Mr Betts, used to being the one in control, stood by the kitchen door uncertainly. “Are you all right, love?” he said to his wife, who sat at the table with her head in her hands. “Anything I can get you? Anything I can do?” He moved round to where she sat and put his hands on her shoulders.
She shook her head. “Unless you can put back the clock,” she said, “there’s not much we can do.”
? Terror on Tuesday ?
Sixteen
“Isn’t there somewhere else we could have these meetings?” said Lois, picking her way delicately through marshy ground in the woods.
“Can you think of anywhere?” said Hunter Cowgill equably. “Just seems the most likely place I know, but I’m open to suggestions.” He could see Lois was in an irritable mood. He knew her well enough now to know that this usually meant she had something to tell him, and had not quite made up her mind whether to do so.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, as they came to the clearing. She perched on the edge of the tree stump while he paced to and fro in front of her, saying nothing.
After a minute or so, Lois said, “Well? You said there’d been developments. What are they?” Let him begin the exchange. She had not quite decided whether to tell him all she had discovered at the theatre, or just an edited version. She was very anxious not to draw his attention to Gary, who was proving a very useful member of her team. Loyalty was vital, she had stressed to the others, and this went for herself as well. New Brooms was in its infancy, but already she felt a kind of protective fondness for Hazel, Sheila and Bridie…
“You’ve probably heard something,” he said. “In fact, I’m hoping you’ll know more than we do. There’s just a possibility it could have something to do with the major.”
“Very clear,” said Lois. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
He grinned. “Patience, Lois,” he said. “I’m getting round to it. Plodding cops are not renowned for their quicksilver minds. No,” he added quickly, realizing he had given her the perfect opening, “it is the business of Prudence Betts. You remember we spoke about it?”
“Yes,” said Lois. “The kids were full of it, but they didn’t know why. Naturally, it was all round the school bus. The favourite seemed to be a suicide attempt, and then a poor second was accidental death from overdosing. So, which was it? Or was there a third?”
Cowgill looked straight at her, with no trace of a smile. “It was serious, Lois,” he said. “Prue nearly died, and it was only her father’s prompt action that saved her. I can’t tell you exactly what happened at the moment for obvious reasons. Her parents are distraught, and desperate to keep the whole thing to themselves. We are involved, and are treating it as urgent. That’s why I wanted your help.”
“Well, if you can’t tell me more than that, I don’t see how I
“Oh yes, I think you can help,” said Cowgill, and he had that look on his face that warned Lois he was up to something. She had learned early in their acquaintance that he was a true policeman, not above a little manipulation of people who were useful to him. “Prue is very friendly with Hazel Reading, isn’t she? And Hazel seems to confide in you quite a bit. Perhaps you two could get together, see if anything comes up. Girls hang around together these days, tell each other things that never reach their parents.”
“Nothin’ new in that,” said Lois. “My mum and dad were the last people I’d have told. No, you’re right, Hazel probably does know a whole lot more about it. I’ll do my best, if only for them poor Betts’s sakes.” She stood up, thinking that this Prue thing had probably made him forget about the theatre. She was wrong, of course. Hunter Cowgill was practised at getting around to things in his own way.
“Right, thanks,” he said. “And now it’s your turn.”
“My turn?” said Lois. “I’ve told you all I know about Prue at the moment. And you still haven’t told me what it might have to do with the major…”
“Ah, yes, well, we do know that he used to talk to her in the Waltonby pub…seemed to be particularly fond of her…and once, when she’d been working late, took her back to his house.”
“And showed her his etchings when they got there,” said Lois innocently. One of the things she liked about Hunter Cowgill was that he was – in spite of being a plod – pretty quick on the uptake.
With no change of expression, he said, “Tell me more about that.”
She told him what she knew from Hazel, and realized the seriousness of the implications. Not that the major could have harmed Prue so recently that she’d ended up in hospital…he was too dead for that. But she could see the oddness of the situation.
“Now,” said Cowgill, “about the theatre set-up. Anything untoward spotted there? You and Hazel seemed to be enjoying young Gary’s performance. Mind you, my wife said it was the funniest thing she’d seen for years. Quite a gift, that lad.”
“Yep,” said Lois breezily. “He’s good at cleaning, too. Had really good reports from clients, so far. I like him, and he gets on well with the others.”
“And when you went backstage?” said Cowgill.
How did he know? Lois bridled at the thought of being spied on, and said, “Blimey, you got eyes in the back of your head?” Then she remembered he had suggested it.
“Natural enough to want to congratulate Gary,” he said. “We were going to do the same, but my wife didn’t want to wait. So I left it to you. Was he pleased?”
Lois hesitated. It would probably be best to tell him about Joanne Murphy, and take the heat out of his curiosity about Gary. And anyway, she was not averse to the idea of the police taking an interest in Joanne Murphy. She was the tricky one, without a doubt, the one who niggled away at Lois when she thought about the major and his peculiar end. So far, there was no connection that she could see, except that Derek had said he’d seen the major in the Tresham Arms once or twice, chatting up a barmaid who, though considerably tarted up, seemed to answer Lois’s description of the cleaner she did not hire. Yes, perhaps she’d let Cowgill do some sniffing around that scruffy cow and see what came up.
“Well,” she began, “there was this woman who opened the stage door. I’d seen her before…”
¦
Bridie Reading was enjoying herself. Lois had said that she could take over the vicarage from Hazel, who was, Lois thought, better suited to a farmhouse stuck right out in the middle of fields which, though isolated, had the appeal of three young sons working a big acreage of land. She wanted Bridie not too far from home, in case anything should go wrong in the family. She couldn’t say exactly what might go wrong, but she had never trusted Dick Reading and saw no reason to do so now. You never knew which way a bloke like him would jump. There was another reason. Bridie was an ingenuous soul, who blurted out whatever was on her mind at the time, and since Lois looked on Dick as one of the possible suspects – hotheaded, bigoted, and with a known record of campaigning against the major – she hoped for more information on that front. Working at the vicarage would not be more than routine, and so Bridie’s conversations with Lois were more likely to centre on her own home.
“Morning, Vicar,” Bridie said, as the elderly cleric opened the door to her.
The Reverend Christopher Rogers had been the vicar of Waltonby for twenty-eight years, and was nearing retirement. He was neither loved nor disliked. He had carried out his duties with willing thoroughness, and had a reputation for ‘doing a good funeral’. But apart from that, he often thought he could be invisible. A small congregation, elderly like himself, turned up to go through the familiar prayers and hymns, and he never sprang any surprises on them.
