Terror on Tuesday lm-2 Page 9

  Gary arrived punctually, and Lois took him into her office. “Not much time, Gary,” she said, “so I’ll come to the point.”

  He looked puzzled. “Something wrong?” he said.

  “Far from it,” she said. “Very good reports about your work. I thought I’d tell you that. And I just wanted to ask you something about a woman I saw when we came round backstage last night.”

  Gary’s expression changed. “Oh yes,” he said, “it was really nice to see you and Hazel. Never dreamt you’d show up! I was a bit embarrassed, I don’t mind saying – ”

  Lois interrupted him. “No need,” she said. “But about this woman. I could swear it was one who applied when we were starting New Brooms.” She thought of telling him how she’d turned down Joanne Murphy, and how disgusted she’d been at the whole set-up, not least the woman’s reaction to being rejected. But she thought better of that. No, first wait and see if he knew her. “She sounded just like Joanne Murphy,” she said, and waited.

  Gary’s expression did not change. He shook his head slowly. “Can’t remember that name,” he said. “It’s a big cast, mind,” he added, “and some of ‘em I only know by their Christian names. Let me think…” Lois watched him closely. He looked unruffled and not very interested. Then he brightened. “There is one of the walk-on characters called Jo,” he said. “Could that be her?” He picked up a rubber band from her desk and began twisting it in his fingers.

  “Maybe,” said Lois. “Anyway, she was the one that called you out to see us.”

  “Yep, that was her,” he said, and looked at his watch. “Shall have to be getting going,” he said, “if Brooms wants to keep its reputation for punctuality.” He smiled at her, apparently relaxed and friendly. As she went to the door with him, he turned back and said casually, “Oh, and by the way, why did you want to know about Jo?”

  “Just curiosity,” Lois said. “I hate not being able to recognize people. You know how it is…can’t get it out of your head. So thanks for calling in. I did want to tell you how pleased everyone is with your work, anyway. See you next week.”

  After he had gone, Lois sat for a while in her office, thinking. So it was Joanne Murphy, and Gary seemed to have no particular connection with her. But in that case, she said to herself, getting up ready to set off for the hall, why had he twisted that rubber band until it finally snapped?

  ♦

  In the schoolhouse in Waltonby, Mrs Betts prepared a lunch tray to take upstairs to Prue. She had returned home from hospital and gone straight upstairs to her room. The doctor had advised taking it easy for a few days, and suggested that a holiday away from Waltonby would be a good idea. When she had said Prue had cousins in the Lake District, he had been enthusiastic and waffled on about daffodils ‘Beside the lake, beneath the trees’, and the beauties of Lake Windermere. Prue had not seemed at all keen, but Mrs Betts intended to work on her. Worried and anxious as she had been, there had also been anger and a feeling of being betrayed. Hadn’t they given her every advantage? Prue’s father, she knew, had wanted a boy – still did – but had decided very soon that Prue would do equally well, and with any luck she would fulfil his decided views about equality of the sexes.

  Mrs Betts had told nobody her own view, which was that Prue was a dear little girl and should play with dolls, prefer frilly dresses, and in due course become, perhaps, an infant teacher, which would prepare her very well for looking after her own family in the future. But it was best not to argue. She backed up her husband in his plan for Prue’s education, and in her own quiet way made sure that the more frivolous side of a girl’s growing-up was taken care of. The result, she had thought, was a daughter with pleasing looks and nature, a good brain, as her husband put it, and a healthy interest in the opposite sex.

  A small voice answered Mrs Betts’s knock on the bedroom door. She went in, and found Prue sitting up in bed, staring out of the window at the children in the playground.

  “They’re very lucky, those kids,” Prue said.

  Her mother put the tray on the bedside table and sat on the end of the bed. “How do you mean, darling?” she said quietly.

  “Well, look at them. All in their lovely red and grey school uniform, dashing about without a care in the world. Except that one,” she added, “over there in the corner.” Mrs Betts looked. A small girl sat on her haunches against the school fence, huddled up, the picture of misery. “That was me,” said Prue. “The outsider, the teacher’s daughter. Nobody wanted me in their gang, nobody told me secrets. They thought I’d run off to Dad, and they’d be in trouble.”

  Mrs Betts frowned. “Are you serious, Prue?” she said. “You never said anything at the time, and I’m sure your father would have noticed if there was anything wrong with you.”

  “I was good at hiding it,” Prue said. “It wouldn’t have been any good telling Dad. He had a job to do, and that came first. As it should.” She turned towards her mother. “You could have sent me to another school, though,” she said. “If you’d thought. It was fine once I went on to Tresham. Only the school bus to contend with then.”

  “It is easy to find excuses, Prue,” her mother said in a firmer voice. “Easy to put the blame on to others…especially your parents…when things go wrong. Anyway,” she added, standing up, “try and eat some lunch, and then you can come down and have tea with us later on. It’s not good to sit up here on your own and brood.” She settled the tray on Prue’s lap, and turned to go.

  “Mum?” said Prue. Mrs Betts stood still, waiting.

  “I’m sorry,” Prue said.

  ♦

  Detective Inspector Cowgill sat in his car outside the school-house reading from a file of papers. After ten minutes or so he dialled a number on his mobile phone. “Lois?” he said. “We need to talk. Developments,” he said cryptically. “Three o’clock suit you? No? All right, then, four o’clock. What about the kids home from school? Ah, good old Derek. Usual place, then. Bye.”

  He opened the car door, shut it noiselessly, and walked slowly towards the school.

  “Why do people always call just when we’re sitting down to a meal?” said Mr Betts. “No, I’ll go,” he said to his wife, who had half-risen from her seat. He walked into the hallway, and she heard him say in an irritated voice, “Yes? What do you want?” There was another voice then, quieter, and after that her husband’s tone changed. “Oh, I see,” he said, “you’d better come in then. I’ll get the wife. Prue’s in bed upstairs, and still far from recovered.”

  Mrs Betts sighed. It was a good thing they were having salad. She covered the plates and went into the sitting room to find her husband talking quietly to a tall, serious-faced man in a dark suit.

  “This is Inspector Cowgill,” Mr Betts said, and the man shook her firmly by the hand.

  “I shan’t keep you long,” he said. “And I do apologize for coming at lunchtime. I thought it would be least disruptive for the school.” He took the chair indicated by Mr Betts, and said, “Better get straight down to it. We know what happened to Prue, and are very sympathetic with you both. Very worrying time, of course, and this is not entirely connected with it. I realize that. But if you could just give me some idea of what kind of girl she is, how she spends her free time, who her friends are, that kind of thing, it would be a great help with our present investigations. Then perhaps I could have a quick word with her. I promise not to upset her, or stay too long.”

  His quiet air of authority did the trick, as usual, and Mr Betts opened up at once, describing the good academic results of his daughter’s schoolwork, her future place at university, his hopes for a brilliant career.

  Mrs Betts said nothing, until Cowgill addressed her directly. “And do you have anything to add?” he said kindly.

  Mrs Betts thought of her conversation in the bedroom with Prue, and hesitated. She glanced nervously across at her husband, and then said quickly, “She was unhappy at the village school. Found it difficult, with her father being headmaster. We didn’
t know. She only just told me.” And then, to her extreme chagrin and her husband’s amazement, she burst into tears and hurried from the room.

  “It’s the stress,” said Cowgill reassuringly. “My fault. It’s probably too soon. Don’t worry, Mr Betts. We’ll leave the talk with Prue for a bit. Maybe tomorrow. And thank you for being so helpful. Give my apologies to your wife for upsetting her. Now, you go and help her, and I’ll see my way out.”

  Mr Betts, used to being the one in control, stood by the kitchen door uncertainly. “Are you all right, love?” he said to his wife, who sat at the table with her head in her hands. “Anything I can get you? Anything I can do?” He moved round to where she sat and put his hands on her shoulders.

  She shook her head. “Unless you can put back the clock,” she said, “there’s not much we can do.”

  ∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧

  Sixteen

  “Isn’t there somewhere else we could have these meetings?” said Lois, picking her way delicately through marshy ground in the woods.

  “Can you think of anywhere?” said Hunter Cowgill equably. “Just seems the most likely place I know, but I’m open to suggestions.” He could see Lois was in an irritable mood. He knew her well enough now to know that this usually meant she had something to tell him, and had not quite made up her mind whether to do so.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said, as they came to the clearing. She perched on the edge of the tree stump while he paced to and fro in front of her, saying nothing.

  After a minute or so, Lois said, “Well? You said there’d been developments. What are they?” Let him begin the exchange. She had not quite decided whether to tell him all she had discovered at the theatre, or just an edited version. She was very anxious not to draw his attention to Gary, who was proving a very useful member of her team. Loyalty was vital, she had stressed to the others, and this went for herself as well. New Brooms was in its infancy, but already she felt a kind of protective fondness for Hazel, Sheila and Bridie…and Gary. And anyway, there was absolutely nothing against him, she told herself firmly.

  “You’ve probably heard something,” he said. “In fact, I’m hoping you’ll know more than we do. There’s just a possibility it could have something to do with the major.”

  “Very clear,” said Lois. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  He grinned. “Patience, Lois,” he said. “I’m getting round to it. Plodding cops are not renowned for their quicksilver minds. No,” he added quickly, realizing he had given her the perfect opening, “it is the business of Prudence Betts. You remember we spoke about it?”

  “Yes,” said Lois. “The kids were full of it, but they didn’t know why. Naturally, it was all round the school bus. The favourite seemed to be a suicide attempt, and then a poor second was accidental death from overdosing. So, which was it? Or was there a third?”

  Cowgill looked straight at her, with no trace of a smile. “It was serious, Lois,” he said. “Prue nearly died, and it was only her father’s prompt action that saved her. I can’t tell you exactly what happened at the moment for obvious reasons. Her parents are distraught, and desperate to keep the whole thing to themselves. We are involved, and are treating it as urgent. That’s why I wanted your help.”

  “Well, if you can’t tell me more than that, I don’t see how I can help,” said Lois. Cowgill’s gentle reprimand had brought her back with a jolt to the seriousness of what she had willingly got herself involved in. If Prue had nearly died, then she instantly put herself in the Betts’s shoes.

  “Oh yes, I think you can help,” said Cowgill, and he had that look on his face that warned Lois he was up to something. She had learned early in their acquaintance that he was a true policeman, not above a little manipulation of people who were useful to him. “Prue is very friendly with Hazel Reading, isn’t she? And Hazel seems to confide in you quite a bit. Perhaps you two could get together, see if anything comes up. Girls hang around together these days, tell each other things that never reach their parents.”

  “Nothin’ new in that,” said Lois. “My mum and dad were the last people I’d have told. No, you’re right, Hazel probably does know a whole lot more about it. I’ll do my best, if only for them poor Betts’s sakes.” She stood up, thinking that this Prue thing had probably made him forget about the theatre. She was wrong, of course. Hunter Cowgill was practised at getting around to things in his own way.

  “Right, thanks,” he said. “And now it’s your turn.”

  “My turn?” said Lois. “I’ve told you all I know about Prue at the moment. And you still haven’t told me what it might have to do with the major…”

  “Ah, yes, well, we do know that he used to talk to her in the Waltonby pub…seemed to be particularly fond of her…and once, when she’d been working late, took her back to his house.”

  “And showed her his etchings when they got there,” said Lois innocently. One of the things she liked about Hunter Cowgill was that he was – in spite of being a plod – pretty quick on the uptake.

  With no change of expression, he said, “Tell me more about that.”

  She told him what she knew from Hazel, and realized the seriousness of the implications. Not that the major could have harmed Prue so recently that she’d ended up in hospital…he was too dead for that. But she could see the oddness of the situation.

  “Now,” said Cowgill, “about the theatre set-up. Anything untoward spotted there? You and Hazel seemed to be enjoying young Gary’s performance. Mind you, my wife said it was the funniest thing she’d seen for years. Quite a gift, that lad.”

  “Yep,” said Lois breezily. “He’s good at cleaning, too. Had really good reports from clients, so far. I like him, and he gets on well with the others.”

  “And when you went backstage?” said Cowgill.

  How did he know? Lois bridled at the thought of being spied on, and said, “Blimey, you got eyes in the back of your head?” Then she remembered he had suggested it.

  “Natural enough to want to congratulate Gary,” he said. “We were going to do the same, but my wife didn’t want to wait. So I left it to you. Was he pleased?”

  Lois hesitated. It would probably be best to tell him about Joanne Murphy, and take the heat out of his curiosity about Gary. And anyway, she was not averse to the idea of the police taking an interest in Joanne Murphy. She was the tricky one, without a doubt, the one who niggled away at Lois when she thought about the major and his peculiar end. So far, there was no connection that she could see, except that Derek had said he’d seen the major in the Tresham Arms once or twice, chatting up a barmaid who, though considerably tarted up, seemed to answer Lois’s description of the cleaner she did not hire. Yes, perhaps she’d let Cowgill do some sniffing around that scruffy cow and see what came up.

  “Well,” she began, “there was this woman who opened the stage door. I’d seen her before…”

  ♦

  Bridie Reading was enjoying herself. Lois had said that she could take over the vicarage from Hazel, who was, Lois thought, better suited to a farmhouse stuck right out in the middle of fields which, though isolated, had the appeal of three young sons working a big acreage of land. She wanted Bridie not too far from home, in case anything should go wrong in the family. She couldn’t say exactly what might go wrong, but she had never trusted Dick Reading and saw no reason to do so now. You never knew which way a bloke like him would jump. There was another reason. Bridie was an ingenuous soul, who blurted out whatever was on her mind at the time, and since Lois looked on Dick as one of the possible suspects – hotheaded, bigoted, and with a known record of campaigning against the major – she hoped for more information on that front. Working at the vicarage would not be more than routine, and so Bridie’s conversations with Lois were more likely to centre on her own home.

  “Morning, Vicar,” Bridie said, as the elderly cleric opened the door to her.

  The Reverend Christopher Rogers had been the vicar of Waltonby for twent
y-eight years, and was nearing retirement. He was neither loved nor disliked. He had carried out his duties with willing thoroughness, and had a reputation for ‘doing a good funeral’. But apart from that, he often thought he could be invisible. A small congregation, elderly like himself, turned up to go through the familiar prayers and hymns, and he never sprang any surprises on them. Hymns Ancient and Modern held sway, and he had no time – nor did his congregation – for the happy-clappy style of the vicar in the next parish. Indeed, several who attended Christopher Rogers’s church were escapees from badly-strummed guitars and hymns with alien tunes. It had been an Easter hymn sung to the tune of ‘What shall we do with the drunken sailor?’ that had sent the latest couple, a retired bank manager and his wife, to sit contentedly in the back pew of Waltonby church. The Reverend Christopher Rogers had greeted them kindly, and tried to forget their accounts of his neighbour’s packed and noisy church every Sunday. He had long ago ceased to go about evangelizing in his own parish, and a growing feeling of guilt was propelling him inexorably towards retirement.

  “Come in, my dear,” he said.

  He was relieved that this nice woman had taken the place of her rather stroppy young daughter. Hazel had done the work well, he had to admit. But her young, positive presence in the quiet vicarage was disturbing in its vitality, in the way she strode about from room to room, humming loudly and regaling him with items of local news she obviously thought would interest him. He could not accuse her of gossip. There was never anything personal in her conversation, but relayed with relish were such things as updates on the proposed new community hall; or the cat that got stuck up a tree and had to be rescued by the fire brigade.

  “What a waste of their time, Vicar!” she’d carolled. The most recent was an unlikely story of a donkey that had escaped from old Mrs Brown’s paddock on Good Friday, and turned up at the church door, braying to be admitted. “Thought you’d be interested, Vicar, it being Easter an’ that,” she’d said with a perfectly straight face.