Secrets on Saturday (20 page)

Cox was the real mystery. It was hard to believe that he did not sanction the badger-baiting in the woods. He’d been a farmer with beasts, after all. If he’d been against it, he could easily have shopped them to the police. Badger-baiters were caught every day and hauled before the courts. In fact, the fines were not large enough to prevent them setting up somewhere else, Lois considered. But if he had been a part of it all, even if reluctantly, why would they threaten him with the dead badger? And why had it been necessary to remove him? Lois was convinced he had been removed in the same way as Herbert Everitt, although she had no proof. And the removal must have been permanent, or how else would the house be on the market?

Two things to do, then. One, visit old Ellen and try to get her to talk some more. She would have to tread gently. The last thing she wanted was to worry or frighten the old thing. And two, call in at the estate agent handling Cox’s Farm. Easy enough to pretend she was interested in buying.

She sat down at her desk, and saw that she had a telephone message. Checking it, she heard Cowgill’s voice. “Call me as soon as you are home.” That was all. No name, no please or thank you. So, Cowgill in policeman mode. She dialled his number and waited.

“Ah, there you are, Lois.” His voice was brisk, efficient.
“We need to talk. Usual place, tomorrow morning, ten thirty. Can you make it?”

“As it happens,” Lois said, “no, I can’t. Afternoon is OK. Two o’clock?” Thinking quickly, she decided to visit Ellen in hospital after her meeting with Cowgill. If she missed lunch, she could also call in at the estate agents before having to lie about her weak bladder at the supermarket.

“Very well,” said Cowgill. “There’s been a development that I’d like to discuss with you. Don’t be late. I am extremely busy.”

“Sod you! You’re paid for snooping! And have I ever been late, huh? In case you’ve forgotten,” Lois added, “I have a business to run!”

Hunter Cowgill, at the other end of the line, heard the click and smiled. He loved her when she was angry …

L
ATER THAT EVENING
,
THEY WERE ALL SITTING
watching television, and Gran said suddenly, “Hey, Lois, I forgot to tell you. When I was in the shop this afternoon, that little wimbly-wambly woman from Blackberry Gardens came in. She looks frightened of her own shadow. Anyway, you know I like to put people at ease with a bit of a chat—” Lois and Derek exchanged a smile—“but try as I might, she just answered yes or no, and we got nowhere.
Until
…” Gran paused dramatically and looked at each in turn. They waited patiently. No good trying to hurry Gran. “Until …” she repeated, “I mentioned about living in Tresham before we came here.”

“So what did she say?” Lois prompted.

Derek surreptitiously lowered the volume, and Gran continued, “Seems she’s lived in Tresham herself. And knew the Churchill Estate well. Lived in those semis over on the other side. She’s been in lots of places before coming here, apparently. They move around quite a bit. She seemed sad about that. Said she liked the Churchill. Plenty of people to talk to. Kids playing on the streets.
Always something happening. Then she started on Blackberry Gardens. Hates living there. Real snotty people, she said. All out at work all day, and then they spend weekends cutting the grass and cleanin’ their cars.”

“Did she mention her husband?” Lois held her breath, willing Gran to remember more.

“No, but I did.” Gran laughed at herself, and continued, “You know me, Lois. I asked her where he worked. Said I’d seen the lorry parked outside, and supposed he was a driver. But I failed you there, duckie. She clammed up like an oyster, took her shopping and practically ran out of the shop. Still, there you are. Can’t win ‘em all.”

“Did she say anything about those bloody terriers?” Derek said. “One of ‘em took a bite out of a mate of mine who tried to go round the back to find somebody at home. Should be taken to court, them Wallises.”

Gran frowned. “She did say something, but I’m blowed if I can remember what it was. I think it was to do with them not being really hers. Yep, that was it. Said she’d never choose to have terriers. They were no company, she said, and she’d always wanted a chocolate-brown Labrador. A nice big companion who wouldn’t make such a lot of noise.”

“She’s got that already,” said Lois glumly. “But then maybe not. Her foul husband is certainly big, though not so nice nor much of a companion. And I’ve heard him make a lot of noise, the bum.”

“Lois! Language! But yes, she did say she was lonely a lot of the time, and I offered to have her up for a cup of tea some time. But she was quick to refuse. A very funny woman all round.”

“Well, at least she had a nice chat with you,” Lois said, wondering if any of it was particularly useful.

Then Gran said, “Oh, and when we were talking about neighbours, she said the only nice one was poor Herbert Everitt. Always talked to her when he was going walking with his dog. Then she went bright red, and changed the subject to the weather. Do you think she fancied him?
Now, that really is all, Lois. I’m off to bed. See you in the morning.”

After she’d gone, there was silence for a minute or two. “Worth waiting for?” Derek said.

“Could be,” Lois said, and reached for the television remote control. “I can’t hear what they’re saying. Where’s the plot got to?”

“He’s just strangled her,” Derek said, and closed his eyes.

T
HE ESTATE AGENCY WAS NOT THE SMARTEST IN
town. In a narrow lane off the High Street in Tresham, Lois found the dark, dusty office, which had once been a butcher’s shop. She fancied she could detect an unpleasant, lingering smell of raw meat. A middle-aged woman, hunched up in a severe cream-coloured blouse that had seen better days, looked up. “Yes?” she said.

Ah well, Lois thought, makes a change from the dizzy blonde who smothers you with charm.

“I’d like to have some details of Cox’s Farmhouse at Long Farnden,” she said. No good trying to approach the subject by side alleys, not with this one. “Do you know the house I mean?”

“Of course I do, Mrs. er …?” The woman got up and opened a drawer in the filing cabinet behind her chair.

“Meade,” Lois said. “Lois Meade. I live in Farnden.” The woman pulled a sheaf of papers from the file, and handed one to Lois.

“That’s it,” she muttered. Then, as if remembering instructions, she added, “If you’re really interested and
would like to look round, one of our agents would be pleased to show you. You’ll have to make an appointment, as we’re really busy.”

Lois looked round. It didn’t look exactly jumping. A pile of unopened post lay on a side table, and through a glass door she could see the outline of a man sitting with his feet up on a desk, reading a newspaper.

“Thanks,” she said. “Can you tell me who’s selling?”

“If you live in Farnden, you’ll surely know,” said the woman, “and anyway, I’m not allowed to release personal information.”

Rat bag, thought Lois, but said, “I’ll have a look at these particulars, and give you a ring. Bye.”

The woman did not answer, nor did she watch her go out of the door and away down the street. She was too busy picking up the phone and dialling a number. “She’s been in,” she said cryptically, and put down the receiver.

T
HE SUPERMARKET WAS CROWDED
. S
CHOOL HOLIDAYS
, and half the population of Tresham seemed to be doing their shopping. Tesco had sensibly set up a section of children’s games and toys, and Lois fought her way past, heading for the bread counter. She had seriously thought about ducking out of this meeting with Cowgill. He had been so abrupt and cold, giving Lois the strong impression that he thought he could now take her help for granted. Well, he couldn’t. She had never accepted any money for information, nor would in the future. If there was to be a future. She could easily carry on at her own pace, gathering evidence until she had something really concrete, and then go to the police station. There must be other detectives there who would listen politely and appreciate her efforts.

She stood at the counter, waiting in a small queue. A picture of Cowgill flashed into her mind, a grieving and defeated man, head down and nothing like the Cowgill of old. But that was a while ago, she told herself. No need to nurse him along for ever. Anyway, he sounded completely restored on the telephone.

“Yes, dear?” the assistant said.

“Large wholemeal and three doughnuts, please,” Lois replied. She walked away with her bag full, but hesitated at the checkout. Cowgill was a policeman, an important policeman in Tresham. He was a professional, good at his job, so people said. What did she expect? She knew he fancied her, always had, but the law was a desperately serious business. It was not a game, and nor was her part in it. She turned back, and headed once more for the bread counter. Using her usual excuse, she walked through to the back.

“Morning, Lois,” Cowgill said, indicating a chair. “Thanks for coming.”

“No problem,” said Lois. “I had to come into town anyway. I know you’re busy, so you can come straight to the point.”

A small placatory smile crossed his face. “I would really appreciate your thoughts on this. We have had a report that several people in Farnden have had frightening threats in the form of dead animals strung up on their premises. Mrs. Cullen, one of your clients, I believe, rang us in a lather this morning. Seems two freshly-shot crows were attached to her gate yesterday, and she knows exactly what that means.”

“A warning,” said Lois flatly. “I saw them myself.”

Cowgill raised his eyebrows. “So why didn’t you ring me?” he said.

“Because I knew what you would say,” Lois replied. “That you were too occupied with really serious crime to waste time on a practical joke.” Silence. “Is there more?” Lois said sharply.

“Yes.” His voice was weary now. “I’m sorry, Lois. Maybe you’re right. But this is not the first of these incidents in Farnden, is it? And now we need to look more closely. If it’s a bunch of hooligans amusing themselves, they need to be stopped.”

“It is just possible,” Lois said in an icy voice, “that these warnings are connected with something much more serious. Like the disappearance of two well-off old men,
and the true identity of Mr. Houdini in his old red banger. Did you know Cox’s Farm is up for sale?”

“Yes, of course. We are keeping an eye on it, and I have not forgotten Reg Abthorpe, as he calls himself. Now, my dear,” he added, being careful to keep an avuncular tone, “if you could focus on the dead animal warnings, perhaps ask Derek if he hears anything in the pub, I’d be most grateful.”

Lois stood up. “And if you could kindly keep me informed with what dribs and drabs of useless information come your way, I shall carry on doing exactly what I think. I know by now when to call you. But then, I realize I am a very small frog in a whopping great puddle. But I can swim and jump. I’m off now in the hope of catching a few flies, so cheerio.”

To her surprise, he roared with laughter, stood up and, before she could take evasive action, gave her a big hug. “Very good, Lois!” he spluttered. “What should I do without you?”

“Bugger all, I reckon,” Lois said, extricating herself rapidly. “I’ll be in touch,” she added, and left.

I
T WAS A LONG WALK TO THE
G
ENERAL
H
OSPITAL ON
the edge of town, but the car park was permanently full, and even if there was a space, it cost a fortune to leave a car there. It had always annoyed Lois that sick people, or their families visiting, had to pay for their misfortune. As she turned finally into the road leading to the hospital and all its treatment centres and consultants’ chambers, research labs and mobile X-ray vans, she reflected on how lucky her family had been. Derek had only been in this hospital once, and that was when he’d been in a car accident of the deliberate hit-and-run variety. Gran was as tough as old boots, and the children, apart from the usual sniffs and sneezes picked up from school, had been remarkably healthy.

The receptionist here was pleasant and helpful. “Follow the yellow line on the floor, dear,” she said, “and
you’ll come to Mrs. Biggs’s ward. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you.” It was a formula, of course, spoken to all visitors, but Lois felt reassured. She bought a bunch of white marguerites from the flower stall, and walked along, following the yellow line, until she found the ward. She saw Ellen at once. The old lady was sitting up straight in an armchair, neatly dressed and with her hair cut and arranged in an attractive style.

“Hello, Lois!” she shouted, as she caught sight of her visitor. “You’ve come just the right day. Just had me ‘air done. What d’yer think?” She turned her head from side to side, and Lois said all the right things. “Them for me?” Ellen said. “Did you get them from your garden?”

Lois thought of lying, but decided to own up. “At the flower stall,” she admitted, “in reception.”

Ellen cackled. “Thanks anyway,” she said, and handed them to a hovering nurse. “Put these in water, there’s a good girl,” she ordered. She turned and said confidentially to Lois, “They look after you well in here. Better than a hotel.”