh my God, Derek, have you seen this?”

He looked over the top of his paper, and saw Lois’s smiling face. “What are you talking about, me duck? Oh, that paint job. If it was meant to be a practical joke, it’s not funny. I didn’t read all of it.”

Lois shook her head dumbly, choking with suppressed laughter. Then she spluttered, “Page four, halfway down. The report about goings-on at the Tresham General Hospital,” she said. “I expect this’ll cause some trouble. It’s not funny really, but, well, read it . . .”

Derek found the page, and read on. “Nasty,” he said, unamused. “But it could have been worse. Sounds like a bit of a revenge prank, harmless but nasty. Could’ve happened to you, what with your ferretin’ an’ that.”

Lois got to her feet. “Don’t be ridiculous, Derek. That unkind joke was only possible because Pettison was helpless and couldn’t fight back. Anyway, I have to make a telephone call. Back in a minute, and don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”