7 Sorrow on Sunday (8 page)

Lois was firm. She told her mother she was being ridiculous. She would tell Derek herself. And, even if it was a white lie she had told about the lottery, Derek would agree with what she’d done. They didn’t want to talk about it with every nosey Tom, Dick and Harry. So that was an end to it.

Gran said no more. She bided her time.

“J
UST A MOMENT, SIR,” SAID THE YOUNG POLICEMAN BEHIND
the desk. “I’ll tell the chief you’re here.” He smiled. Blimey, thought Derek, there must be a new policy of being kind to visitors to the station. He sat down and glanced around at the two others looking anxiously at the reception desk. An elderly woman, respectable and neat, twisted her purse over and over in her veined hands. A young man—how young it was difficult to say—slumped in his chair, his face defiantly hidden by his grey hood.

If it hadn’t been for Lois, I wouldn’t be here, Derek thought. I could be getting on with my job, enjoying it and dreaming of what we could do with our windfall. Instead, I’m sitting here feeling like a criminal, even though I’ve done nowt wrong. Why couldn’t she be like other blokes’ wives? Housework, children, keeping herself lovely for me . . . ? In spite of himself and where he was, Derek laughed out loud. His Lois was special, and though he sometimes wished for a quiet life, he loved her just as she was. When they’d first met, she was trouble. Shoplifting, truanting, in with the worst gang in Tresham—and more fanciable than all the other girls put together.

“Mr. Meade? Will you come this way, please?”

“Morning, Derek,” said Cowgill pleasantly. “Have a seat. This shouldn’t take long.”

Their conversation was indeed brief and to the point. Derek described in detail all he could remember of the episode in Horsley’s yard. Cowgill wrote steadily on his pad.

“And so you told the farmer—Mr. Horsley—what you saw?”

“Yep, when he and his wife came home. I told him all what I’ve told you.”

“And what did he say?”

“Not a lot, really. I expect he was a bit shocked. I finished the job, and I left after that. Told Lois about it. The rest you know.”

“And what about Mrs. Horsley? How did she react?”

“Didn’t really notice.” Derek shrugged. “She was busy unloading shopping, I think.” He stood up. “That’s all then. I’ve told you all I can remember. I suppose I should have been quicker off the mark, but didn’t think much of it at the time.”

Cowgill got to his feet. “Just a minute, Derek,” he said. “Thank you very much for coming in and giving us your help. Invaluable. And please reassure Lois that you have been treated with courtesy and consideration. Good morning.”

Derek left the station and walked across the car park. So that was all right, then. Credit where credit’s due, old Cowgill had stuck to the point, except for his message to Lois. Derek grinned. His Lois could put the fear of God into most people.

He was just about to get into the van when a loud “Good morning, Derek!” stopped him. He looked around and saw to his dismay the upright figure of Colonel Battersby. The last person he wanted to see right now. And what gave him the right to call him Derek? Maybe he should try calling him Horace.

“Morning, Horace,” Derek said.

The Colonel swallowed hard. “What luck meeting you,” he said bravely. “Is there a chance we could go and have a coffee and a short chat? I’ve just been to the police station, and as far as I can gather from a senior officer, they’ve got nowhere with the wretched stable thefts.”

Derek hesitated. He could do with a coffee, and he supposed the stiff-necked idiot wouldn’t rest until he’d heard Derek’s story. “All right,” he said. “I can’t be too long. Let’s go to that coffee shop in the market square. The service is quick there.” He looked at his watch, and was surprised to
see it was nearly lunchtime. A beer would be more acceptable, but he supposed the Colonel wouldn’t stoop to drinking with an electrician.

“Yes, dear,” said the waitress when they went in, “what can I get you?”

“Two coffees,” said the Colonel, and before she could reply, he added, “and none of those frothy things. Just two cups—and I mean cups with saucers—of good coffee. And hot milk.”

“I’d like a latte, please, me duck,” Derek said. “And a biscotti, please.” He smiled sweetly at her.

“So that’s two cups of coffee and one latte?” she said tentatively.

“Of course not!” said the irritated Colonel. “One proper cup for me, and whatever it was that, um, Derek ordered. And we haven’t much time.”

“Mistake there, Horace,” said Derek. “Never say you’re in a hurry. They put you to the bottom of the list.”

“Not in my club,” said Colonel Battersby pompously. “Respect is the byword there. Bit of a shock to come to places like this.”

Derek laughed. “You’ll get over it,” he said. “Now, what do you want to know?”

“Exactly what happened when you witnessed a stable theft at Horsley’s farm? Your wife did not—or would not—give me any details, but the more I know about all these stable thefts, the better chance I stand of catching the culprits.”

“I can tell you very little,” Derek said firmly. “First sight I got was through the frosted bathroom window. The sort with wobbly glass. Just vague shapes, so I didn’t take much notice. Then I thought maybe I should take a look, but the vehicle was halfway down the track, trailing exhaust fumes, by the time I got down into the yard.”

“Did you tell the police all this?” the Colonel said in a court-martial voice.

“O’ course. What d’you think I was doin’ at the station? I’m not a regular there, y’know.”

The Colonel said nothing, and Derek considered what
his inquisitor had said. Something not quite right there, he thought, trying to remember the Colonel’s exact words. Oh, yes, that was it. He’d referred to
Horsley’s
farm. Lois wouldn’t have told him which farm it was, and he certainly hadn’t mentioned the name. So how did the Colonel know?

A young girl with nothing much covering her midriff appeared with their coffee, and Derek forgot all about farms and saddles. “Thanks a lot, ducky,” he said with a fatherly smile, and the Colonel looked suspiciously at Derek’s foaming mug.

“Is that any good?” he said.

“Want a try?” Derek held out a spoonful of creamy coffee, and to his surprise Horace took it. “Mmm, not bad at all,” he grunted, and licked the spoon.

*   *   *

I
N A QUIETER, MORE DIGNIFIED PART OF
T
RESHAM,
D
OT
Nimmo was changing from slippers into shoes, and taking off her wraparound overall. “There we are then, dear,” she said to Mrs. Parker-Knowle. “All tickety-boo. I must say your last char was taking you for a bit of a ride. Lots of dirty corners! My old mum used to say if you take care of the corners, the middles’ll take care of themselves. And she was right. Still, I think you’ll find I take care of all of it.”

Alice Parker-Knowle smiled. Even if it wasn’t true, she was cheered up already by this perky woman from Sebastopol Street. She reached for an envelope tucked behind her radio. “This is for you,” she said. “You’ll find it is correct.”

Dot hesitated. Every brain cell told her to check it, but she was about to take a risk. For the sake of establishing trust, she put the unopened envelope in her pocket. “Well, I must get the bus. See you soon, dear.”

“Um, what’s the time?” Alice asked.

“Five minutes past my three hours,” Dot said sharply. Trust should work both ways.

“Oh, I’m not checking up on you,” Alice said hastily. “I was just thinking it is lunchtime and you have a bus ride
before you get home. I’d be happy for you to have another coffee and something to keep the wolf from the door. You’ll have to get it yourself, of course.”

Now we’re talking, thought Dot, and slipped off her coat. “Why don’t I get
you
something nice for lunch, dear,” she said, “and have a bite myself? Save you the trouble of bending and stretching in that lovely kitchen of yours?”

They sat companionably with trays on their laps in the sitting room. Dot had made an appetizing salad for Alice, and a rough sandwich for herself. Alice had a fresh table napkin from the drawer, and Dot had a square of kitchen paper to catch the crumbs.

“How long have you lived in Tresham?” Dot asked conversationally.

“All my life,” Alice said. “But not in this house, of course. My family farmed over towards Waltonby. A large acreage, and father was what I suppose you would call a gentleman farmer. Lovely old house, and we kept horses. Hunting, pony club—all that. My nephew is there now. Unfortunately, my husband and I had no children.”

“Shame,” said Dot. “They can be a comfort. And, then again, they can be a sorrow.”

It was all going to plan, and Alice dutifully asked what experience Dot had suffered. She was told a heart-rending story, including the strange death of Handel in the gravel pit and Haydn’s fatal crash at the roundabout. “He was my only,” Dot said. “The light of me life, and a comfort, as you can imagine, after I lost my husband.”

“How frightful! You poor thing,” said Alice, reaching for a box of chocolates by her chair. “Here, have one of these. They are my comforters, and I eat far too many of them.”

They had two each, and then Alice said, “Whose was the horse that ran in front of your son’s van?”

Dot shook her head mournfully. “Dunno,” she said. “Leastways, I don’t know for sure, but I have my suspicions. All to do with a stupid feud that should’ve been stopped years ago. My Handy—we called him that—was a good husband, but he didn’t forgive nobody who done him a bad turn. Man called Battersby. Nasty piece of work. He
refused to pay a bill for work Handy done for ’im. Said it was skimped, and threatened to report him to the police. Handy wrote it off, but he never forgave ’im. What he did was, he made sure nobody else would work for Battersby. It was in Handy’s power, see. Sort of union, his friends. The Tresham Mafia! Made life very difficult for Battersby. Years ago now, but the feud went on.”

Dot looked mistily out of the window, and Alice shook her head in amazement. “Fancy that,” she said. “I had no idea these things were so close to home. How awful for you. D’you know, funnily enough, I knew some people called Battersby.”

Dot’s head jerked round to her. “Did you?” she said.

“Oh, ages ago. Met them through the Conservative Association. You know the sort of thing. Cocktails and bits of sawdust to eat!” She laughed, but Dot did not. She could not believe her luck. Should she ask more questions, tickle the old girl’s memory? No, better to leave it till next time. She might remember more then. Could it be the same Battersbys? It was a common name around Tresham, but you never knew. A morning well spent, she thought as she put on her coat.

“I’ll be off, then,” she said.

“Right, and thank you so much,” said Alice.

“Don’t you get up, dear,” Dot said. “I’ll see meself out. Take care, and don’t do nothing I wouldn’t do!”

Alice heard her cackling down the drive, and smiled. What a treasure she was, and how splendid to find someone so obliging.

S
EVEN NERVOUSLY EXCITED PEOPLE SETTLED INTO TWO
cars outside the shop, and Josie leaned into the driver’s window of the first one. “Have a nice day!” she said to Derek, who had hired a smart Toyota for the purpose. It was the syndicate’s big day, and Josie was not going, in spite of dropping heavy hints.

“I shall be there, of course,” Lois had said. “Your Dad will need me there. But that’ll be it, I’m afraid. We’ll tell you all about it when we get back. Don’t forget to take Jeems for a walk after closing.”

“Don’t worry, me and Gran will take care of everything,” Josie said, and wiped away a tear as she waved to the retreating cars. Please God, she said to herself, don’t let them be disappointed. It was an odd prayer for people about to collect a couple of million, but they looked so apprehensive and somehow vulnerable . . . Still, her mum was usually neither of those things, so they’d be all right.

“Nice of Josie to wave us off,” Lois said. She was sitting in the passenger seat next to Derek, and turned to smile at Matt the plumber and Geoff the publican sitting in the back. “Did you get any sleep last night?” she said.