7 Sorrow on Sunday (4 page)

“T
HE
B
ATTERSBYS HAVE BEEN DONE,”
L
OIS SAID AT
lunchtime. Derek was having a quick snack before returning to work.

“What d’you mean, done? You mean you’ve cleaned for them? So what’s new about that?”

“Done over! Burgled, y’fool,” Lois said impatiently. “The Colonel was purple. Went to check his precious horses first thing, and found the tack room empty. Poor Mrs. B, she was the one I felt sorry for. He took it out on her, needless to say. She escaped to her workroom upstairs. He’d gone off in the car, but he was back quickly, huffin’ and puffin’.”

“He’s told the police, I suppose?”

“Practically accused them of negligence,” Lois replied. “Then he asked me what I’d heard around the village. He more or less said that New Brooms eavesdropped wherever we went. That got me mad. I told him I didn’t know much more than rumour, and then I mentioned you seeing the back of that van at a place you were working. Sorry about that, Derek. He asked—no, ordered—me to send you to him. I said you were busy, but I’d mention it.” Lois had regretted it the minute she’d told the Colonel, and decided to tell Derek in case the Colonel talked to him. “Sorry about that,” she repeated.

Derek was unexpectedly calm. “Don’t worry, me duck,” he said. “I reckon I’d have reported it anyway. I don’t like keeping things like that to myself. Joe was furious, but he was determined not to tell the police.”

Lois blew him a kiss as he left in a hurry to get back to
work, and sighed with relief. “Right, Mum,” she said. “I’ll be in my office most of the afternoon. What are you up to?”

Gran said, “Washing up, cleaning the sink where Derek left greasy marks, clearing out the grate in the sitting room and laying a fire.” Lois put her hands over her ears, and Gran shouted at the top of her voice, “After that I might have time to take Jeems for a walk before tea!” Jeems was Lois’s little white terrier, and this last snipe was too much for Lois.

“I’ll take her after tea, so don’t bother!” she said. Then she relented. “Sorry, Mum,” she said. “You know we couldn’t manage without you. But you won’t let me send one of the girls to help. I’d be quite happy to—”

“Get on with you,” Gran said. “I was only teasing. I don’t need one of your girls—and I’d not call Sheila Stratford a girl, by the way. What would I do with myself? Now, get out of my way while I clear the table.”

Lois sat at her desk in the office and smiled. She and her mother were very alike, and understood each other well. Still, it didn’t do to take Gran for granted.

*   *   *

D
EREK FINISHED HIS JOB DOWN THE ROAD IN
F
ARNDEN,
and came out of the client’s gate to put his tools back in his van. He noticed a large car standing a few yards away, and as he shut the gate a tall, distinguished-looking figure got out and approached. “Meade?” he said peremptorily. Derek guessed at once that this was Colonel Battersby. “Yes?” he said.

“I want a word with you,” the Colonel replied. “Come and sit in my car.”

Derek stared at him. “What did you say?” he replied.

“I said, I want to talk to you,” snapped the Colonel. “Are you deaf, man?”

“Look,” said Derek, with exaggerated reasonableness, “I’m not one of your raw recruits. I have a business to run, and my time is precious. If you want to talk to me about the stable thefts, I’ll see when I can spare ten minutes and let
you know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m due at the next job. Good afternoon.”

He drove away, seeing in the rear-view mirror that the Colonel was left standing motionless, as if he couldn’t believe what he had heard. Too bad, thought Derek, accelerating. I’ll get in touch with the old sod, but when I decide to. God knows how Lois and the girls cope with all these people she cleans for, especially him! He drove on towards Fletching thinking about Lois and her decision to carry on with New Brooms and not let their windfall make any major difference to their lives. Was it possible? He looked back at his encounter with the Colonel, and wondered if he’d have been as confident in standing up to him before the lottery win? There was no doubt that having a large nest egg in the bank
did
make a lot of difference. How else would it affect them? It worried him sometimes. Still, he trusted Lois. She was strong and levelheaded and would see that nothing disastrous happened.

There was one thing he wished she would give up, but there was no hope of her doing that. Snooping was in her bones, he reckoned, and now there was a new mystery for her to get her teeth into.

He slowed down as he approached the roundabout on the edge of Fletching village, and saw a dirty white van speeding along from another road. As it came towards the roundabout, he saw to his horror a shaggy-looking horse crash through the hedge and charge into the road in front of the van. The van swerved off and hit a road sign with force. A dreadful sound of crumpling metal and breaking glass was followed by a terrible silence. Derek was frozen for a few seconds, then shot out and ran to the scene.

The horse had miraculously escaped, and was galloping at full pelt back up the road.
Let it go
, thought Derek, and rushed over to the van. The front seemed to be completely destroyed. He looked anxiously for the driver. Trapped in twisted metal and broken glass, the man at the wheel was slumped forward, his face covered in blood, and was almost certainly dead. Derek dialled the police from his mobile, and gave them the details. He was told to
stay exactly where he was. The ambulance would be there immediately.

Derek had another look at the man. He was young. If there was any sign of life, he would do everything he could to help him, regardless of police instructions. He peered closely through the shattered window, and realized it was hopeless. The man had been crushed horribly. He’d had no chance. Derek could see no sign of a safety belt. He straightened up and waited. He did a re-run in his mind from the moment he saw the horse crash through. It was a thick hedge, well-trimmed, and impossible to see in to the field beyond. Where, then, did the animal get out? He peered closer, and saw a narrow gap, and a broken fence, more or less overgrown. That was it. Perhaps there had been a stile there once. Some careless farmer had failed to mend it. Ah, well, he’d have trouble finding his horse now.

W
HEN
D
EREK FINALLY RETURNED HOME,
G
RAN WAS
looking worried. “Where’ve you been? I thought you said you’d be early today.”

Derek shook his head. “It’s a long story,” he said. “I’d be glad of a good strong cup of tea. Where’s Lois?”

“Taken Jeems out. She’s gone over the meadows to the river walk. Should be back soon.” Gran made the tea and sat down opposite Derek. “So what happened?” she said. Derek gave her an edited version of the crash itself, leaving out the gory bits. He told her about having to hang about for hours, telling the police what he had witnessed, and going with them to the woods to look for the horse. There had been no sign of it though the police were still busy up there when he left.

“Did you know the man in the van?” Gran had immediately thought of at least three people she knew who might have been driving white vans that way.

Derek shook his head. “He was quite smashed up, though he was vaguely familiar. Still, the police’ll find out who he is—was—and it’ll all be in the local.”

It was getting dark, and Gran looked out of the window. “Where’s Lois got to?” she said. “It’ll be time for our tea soon. Steak and kidney pie today, and bread puddin’ for afters.”

Ten minutes later, Lois arrived, out of breath and red in the face. “She’s in disgrace!” she said, tying Jeems to the table leg without taking off her lead.

Gran and Derek looked at each other. “You’re too soft with that dog,” Gran said. “What’s she done now?”

“Wouldn’t come when she was called,” Lois said.

“So what’s new?” said Derek. “She never does.”

“Well, this time she’d found a rotting rabbit carcass and every time I approached her she retreated, with the disgusting green shiny object dangling from her mouth. In the end, I walked away and left her, then waited out of sight. It was hours before she came, and I’m frozen.” She started towards the door. “Oh, and by the way, Derek, I met the Colonel. He said he’d seen you and you’d been helpful, and he was looking forward to hearing from you. I suppose you know what he’s talking about, but anyway, I’m going to have a hot shower.” She slammed the door behind her and they heard her going up the stairs, tripping halfway up and cursing, and then all was silent.

“The Colonel?” said Gran. “Old Battersby? What did he want?”

“To shoot somebody, I think,” said Derek gloomily, and opened the sports pages.

*   *   *

H
ALFWAY UP
S
EBASTOPOL
S
TREET, A POLICE CAR CRUISED
to a halt outside one of the small terraced houses. Hazel Thornbull, looking out of the window of the New Brooms office, watched it idly. Police cars were not uncommon in Sebastopol Street. She saw an officer approach one of the neglected, peeling front doors and ring a bell. At the same time he knocked on the heavy iron knocker, and waited. Then he peered through the grimy window facing the pavement, and looked up to see the same yellowing net curtains drawn across both upstairs windows. Back to the front door. This time, it opened a fraction, and Hazel could just see a pale face. Then the door opened wider, and the policeman disappeared inside. She shrugged. Another break-in, car theft, mugging. This area of Tresham was known for it.

*   *   *

“N
OW,
M
RS.
N
IMMO,” THE POLICEMAN SAID.
“I
NEED
to have a few words. Shall we go . . . ?” He looked around, and could see no room that he would willingly enter. The
smell in the house was appalling, a cocktail of cigarette smoke, damp walls and stale cooking.

Mrs. Nimmo led the way into a tiny kitchen, where she indicated a rickety chair drawn up to a small table covered in grubby oilcloth. So far, she had said nothing. She sat down on a rickety stool, and stared at him. He smiled at her, only too aware of the nature of his errand. She did not smile back.

“Have you got good neighbours here?” he said gently, not expecting her to say yes. Mrs. Nimmo was small and thin, with dyed blonde hair falling over her face in strands. Her fingers were a deep brown at the tips, and a chipped saucer in the middle of the table overflowed with ash and stubs. At odds with all this was her mouth, carefully painted bright scarlet, and each of the cigarette stubs bore her scarlet signature.

“Rotten lot. Nosy parkers, all of ’em,” she growled. Her voice was husky with smoke.

“Family?”

“Only my Haydn,” she said. She pronounced it as in haystack. “And you know him. He’s working now, o’ course,” she added with the trace of a smile.

The policeman took a deep breath. “Indeed we do,” he said. “Or should I say ‘did’ . . . I’m afraid I’ve got bad news for you. Haydn has met with an accident.” He stretched out his arm and reluctantly took her hand. It shook violently, and he rescued her cigarette and stubbed it out.

“What . . . where . . . is he hurt?”

“I’m afraid so. He didn’t stand a chance. An escaped horse ran out right in front of the van. Haydn must have stood on the brakes and the van skidded into a metal post. He wasn’t wearing his safety-belt.”

Mrs. Nimmo shook off his hand and stood up, tipping the stool over behind her. “A sodding horse?” she screamed. “I hope it was killed!”

The policeman was shocked. He shook his head. “Bolted,” he said. “Not touched. We haven’t found it yet, but its owner will.”

After that, Mrs. Nimmo let rip a string of expletives,
some of which even the experienced policeman hadn’t heard. She calmed down slowly, and protested that she would be perfectly all right. “I don’t need no friend wi’ me,” she said firmly. “I ain’t got any friends, anyway. Just tell me what you want me to do. We’ve always known ’ow to cope with bad news. Get on with it, then.” She was still shaking, but refused a cup of tea.