Tragedy at Two (16 page)

As she walked to the front door, she sensed Mark coming up behind her.

“Sorry,” he said. “I do have a thing or two to say. Might help. An’ if I tell you my side of it, will you listen?”

LOIS IS LATE,” DEREK SAID. HE HAD COME BACK FROM FLETCHING after finishing a rewiring job on an old house that had just changed hands. Townies had bought it for an extraordinary price that Derek wouldn’t even have considered for a crumbling cottage in the High Street. It was in a bad state, with a tiny muddy yard, an outside lavatory, and—he could hardly believe it—a tin bath in the shed. The new owners were prepared to spend thousands on it, of course, but it would never be more than a two-up, two-down workman’s cottage that had belonged to the Tollervey-Jones estate. The old duck must be running short of money if she was selling off her inheritance, thought Derek.

Gran told him Lois had popped in to see Mark’s mother and would be back shortly. She had to admit that time was getting on, and was beginning to feel guilty at having asked Lois. Perhaps there’d been a row, and she had stormed off somewhere else before coming home.

Derek chatted on about the old house, and Gran said she was sure she’d heard tell of the old man who lived there for years on his own. “Squalid, people said it was, and told him so, but he said he changed his underpants once a year, so what were they on about?”

Derek choked on his cup of tea, and reached for the dish-cloth to mop up the spillage. Just then Lois passed by the window and came into the kitchen like a whirlwind.

“You’re back, then,” said Derek mildly.

This unleashed a stream of words from Lois, mostly directed at Gran, about people who shouldn’t have children if they didn’t know how to bring them up, and the modern generation who had no respect, no morals and no ambition to make anything of their lives.

“Why don’t you sit down, me duck, an’ have a cup of tea. Gran’s made a batch of scones.” Derek smiled and took her hand. “Tell us all about it,” he said.

“I can’t,” Lois said. “All I can tell you is I’ve had a conversation, if you can call it that, with Mark Brown. At Gran’s suggestion. Supposed to be helping Mrs. Brown cope with her wayward son. Some hopes, Mum! He’s a selfish little sod. Tried to persuade me it was all his Dad’s fault. He’s an only child, and all his old man’s ambitions rest on him. His school results were never good enough for his father, so he says. When he suggested going off for a year round the world, there was an explosion that lasted for days. Oh dear,” Lois sighed. “I’ve probably told you more than I should’ve, but how often have you heard all that before?”

“I suppose it’s the first time for the Browns,” Derek said calmly. “Only son, an’ all that.”

Lois sat down heavily. “You’re right as always,” she said. “Well, I stuck it out. At least he told me
his
side of that gloomy family. But the crux of it was that Mrs. Brown reckons if we find out who killed Rob and who started the gypsy fire, that’ll let Mark off the hook of them particular crimes. I’m not even sure that he is suspected of being involved, anyway. Drugs yes, possibly mixed up with the gypsy fire, but I’ve heard nothing since that story in the paper about the gang being involved in Rob’s death.”

“Ring your cop, Mum,” Josie said. Lois had not seen her coming into the kitchen where she perched quietly on a stool by the door. “Who knows, a miracle might have happened? They might have got one whole step forward in the hunt for Rob’s killer.”

“How about
your
cop?” Lois countered, and immediately regretted it. Josie’s face closed up, and she said nothing more. Lois knew that Matthew Vickers had been around regularly, ostensibly checking to see if she had remembered anything new, but actually because he just wanted to see her. She had recognized him outside the shop that evening. Josie obviously did not mind this at all, but was aware that people would talk. Probably did already.

Lois changed the subject, saying that she must sort out a replacement for Sheila Stratford. “She’ll be off for a week, poor thing,” she said.

“Is Sam coping?” Gran said. Lois looked at her. There was something in her mother’s voice that suggested the question was more than an idle enquiry.

“Good heavens, yes,” Lois said. “Now he’s retired he should have all the time in the world. Surely even Sam’s heard of ready meals from Tesco, with plenty of fresh orange juice?”

“More likely that wife of Alan’s will do the looking after,” Gran said with a shrug. “Sam Stratford was never one for housework. He used to say he didn’t keep a dog to bark himself.”

“Charming,” said Lois.

“We got a parish council meeting this evening,” Derek said. “I can have a word, see if he needs any help.” Derek was beginning to feel outnumbered by hostile females.

Lois disappeared into her office, Josie went back to the shop, and Derek and Gran were left once more by themselves.

“What d’you reckon, Derek?” said Gran. “Did that Brown boy tell Lois the truth, or is he a liar like the rest of that lot behind the village hall?”

Derek shook his head. “Don’t ask me,” he said. “Our boys must’ve been through bad patches, but I don’t remember anything like this.”

“That’s because you were a good father,” Gran said. “From what Mrs. Brown has told me, young Mark might have been exaggerating to Lois, but not much.”

 

 

AFTER LOIS HAD GONE, MARK WENT STRAIGHT UP TO HIS ROOM and put on his headphones. He listened to the familiar music for fiv e minutes or so, then took them off again. His thoughts were whirling. Had he told the Meade woman enough to satisfy her? It had been nothing more than the truth, he reassured himself, if not exactly the whole truth. He slid off his bed and looked at himself in the mirror. Could be worse, he told himself. At least, Sally T-J seemed to approve. Maybe he’d slip out quietly and cycle up to the hall. He could throw stones at her window, or something stupid like that. He couldn’t imagine the old bat welcoming him in through the grand front door. . . .

DEREK WAS A NEWISH MEMBER OF THE PARISH COUNCIL. A vacancy had come up, and he had been co-opted between elections. He was reluctant to agree, but Lois had persuaded him, saying, “Think how useful it would be to know what’s going on in the village!” He had answered that he was sure it would all be very confidential, even between husbands and wives, and in any case, he’d added, the idea was to serve the community, not snoop into its private affairs. In the end, as always, Lois had persuaded him, and he had to admit that, once he’d accepted that the wheels of the local authority turn slowly, it was much more interesting than he had expected.

He arrived at the village hall early. Only Mrs. Tollervey-Jones was there before him. She made a point of being there first so that the others would feel suitably chastened for being late. He greeted her politely, and she answered absentmindedly, unlike her usual brisk self. Derek sat down and said nothing more, allowing her to arrange her papers.

“Um, Mr. Meade,” she said finally. “Could I ask you for advice? You have a daughter, haven’t you? Josie in the shop?” Derek nodded, and said he’d be pleased to help if he could.

“Well, I have my great-n iece staying with me. Sally. She’s sixteen, and has not had what I consider a suitable upbringing. Her parents have been away a lot and left her to her own devices, and I am afraid she is a very unhappy girl. Lately she has found unsuitable friends. Here in the village. You are probably aware of the gathering behind the village hall. On the whole, they have been left alone, except for the complaint followed up by the police in their heavy-handed way.”

Derek nodded encouragingly. He had no idea how he could help, but well remembered Mrs. T-J’s granddaughter Annabel, who had led his smitten son Jamie a dance for a while. They lived in a different world, these kids of rich-bug families.

“The truth is, Derek,” Mrs. T-J continued, “I feel generations too old to tackle Sally’s problems. And her parents are useless. Always were. She has just had a spell in hospital—overdose—that sort of thing. Of course, as a magistrate I am aware of that scene, and managed to keep the police out of it. But when it’s in the family . . . different. I am sure you, as a family man, appreciate that. I thought perhaps you or your wife would be able to . . . You know?”

Ah, thought Derek, so that’s it. She means Lois, not me. He had a good idea what Lois’s suggestion might be. Send the girl to a state school, give her a smaller allowance and make sure every spare minute was filled with some useful activity. And a curfew if necessary. Still, he wouldn’t preempt Lois’s advice, and promised he would mention it to his wife. “I always left our Josie for Lois to deal with,” he said.

“Most grateful,” said Mrs. T-J, as other members began to arrive, including Sam Stratford, who sat down next to Derek. “Evenin’ mate,” he said.

“How’s Sheila? Need any help?” Derek whispered, as Mrs. T-J rustled her papers and stood up.

“Poorly. But no, we’re fine. Alan’s wife is helping. Tell you more later,” he added. Mrs. T-J glared at him and said that if everyone was ready, she would open the meeting.

 

 

LOIS SAT IN HER OFFICE AND STARED AT THE TELEPHONE. SHE did not want to ring Cowgill, but knew it was the only way of finding out what was happening in Rob’s murder investigation. She could also pump him for information on Mark Brown, and what they had in store for him. She sighed. It was a good opportunity, with Derek at the parish council meeting and Gran off with Mrs. Pickering.

She dialled his personal number. It rang for a long time, and she was about to disconnect when his voice said, “Hunter Cowgill here.”

“Sorry to bother you out of hours,” Lois said briskly, setting a suitable tone. “I need to have an update on Rob’s case, as Josie has made it clear she thinks I have given up.”

“Lois! How nice to hear from you. I was half asleep in a chilly room, with only television for company. Now, let me switch it off and collect my thoughts.”

Lois had a vision of him sitting in a darkening, cold and tidy room, lonely and sad. She softened her tone, and said that she’d also something to tell him that might help.

His next words revised her vision.

“Give me a minute,” he said. “I got back from a triumphant round of golf, celebrated a little too lavishly in the nineteenth hole, and dozed off.”

“Bully for you,” she said. “Are you sober? Clearheaded enough to understand what I’m saying? I must say I hope there are no riots on the streets of Tresham tonight. You’d not be much good, would you?”

“Off duty, Lois,” he said, sharply now. “Even I am allowed a few hours off duty.”

“So what’s new in Rob’s case?” she repeated.

“You will not approve, Lois,” he began, “but evidence is hardening against the gypsies. We have located them, of course, and the local branch has them under surveillance.”

“You mean a bobby walks by once in a while?”

“I am not at liberty to tell you more on that, Lois, as you very well know. To continue, witnesses have come forward with information on another disturbance in the same area on the same evening. An hour or so before Rob was attacked, a young woman was menaced by a dog outside the entrance to a pub garden in Waltonby. We checked with pub customers, but nobody saw it. The woman described it as a bulldog sort of terrier, and said that it was dragged away from her by a gypsy-l ooking man before it could do more than scare her out of her wits. He disappeared so quickly she had no chance to speak to him. Unfortunately, nobody was around to witness this. There were no customers in the garden. All watching the match on the pub telly. A passing motorist saw something, but did not stop. He rang in later to report what he had seen. A big man and a dog, he said, but could give us no further description.”

“So what have you done about that?” Lois said, her heart sinking as she recalled the ugly pair with a bull terrier in the gypsy encampment.