was a lowly constable, and she felt quite at ease with him, and with Janice Britton. But this man was an inspector, a boss. Oh well, she thought finally, he’s just a man, like all the rest, and she nodded. “OK, give it a try,” she said, and sank down on to a frilled bedside chair.
“Good!” said Cowgill, sitting up straighter. “Now, anything you want to tell me now? I expect you’re anxious to get back as soon as possible.”
Lois frowned. Ah well, here goes. “Did you know the Prof’s done a bunk?” she said.
“We know he’s away on business,” said Cowgill. “Is there more? Gone to Russia, his wife says.”
Lois hesitated. Was this disloyalty? This was going to be difficult. Still, it could be important. “More like buggering off, if you ask me,” she said. “He’s always been one to spread it about a bit. She was a mess when he went, but manages now, just about.”
“Another woman?” said Cowgill.
“She thinks so,” Lois replied. “It could have something to do with your second round of questioning. That’s what I thought, anyway. He’s not actually gone off before. More the quick fumble before the wife sees – that kind of thing. Anyway, over to you. I shall no doubt hear more next week, if he’s not already back.” She stood up. “Got to go now, else the nurse’ll be back. I’ll pick a bit of holly in Gloria’s garden on my way – a reason for being here…”
“Gloria’s not going to need it, that’s for sure,” said Hunter Cowgill, with a small smile that was quickly gone. “Thanks, then, Mrs Meade. I’ll be in touch.”
Keith was still at the foot of the stairs, but now stood to one side as Lois came down. “Rat!” she said, as she passed him, and then, because his face fell like one of the boys in trouble, she added, “You know what’s out of kilter in that bedroom?” He shook his head. “The bed,” she said. “That horrible bed. And them dolls. Blimey, would
¦
“Those are lovely berries!” said Gillian Surfleet, walking into her yard as Lois returned. “What a good idea. Thank you!” she added, as Lois gingerly handed her the branches of holly. “Poor old Gloria used to make a lot of Christmas, though she was always on her own…mostly…”
Lois looked at her closely. “What do you mean, ‘mostly’?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Gillian said, shrugging. She took off her coat and put down her bag, full of supplies for the sick and convalescent in the surrounding villages.
Lois thought again how capable she looked, with her generous bosom and sturdy legs. I wouldn’t mind being looked after by her. She wondered if Gloria had come to her for reassurance, spilling out her worries and disappointments. “Gillian,” she said hesitantly. “Gillian, did Miss Hathaway have admirers? You know, boyfriends of any sort? You’d be the one to see them going up and down the garden path.”
Gillian Surfleet looked away, shaking her head. “Better not ask me that, Lois,” she said. “You know what they say: eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves. And I can’t deny I did hear some conversations through the garden hedge that wouldn’t bear repeating to the wrong person.”
“Like the police?”
Again Gillian nodded. “Best to keep things to yourself if you’re not sure what they mean,” she said. “It’s against the rules of my job to gossip. You can just imagine how many secrets I’m privy to on my rounds.”
Well, you’ve told
Her work finished, Lois struggled into her coat. She had more layers than usual to keep out the cold, and felt like an overstuffed armchair with her scarlet scarf round her neck and thick knitted gloves. But it was still cold and the heater had finally packed up in her car. One thing, she said to herself as she drove slowly up Farnden main street, the murderer may not have gone up and down Gloria’s path that night, but he certainly knew where she would be, where he could find her and finish her off in that violent way. Must have been easy. Lois shivered. Skinny woman like that, with a neck like a chicken. She peered round into the Barratts’ to see if there were any signs of the Prof’s return. There were no cars in the drive, and the windows looked blank and lifeless.
Lois changed gear with a clumsy grating sound and accelerated out of the village. The Prof was a strong man. She’d seen him in the garden heaving great rocks about when they were building that fancy pond. He’d wring the necks of those poor pheasants he went shooting without a qualm, she was sure. It was the obvious conclusion. But it was too obvious. Lois had read enough detective stories to know that the obvious suspect is never the guilty one. She wished she had asked Nurse Surfleet if she’d ever seen Professor Barratt knocking at Gloria’s door. Still, she wouldn’t have told Lois. Professional secrecy, and all that. Gloria Hathaway was hardly Malcolm’s type, was he? Lois couldn’t imagine what type would want to jump into that bed with Gloria Hathaway, poor stringy thing, with her gingery hair and freckled skin. But there was always someone, and the attraction could have been that Gloria was willing.
Swerving to avoid a roving dog brought her sharply back to the present. That Cowgill’s got me thinking again, she realized, and felt suddenly happy. It was, after all, what she’d wanted. Put your brain to work, her dad had said so many times, and she hadn’t. Well, now she was, and what the result would be was anyone’s guess. At least I’ll have had a go, she told herself, and turned into Byron Way with a flourish.
When she opened the door, she saw Derek sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of tea in his hand, his shoes off, reading the sports pages. “Home early!” she said. “What went wrong at the Hall?”
Derek shook his head. “Nothing wrong – just finished the job. The lady of the house couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. Maybe she thought I’d pinch some more freesias. Anyway, the kid came prancing in and asked if I’d like to look at her new pony and her mum came down like a ton of bricks. ‘The electrician has to be on his way,’ says she. ‘Thank you so much…send us your bill and if the work is satisfactory we shall no doubt have other things for you in the future.’ Satisfactory, my eye. She’ll not get a better job done nowhere. Anyway, Lois, how was the nurse today?”
“Fine,” said Lois absently. “Any tea left in the pot? Give us a cup then. I’ve got some thinking to do.”
Derek looked at her fondly. “You’re a wonder, gel,” he said. “As if you hadn’t got enough on your plate without playing policewoman. Here, let me take your coat off and you sit down and warm up first.” He stood behind her and helped her off with the duffel, turning to hang it up. “Hello, what’s that,” he said, running his hand over the sleeve of her jersey. “Nasty mark on that,” he said. “Hope it’ll wash out.”
Lois was upstairs in a flash, pulling the jersey over her head and turning it round to look. She saw a dark stain at the top of the sleeve that had certainly not been there when she went out. She sniffed at it and smelled creosote. Not an unpleasant smell, but she could not think for the life of her where it came from. She wondered whether to tell Derek about Hunter Cowgill, but decided not – not yet.
¦
Rachel Barratt sat in her cheerful sitting room, the fire blazing and the television on.
It was four-thirty in the afternoon and she had a full glass of white wine at her elbow and a half-empty box of chocolates on her lap. She felt very happy and when the doorbell rang she ignored it. Whoever it was could go away. The girls had broken up from school and were staying with their grandmother. Malcolm was presumably lost in the snowy deeps of Russia, and she was watching a sexy film which had just got to the good bit. She shifted round in her chair to get more comfortable and took another chocolate.
The doorbell rang again. Blast! “Go away!” she shouted, and then gasped as a face appeared at the window. She rushed to the door then, and opened it quickly.
“Afternoon Madam,” said the tall man standing on the doorstep. “Detective Inspector Cowgill…can I come in for a few minutes? One or two things I’d like to check with you.”
? Murder on Monday ?
Eighteen
