Lois Meade 01: Murder on Monday (EN, 2002) (2 page)

Then, just by chance, she’d seen the notice in the
Tresham Town Crier
:

LOOKING FOR SOMETHING SPECIAL TO DO?

Why not consider becoming a Special Constable?

Lois had read that racial or ethnic origin, age, sex, marital status or disability, were no bar to entry and had decided to find out more. ‘British, Irish or Commonwealth Citizen’ – nobody more British than her. ‘Able to give up at least four hours per week’. Not a lot, that. A bit of reorganizing with Mum and Derek and should be a doddle. She thought of her own previous encounters with the police – a long time ago now, but still clear in her mind – and smiled. It’d be the other side of the fence, but none the worse for that.

“I went about a job,” said Lois to Josie.

“Thought you said you wouldn’t clean near home,” she said suspiciously.

“Not cleaning,” answered Lois.

“Well, go on,” said Josie, “tell all. You up for Chief Inspector, then?”

“Clever!” said Lois with a smile. “No, I went to find out about being a Special.” She handed over a shiny leaflet she’d been given.

Josie looked at it in silence, and then exploded. “Oh my God!” she shouted. “That’s rich! Our Mum in the cops!”

“No,” said Lois calmly. “Not a regular policewoman – a Special Constable. It’s different.”

But Josie couldn’t see the difference, and slammed out of the room, yelling from halfway up the stairs, “Just wait ‘til Dad finds out!”

Ah yes, thought Lois. There is that.

T
elling Derek was not going to be easy. Lois would have to choose the right moment, and then he would take some persuading. He was very old-fashioned in some ways, and Byron Way had never, so far as she knew, produced a woman Special. She thought about it on and off the next day and then, late on Sunday evening, decided the time had come.

Lois grinned to herself as she topped up the bathwater from the hot tap with her big toe. Fancy me, she thought, thinking of going over to the enemy! The nail polish on her toe was peeling, and she picked at it, sending blood-like slivers floating off on to the surface. She’d not bothered to take it off properly at the end of the summer, and now picked away until it had all gone. Ugh! She pulled out the plug quickly, before Derek should come in and be put off the plans she had for him.

“Derek?” Lois stretched out on the bed in what she hoped was a languorous pose.

“Yep, that’s me,” said Derek amiably. He had won his darts match at the pub and had celebrated accordingly. Now he turned to look at Lois, and said, “For God’s sake, woman, get under the covers! You’ll catch y’death.”

Lois sighed. So much for seduction. She slid under the duvet and smiled sweetly at him.

“Bugger it!” he said. “Forgot to have a pee.” He disappeared off to the bathroom, stumbling on Lois’s wet towel and cursing loudly. When he came back, Lois welcomed him with long arms and a warm body.

“Derek,” she said again.

“Me darlin’!” he said boozily.

“Um,” whispered Lois, “I was thinking of training to be a Special. What d’you think?”

“You’re special enough already,” he mumbled, turning towards her. Before things got beyond sensible conversation, Lois said quickly, “No, a Special Constable…you know…”

“A
what?
” said Derek, rearing up over her.

“Well, a kind of spare-time job, uniform and that…” Lois squirmed a little, trying to release her trapped arm. She then giggled, knowing she’d get nowhere tonight. Might as well enjoy defeat.

Derek’s head swam. He wished he hadn’t had that last pint. With a big effort, he brought up before his eyes his late father’s list of recommended ways of dealing with stroppy women. He selected the words ‘a good seeing-to’, and got on with it.

The next morning, Derek was quiet at the breakfast table. The children had all gone off to school with Lois’s mother, and now Lois looked at him tentatively. “Shouldn’t you be gone by now?” she said. He swallowed a crust of toast, washed it down with the last mouthful of tea, and swivelled round on his chair to look at her.

“Got to talk, haven’t we,” he said.

“Well, yes, but not right now,” said Lois firmly. “It’s Mrs Rix, Mondays, and she gets snotty if I’m late.”

“Never mind Mrs Rix. Cleanin’ help is not that easy to find. Now you just sit down here and tell me what you’re up to.” He was proud of Lois, but sometimes found it hard to assert his head-of-the-house position when she was in this mood.

Lois knew she needed Derek on her side, so fetched the shiny brochure and handed it to him. “This’ll tell you,” she said. “I’ve more or less decided, but I’d like you to agree.”

“Well, thanks very much. Very honoured,” said Derek. He opened the brochure and looked at the photographs of attractive men and women in police uniform helping grateful people out of a number of difficult situations. Two of them, one a policewoman, were sorting out a fight between two hefty youngsters. “Here!” said Derek, alarmed. “I don’t want you getting into no fights! We need you in one piece here at home. Fine mess we’d be in if you got beaten up!”

“Mum’d help,” said Lois. “She’s come round to the idea.”

“Told her before me, as usual?” Derek thought of making something serious of it, but realized his best course of action was compliance. Lois wouldn’t like the job. Not with the police! No, better go along with it for the moment. “Not much good my objecting, then, is it?” he said. Lois bent over and kissed him enthusiastically, and he grabbed her round the waist. “Time for a quick one, then?” he said. “Or shall I get arrested?”

∗

Mrs Rix, Mondays, was waiting for Lois on the doorstep of her foursquare Edwardian redbrick house in Little Farnden. They were two of a kind, Lois had decided, Mrs Rix and her house. Secure and dependable and pleasant enough, provided you did not overstep the mark. Mrs Rix’s husband was the local GP and the house had an appropriately reassuring air. Although Dr Rix was in partnership with other doctors at the medical centre in Tresham, he maintained the old tradition of a village surgery in his house, reserving a small room as consulting room, with an even smaller room for waiting patients. There was seldom a queue and the older people appreciated not having to travel into Tresham on the bus to see the doctor.

Mrs Rix ran a neat and orderly house, with a regular routine. Lois never moved the ornaments from their ordained places, never pinched off dead heads of flowers that might be saved for seeds. In some of her other houses Lois was encouraged to make suggestions of all kinds, but not here.

Dr Rix was approaching retirement, but still carried out his duties as doctor and chairman of the parish council with dedication, kindness and warmth. When he first came to the village as a handsome, newly-married young man, he had been shy, and the nearest he came to joking with patients was a pat on the head for a six-year-old malingerer with a jovial “I expect you’re longing to get back to school!” But his confidence had grown, and now he was an indispensable institution in the village. They knew they’d never get another like Dr Rix.

When Lois opened the latched gate and saw Mary Rix waiting for her, she knew the doctor would already have beaten a hasty retreat into his study and immersed himself in
The Times
. He couldn’t bear the whirlwind upset of Lois days; the roaring of the old Hoover, her opening of windows even in the depths of winter, her involuntary bursts of song in a loud and tuneless voice.

“Morning, Lois,” said Mary Rix, with only a small smile. “We were beginning to think you were ill?”

Lois shook her head. “Have I ever let you down, Mrs Rix?” she said. “I’d always let you know if I couldn’t come. No, Derek and me had something urgent to discuss.” She made it sound like a matter of life and death, and Mary Rix’s irritation turned to sympathy, as Lois had intended.

“If there’s anything we can do to help…”

Lois nodded at Mary, and took off her coat, collecting cleaning things from the cupboard. “Doctor in his study?” she said. Mrs Rix nodded. “He’ll be gone shortly, though. Another call from Miss Hathaway…a creaking door if there ever was one!”

It was so unusual for Mrs Rix to say anything at all about the doctor’s patients that Lois turned to look at her in surprise.

Mrs Rix’s face was set hard, and she banged the cutlery drawer shut with a rattle. “Right!” she said. “I must get going, Lois. It’ll be coffee break before we know it.”

Lois headed for the doctor’s study thoughtfully. She’d seen Miss Hathaway outside the village shop on her way to work and she’d looked fine to Lois. Smarter than usual, with her hair done in a new way. Lois shrugged. There were plenty of ailments not visible to the naked eye and Gloria Hathaway was probably one of those who kept a medical dictionary by the bed. She paused, and then knocked at the study door.

“I shall be on my way, then,” said Andrew Rix, smiling at Lois, and touching her arm gently as he moved towards the door. “Give you a clear field, my dear,” he added. Lois had a soft spot for the doctor. He always treated her with unfailing courtesy and this was a scarce quality in Lois’s world.

∗

Gloria Hathaway’s cottage was like a tea-cosy: thatched roof, diamond-paned windows, criss-crossing beams, hollyhocks in summer, holly berries in winter, and a crazy-paving path up which Dr Rix now strode in the damp November air. He was still a fit, strong figure, never giving way to the self-doctoring temptation of his profession at times of stress. Dear Mary was his medicine! The perfect wife, he often told her, but knew from her expression that she still thought herself otherwise.

Miss Hathaway’s door opened a few inches and her small, freckled face looked out. She glanced beyond the doctor and saw her neighbour, the community nurse, hovering on the footpath between their gardens. “Ah, Doctor,” she said. “You’re early…”

“It’s a Lois day,” he explained, and as she opened the door wider, he stepped inside.

L
ois had filled in the blue card with her name, address and telephone number, but hadn’t ticked the box asking for a Special to visit. She could just see the boys scowling in the kitchen while she gave a cup of tea to the enemy. No, better to keep it as separate from home as possible. She would wait to be summoned to the station.

“Very good!” laughed Derek, when she explained it to him. “
Summoned
to the station…yo ho…very good!”

“All right, all right,” said Lois, “it’s not that funny.”

“What time’s your train, Mum?” said Josie. “See? station…get it?” she explained to Douglas and Jamie. Jamie still didn’t get it.

“Oh yeah,” shrugged Douglas, refusing to be amused. “Don’t matter what she says, it’s the cops. You want to watch out, Josie Meade,” he added maliciously, “else they’ll be checking on your school bag…” He made a swift exit upstairs then, too swift for Josie to follow.

“What did he mean, Josie?” said Lois sharply, and stepped forward to look for herself, but Josie nipped smartly out of the door and through the gate.

“Anyway,” said Derek, as if nothing had happened, “it says here you can go to an Open Evening – gives a phone number of the Specials Project Officer – blimey, what’re you gettin’ yourself into, Lois?”

Jamie had picked up another leaflet and wouldn’t give it back. Lois reached out to cuff him lightly round the ear. “Watch it, Mum!” he yelled. “Says here you got to be calm and restrained…and only apply force when necessary…”

“I’ll teach you what’s necessary, young man,” said Lois, as he ducked. She sank down on to a chair and looked at Derek. “Shall I give up now?” she said.

“Give up what?” said her mother’s voice, and she appeared in the kitchen, a big stately woman, hatted and gloved, her specs glinting in the light. Before waiting for an answer, she continued, “Come along you lot,” and like an experienced sheep dog, she rounded up the boys and all were gone.

“Time for me to go, too,” said Lois, clearing away the breakfast remains.

Derek was still absorbed by the leaflet. “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “I could join too, then we could be like Dempsey and Makepeace.”

“More like Morecambe and Wise,” said Lois. “Anyway, I haven’t decided…not finally.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” said Derek urgently. “Says here Specials are volunteers and don’t get paid!”

“‘Course they don’t, if they’re volunteers,” said Lois breezily, and ran upstairs to tidy the kids’ beds before she left for Professor Barratt, Tuesdays.

∗

Professor M.J. Barratt, MA, PhD, had lived in Long Farnden for only a couple of years. “Though it seems like more!” said his wife Rachel, often. She was a friendly soul, anxious to be loved, and an embarrassment to her two teenage daughters. Malcolm Barratt had given up the Chair in Law at the University of Hull at an earlier age than was customary. He awoke one sunny autumn morning, when the trees were fiery reds and golds, and the world seemed to stretch away from the close confines of the university, full of mystery and promise. He knew quite suddenly that it was time to move on. Rachel was not pleased. She loved the academic world, though, as she said loudly and with a self-deprecatory laugh, she was no academic herself. But she felt the reflected glory of the professor’s wife and liked the social life with other wives who were willing to talk about subjects of interest to Rachel. She was horrified at the thought of moving house, putting their trust in a new school for the girls, and the idea of starting out again in a strange and different community filled her with apprehension and reluctance.

Malcolm, however, was adamant. Over the years he had grown used to turning a deaf ear when Rachel began any protest or disagreement with the words “I don’t wish to argue, Malcolm, but…” By the time she had made herself miserable at the unlikely possibility of finding a niche as pleasant as her present one, he was already planning the kind of house they would need for his future life. Plenty of room, a study for himself on the top floor, well away from the girls’ incessant pop music and Rachel’s voluble friends, big garden for him to subdue, and, most important of all, situated in a village with a life of its own, but near enough to a motorway and a quick means of exit to the rest of the world. Rachel was still stressing the danger of moving the girls’ schooling at this time of their education, as he stood up to find the road map of the Midlands and prepared to draw a circle, radius forty miles, where they could begin to house hunt.