knew she’d have to ring Derek. He had to be told, angry or not, and might have something useful to suggest. After a conversation that began acrimoniously, then became accusatory when Derek said Lois shouldn’t have allowed Josie to go in the first place, and finally settled down to practicalities, he suggested they wait at home for a while, then ring round Josie’s friends. He’d be back as soon as he could.
Feeling a little reassured, Lois gave her mother a cup of strong coffee and went upstairs to look for clues in Josie’s room. From her mother’s account, it seemed to Lois pretty clear that Melvyn had arranged this meeting. That meant they probably fixed it up on that walk. Josie was sure to have known where he was staying in Tresham. Lois turned over school books, lurid teenage magazines full of stuff about how to get your man and piles of tapes littering Josie’s work table. Nothing. If she could only find Josie’s address book…
Think, Lois, she told herself. Put all your famous powers of detection to work. Telephone pad. If Josie had made a call to Melvyn, there was just a chance. She rushed downstairs and saw an unfamiliar Tresham number scribbled on the pad. She dialled, holding her breath, but the ringing tone seemed to go on for ever. Finally it was answered.
“Who’s that?” said a gruff voice.
“You won’t know me,” she said.
Before she could continue, the voice said, “Well, I don’ wanna talk to ya, then,” and the call was cut off.
She dialled again. “Who’s that!” said the same voice, more irritated now.
“I’m a friend of Melvyn’s,” said Lois quickly. “Can I speak to him?”
There was a silence, and then, “E’s not ‘ere. Gone. Get it? And don’ ring agen.” Once more the receiver was banged down.
But he had been there. And Josie had spoken to him and arranged to meet, and now they had disappeared together. Panic rose again in Lois, but this time she could not subdue it. She lifted the receiver once more and dialled Police Constable Keith Simpson.
? Murder on Monday ?
Thirty-Two
“Are we nearly there?” said Josie. She was tired. They had been travelling for two hours and although Melvyn had stopped twice, buying her cans of drink and sandwiches, she felt weary and dispirited.
“Yep, only five more miles on the motorway, then about twenty minutes up the lane to my uncle’s farm.”
“What will he say?” said Josie.
“He’s nearly blind now,” said Melvyn. “He won’t think nothing of it. He’s Dad’s brother and we often go and stay with him. Help him on the farm in summer. He’s a bachelor and his house is a tip. But he’s nice. He’ll make us welcome.”
Josie didn’t fancy staying in a tip, but she looked across at Melvyn’s profile and felt proud that he had chosen her. He could have had any of the girls in his year, all seventeen and streetwise. She came from a sheltered home by comparison. The thought of home gave her a nasty jolt. She blinked hard and looked out of the window. It was growing dark and she couldn’t see much.
“I’ve got to phone my Mum and Dad,” she said.
“When we get there,” Melvyn replied. “You can tell them you’ve come away for a break. Some north country air in your lungs. Do you a power of good.” He reached for her hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the tips of her fingers. “You’ll be fine with me, Josie,” he said.
“Where did you get this car?” Josie said. It was a small, newish Renault and had mopped up the miles with ease.
“Borrowed it from a friend,” said Melvyn casually. “He said I could have it for a few days. He owes me.”
“What for?” asked Josie, but it was an idle question. She did not really want to know. The wonderful, exciting feeling of being with Melvyn, alone in a car, miles from home, was wearing thin. Would they be worrying? She could imagine Dad having a go at Mum and probably Gran as well. She would phone as soon as they arrived.
The track up to the farm was bumpy and the small car, so brilliant on the motorway, now jerked Josie about until her chest hurt. Potholes threw them from side to side and she was nearly in tears when they finally stopped. It was pitch dark, with only a dim light showing the stone wall of an old house. Melvyn got out and walked round to her side of the car.
“Out you come,” he said kindly. He took her hand. “Come and meet Uncle Ned, then we’ll get the bags out.”
The farm kitchen was dimly lit, warm and very smelly. Two squirming spaniels greeted them with delight, but Josie pushed them away with growing panic. What had she done? Where on earth were they? The old man shuffling towards them, his eyes looking all over the place, everywhere but at her, terrified her.
“Melvyn!” she said. “I want to go home!”
“Don’t be silly!” he hissed at her. “You’ll annoy him. Just say hello and then we’ll find a room to sleep.”
Suddenly Josie was very frightened. “I want to phone home,” she said.
The old man cackled. “Got no phone, me duck,” he said. “Tomorrow, you can go down to the box on the corner. If it’s working, that is…”
He cackled again, and Josie began to shake. “I don’t feel well,” she said.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Melvyn. “Come on, I’ll take you to the phone box, if that’s what you want.” He turned and led her out of the door, back into the yard, and then, tripping and half-running, they made their way down the dark lane.
¦
Keith Simpson had been a tower of strength, suggesting that he would report Josie still missing, then get on down to the station to get things moving. “She’s probably gone to the pictures with him and will give you a ring. They’ll have a quick burger and then home, I shouldn’t wonder,” he said. “She’ll turn up, Lois. You said he wasn’t a bad lad. Try not to worry.” She hadn’t told him about the factory incident, and wondered if she should. There was still this nagging doubt about the truth of Josie’s account, and she was reluctant to blacken the lad’s name unless it was really necessary. She’d tell Keith later.
Now it was tea time and still no Josie. Derek had gone off into Tresham to the house where the Hallhouses used to live, to see if he could get their new address or telephone number and he hadn’t come back yet. Lois had lost count of how many cups of coffee she’d made and when Derek came through the kitchen door she realized her hands were shaking uncontrollably.
“Well?”
“I got the number,” he said, making straight for the telephone.
Lois subsided on a kitchen chair and clenched her fists to stop the shaking. She heard the ringing tone stop and the sound of a voice. Derek asked if Melvyn was there, and she heard a woman’s voice saying that he was staying in Tresham with a friend for a few days.
“Do you know where he’s staying?” said Derek.
“Not sure of the address,” said the woman. “But I’ve got a phone number.”
Derek wrote it down and then asked that the minute Melvyn got in touch to tell him to phone the Meades.
“Is there something wrong?” said the woman.
“I hope to God not,” said Derek. “He’s got my daughter with him…she’s only fourteen and if he does her any harm, I’ll have his guts for garters.” He banged down the receiver and checked the number with Lois. It matched the one on the pad, and he dialled again.
“Hello! What’ya want?…no, for Christ’s sake, bloody Melvyn’s not ‘ere. ‘E was, and ‘e’s gone.” The phone line went dead, just as it had with Lois and she realised they had got nowhere.
Derek sat down at the table and put his head in his hands. “It’s getting dark,” he said.
“The police have got all the details,” said Lois. “They’ll find her.”
“Wanna bet?” said Derek. “Fourteen-year-old kid from the Churchill Estate gone missing? Must be an everyday event for them.”
