Theft on Thursday (31 page)

L
OIS SAW
B
ILL
’
S CAR DRAW UP OUTSIDE AT LUNCHTIME
, and wondered what was wrong.

“Got a minute, Mrs. M?” He followed her into her office and gave her a succinct account of what he had found. “I remembered the fiery cross in the churchyard,” he said, “an’ us talking about the KKK. I looked ‘em up—used to be very powerful in the States. Terrorized loads of people who didn’t suit them.”

“And the rest,” said Lois, nodding. “Violent and mad. The fiery cross and the fire, and now you’ve found this. Scary, Bill.” She was quiet for a moment, thinking of Jamie. Cowgill had said Jamie might be in danger. And nothing sorted yet. Where was that Max, and why hadn’t Cowgill …

Bill said quickly, “D’you reckon we should tell the police?”

“Leave it with me,” Lois said firmly. “I’ll see to it. Thanks for telling me. You did the right thing. Oh, yeah, and what about Sharon? No chance of her keeping her mouth shut, is there?”

He shrugged. “I told her to,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean much.”

“Not so sure,” said Lois. “Somebody’s given her a nasty fright lately, so maybe she’ll be a bit more careful. Anyway,” she added lightly, “how’s it going at the Hall? No complaints from Madam?”

“Give her time,” said Bill.

“E
VERYTHING SORTED
,
THEN
,” M
ARION SAID
. S
HE AND
Brian were in the crypt café of Tresham church, amongst retired ladies with shopping bags and gossip to share.

“Yes … well, um, there may be a bit more delay than we thought.” Her face fell. Brian struggled on. “Tests to be done by all the experts. But when that’s all clear, we’ll re-fix the date of the funeral. After the police have finished all
their investigations. On the day, Sandy will be taken to your house, then you and the others can follow in cars to the church. I’ll be there, Marion, waiting for you. I know that may not be much comfort to you, but I’ll do my best. I promise you that …”

She looked bleakly at him. “Can I stay on in Farnden for a bit longer?” she said. “It’s a rum do, isn’t it. Enemies for so long. I’ve hated you for years. And now, because of … well … Now it’s all gone. I don’t feel anything much, but I’d rather be here … with you around. If we’ve got to wait.” She looked across the table at him, at his grey, lined face, his cheeks even more hollow than usual. His fingernails were bitten to the quick, his shoulders hunched. He was a beaten man, and some of it was her fault.

“Brian,” she said, in a firmer voice. “I have something to tell you. It’s quite important … well, very important, I think. It’s going to be difficult, but here is not the place. Shall we get going? Can you think of somewhere quiet and private, where we’ll not be interrupted?”

The sun was shining warmly when they emerged from the crypt like pale-faced spirits from the underworld. Brian said, “My church. We shall certainly be private there.”

“Right, the church it is,” she said, still in the same brisk voice. It was only when they were back in Farnden, and Brian opened the heavy oak door, that Marion’s voice faltered again. “Sure nobody will want to come in?” she said.

“Nothing surer,” said Brian ruefully. “Come on, we’ll go into the Lady Chapel.”

The sun streamed through the stained glass windows, casting coloured shadows on the bleached stone floor, and motes of dust spun in the disturbed air.

“Shall we just sit quietly for a few minutes? Collect our thoughts, and ask God to guide us?”

Oh dear, thought Marion, if he’s going to bring God into it, it’ll be even more difficult. She was confused enough about what was right and what was wrong. But she sat
obediently in the hard wooden pew next to him and bowed her head. She had not prayed for years. She concentrated on how exactly she was going to tell him what she had kept secret.

“Fire away, then,” he said, sitting back in the pew and smiling as reassuringly as he could.

“Right. Well, um, it’s about Sandy.” Brian said nothing, but nodded gently.

“You know what we said at the time, when Gerald left me to come and live with you. About us never telling Sandy about all that? About you and Gerald? And the accident, and Sandy not needing to know?” Again Brian nodded.

“Well, he wrote to me a couple of months ago. Said somebody had told him a bit of gossip that had upset him. It was about you and Gerald. But mostly about you maybe having had a hand in the accident. He was very angry with me for not having told him any of it, and said he needed to know the truth.”

“And did you? Do you believe that what I told you is the truth?” Brian’s voice was very quiet. There were no sounds in the church, as if mice in the corners and birds in the rafters were holding their breath.

Marion nodded. “Yes, Brian. I believe you,” she said. Then a gate slammed.

“What’s that!” said Marion, starting out of her seat and looking towards the door.

Brian sighed deeply. “The churchyard gate,” he said. “Someone’s coming. It may be one of the ladies to do the brasses and flowers. Oh dear,” he continued, looking at Marion’s stricken face, “I’m so sorry, my dear.”

Brisk steps marched into the church. “Who’s that?” said a sharp voice.

Brian rose wearily to his feet. “Good morning, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones,” he said. “I don’t think you’ve met Mrs.
Mackerras? Sandy’s mother. We were just having a quiet time together.”

For once in her life Mrs. T-J was nonplussed. She stuttered her apologies and asked Brian if he would like her to come back later. He shook his head. “No, no, I know your time is precious,” he said. “We’ll leave you to it. Gran will have lunch ready, and woe betide us if we’re late!” He could see that Marion was near to tears, and he put his hand through her arm, guiding her gently towards the door. “There’ll be time later,” he whispered to her. “So sorry.”

They walked slowly out of the church, and Mrs. T-J watched them go. She had a most unaccustomed prickling in her eyes, so took out her cleaning things to attack the brasses with extra vigour.

M
AX
C
OCKSHUTT
W
EDDERBURN SAT ON THE BLEAK
sand dunes and looked out to sea. He was not impressed. Miles and miles of bugger-all. Except water, and he hated water as much as he loved fire. It was a grey, chilly day, and the wind blew over his cropped head, making him shiver. He struggled to his feet, and walked with difficulty along the powdery sand for a while, seeing nobody, and although he knew this was the best possible thing, he was desperate for the sight of a human face, or the sound of a voice. He was not sure how much longer he could stand this place.

He pulled his thin jacket closer around him, and looked back over the last few days. What the hell had gone wrong? Sandy had taken responsibility for dripping petrol all around the vicarage, and the description of the ferocity of the fire proved that he’d done that well enough. But the stupid fool had never meant to commit suicide. He knew that too. The Society’s part in the plan had been executed meticulously, as always, according to reports from henchman
Stan. Its survival depended on that, and now it looked as if an outsider—because Sandy Mackerras had definitely been an outsider—had fouled it up.

Max shivered in a sudden gust of icy wind, and hunched his shoulders, his thoughts roaming dismally on. He should have stuck to his own, to old mates from his part of town who were as keen on the aims of the Society as he was. Members like Annabelle T-J and her snooty friends were in it for a lark, Max knew that. But he’d been flattered when they listened to his speeches and cheered him on. Annabelle and Sharon. They were much too big a risk. One rich and snooty, and the other spoilt and dim-witted. What a combination! He should never have let them come along.

He tried not to think about his ignominious exit from Annabelle’s flat. I gave them a good fright, he told himself. That’ll keep their mouths shut. But in his heart he knew otherwise. He knew now that the Wycombe Society was finished. Cowgill was a chilly bloke, nosed about like a ferret, and was known not to rest until he got an answer.

There was rain in the wind now, and he turned back, wondering how he was going to pass the time and when it would be safe to go and look for food. A service station shop would be the best place. Once it got dark, it was all anonymous passing trade, registering nothing with the assistants. He’d not wear his shades. Without them, he considered, he was just another good-looking guy with a great car. But what to do now? He couldn’t stay outside in the rain. It was miserable and cold in the cottage, and the telly didn’t work. His spirits sank to rock bottom.

Then his mobile rang. He fumbled in his pocket, anxious to answer it before the caller gave up.

“Hello! Who’s that?” The signal was bad, and the voice broken up and difficult to hear. But he knew the voice, and it was friendly. Stan said in plain and simple words, “Get out, Max. Cowgill is on your tail. Yer mum squealed.”
Then the line went dead, and Max put the phone back in his pocket. So the ferret was after him. Better get going. But where?

He collected up his few belongings, and locked the house, putting the key back under the flower pot. Best not to leave traces. He had no desire to help Cowgill.

The car roared down the track and out on to the narrow lane. He was away, and as he drove he turned over in his mind possible plans. He had to outwit Cowgill and hide up for a bit until a long-term solution came to him. He turned on the radio. Nothing on the news about a hunt for Darren Cockshutt, otherwise known as Max Wedderburn. He listened to the radio’s relentless, thudding music that filled his car, and continued to think. Suddenly he punched the air, and accelerated hard along the fast lane. Yes! He’d got it. A double bluff. He knew now where he would be safe. He began to whistle tunelessly through his discoloured teeth, and, endangering life and limb, dialled Stan’s number on his mobile.

J
AMIE HAD ARRIVED AT THE RAILWAY STATION ON TIME
and Derek was there to meet him. They’d said nothing most of the way home, until Long Farnden was in sight. Then Derek began, “Listen, Jamie old son, I got somethin’ to say. Not much, but it might help. I met your mother when she was your age, but I was a bit older, and she weren’t the first. Best not to mention that. No, I’d bin around a bit, testing the water. But when I saw her at the counter in Woolworths, that were it. Never looked at anybody else.” Jamie shifted uneasily in his seat.

Derek grinned and continued, “Not much more. Just that I knew she was the one. Now your Annabelle, she’s a different kettle of fish. Her sort don’t settle down so soon, not unless she meets a millionaire. She’ll play the field for a while yet. So don’t break yer heart, son. Look around.
When you get to university, there’ll be hundreds of girls, all more or less available.” He stopped the van and Jamie got out to open the gates.

He waited until his father had closed the garage doors, and then said, “Thanks, Dad. But I
do
know, just like you did with Mum. Still, I’ll think on it.”

Gran greeted him with her usual enthusiasm, and Lois followed it up with a smacking kiss, which he tolerated stoically. “What’s all this?” he said. “Anybody’d think I’d come back from the battlefield.”

“Yeah, well,” said Lois. She looked at him closely. He was pale and tense. So something had happened. “Let’s hope no battles came your way,” she said lightly. Although she was desperately worried for his safety, she knew that quizzing him would be useless. Sooner or later she would be told. But not too late. “You’re just in time for the match,” she said. “Telly’s on, and the vicar and Mrs. Mackerras are watching the news.”

“I thought she was going home.” Jamie was disappointed that they’d not have the house to themselves. When it was just him and his dad, they could shout and swear at the screen with joyful abandon, but with a vicar and that poor woman sitting there … well …

“Not for a while,” Lois said. “There’s more police tests to be done. And she’s got some things to sort out. Still a lot of confusion,” she said with emphasis, fixing Jamie with a baleful look. “I’ll be in my office if you think of anythin’ you got to tell me.”

Jamie thought of his loving farewell from Annabelle. He had reluctantly agreed not to say anything about Max Wedderburn, though he knew it was important and he should at least tell his parents. But Annabelle had been so sure that harm would come to her unless they kept quiet. He had not seen her so frightened before, and could not even bear to think about what Max or his evil lot might do. Still, he’d not exactly promised. His actual words, which
rang in his head now, were, “I love you, Annabelle. I’d do anything for you. So I’ll not say anything for the moment. Probably it’ll all get sorted without us having to tell.” Now, away from her, he knew that if Wedderburn looked like getting away with it, he would have to speak.

The telephone rang, and Lois disappeared into her office. “Hello? Oh, it’s you.
Where
are you? Wales? Oh, on the way to Wales. And you’ve seen what? It’s a bad line … A car? Well, you would, on a motorway …” Lois shifted the receiver to her other ear and reached for a pen. “Jamie’s mobile number? Well, he’s here, so you can speak to him now if you like. What’s it about? Max Wedderburn? Well, why should Jamie know about it? For God’s sake, Cowgill, what are you up to? Jamie’s safety?” Her tone changed. “Right, I’ll get him,” she snapped.