Terror on Tuesday

“Is something wrong, Hazel?” she said.

“No, didn’t Lois tell you? She asked me to come round for a business chat. Is she upstairs?”

“No, I’m here,” said Lois, appearing at the doorway. “Hazel,” she went on, “could you go up and have a word with Josie? She’s got maths homework, and I can’t make head or tail of it. If you could just give her a pointer in the right direction, I’ll put the kettle on. Coffee or tea?”

Half an hour later, Hazel came downstairs with a grateful Josie. “Dad usually helps,” she said, “but…” She tailed off and looked at her mother.

“It’s good news…well, goodish,” said Lois. “Derek surfaced for a minute. Spoke a couple of words, and then went back to sleep. But real sleep, the sister said. So it looks as if things are going to be all right.” To her surprise, the usually cool and unemotional Hazel stepped forward and gave her a hug.

“Great!” she said. “Now, Mrs M, shall we get started?”

Settled in Lois’s office, the light slowly dying in the village outside, the two began to talk. Hazel told Lois what she already knew from Cowgill, but added a few things about the teenage drug scene in Tresham. “Compared with some places, it’s pretty small time, I suppose,” she said. “But I’ve seen some bad things, Mrs M. Whole families blown apart…And kids who’ve got no idea how to handle it.”

“Is there a way to handle it?” said Lois. She remembered Josie saying there was only one way. Leave it alone. “Easier said than done for lots of kids,” said Hazel. “They hang around town, no parents at home, and plenty of offers from their mates who’re already using. A lot of it is idle curiosity, with nobody to tell them the dangers. That was me. Mum and Dad were always too busy shouting at each other to notice.”

“But your dad found out?” said Lois gently.

“Yep. All hell broke loose. Didn’t make any difference. I just went to ground. There are ways of keeping it quiet. Mind you, that last time – when Cowgill found me – was an eye-opener all right. Got some bad stuff, I reckon. I nearly died, they said. Mum was great. She said we’d got to stick together because of Dad, and I was no use on drugs. She said she’d help me if I’d help her, and that’s how I kicked it. Dad never forgave me, of course. His little girl…”

“And Prue Betts?” said Lois.

Hazel shook her head. “Not drugs,” she said. “It was something else, but nobody was talking.” Lois looked at her closely, and was sure Hazel knew more than she was telling. But she changed the subject. She had learned long ago that Hazel could keep secrets better than anyone.

“Now then,” she said, taking the lead, “we need to talk to the woman at the pub in Waltonby. Seems she saw Derek’s accident. She might remember more if we prompt her a bit. Your job really, Hazel. You must know her well. Next time you’re on bar duty would be best. Don’t want her to think we’re snooping. You never know who knows who.”

You’re right there, Mrs M, said Hazel to herself. She wished she could tell Lois more than she had, but as yet things were so deadly that she knew it would be best to wait. The time would come – with luck – when they could get it all sorted out. She had been surprised when Cowgill told her that Lois was working for him, and thought privately that it was a big mistake. But who was she to judge? If Lois had a little sideline in private enquiries, then it was nothing to do with anyone except herself. And maybe Derek and the kids. It was dangerous ground Lois was treading, Hazel knew only too well. Oh well, it was up to her to keep Lois as clear as possible. “Yep,” she said, “I can do that. What do we want to know?”

“The police will have got the car number,” said Lois, “if she saw it. And them darkened windows don’t give much away. But I noticed the day they were after me that there was a sticker on the windscreen, just in the top corner. It was red, with a white band across it. Couldn’t see any words, but it showed up. She might have seen that. And there must have been a dent or something after you’d bashed into them? Ask her about the back of it.”

“Good idea, Mrs M,” said Hazel, but added, “there’s only one snag. That car will have vanished. They’ll have got rid of it, and by now it will be a different set of wheels altogether.”

Lois stared at her. “How do you know?” she said.

Hazel shrugged. “That’s what they do, them sort,” she said.

Lois had thought Hazel was on the edge of all this, just keeping Cowgill informed of the small-time drugs pushers and dealers. But it was beginning to look as if she was in deeper. As they chatted on about ways of identifying a vanished car, her thoughts were busy going over what she really knew about Hazel. She loved her mother and hated her father. Gary Needham had been at least an acquaintance for years. She knew her way around Tresham’s underworld. She had worked at the pub for some time, was a friend and confidant of Prue Betts, and had experienced the major’s overtures at first hand. Her hated father had been murdered, and she was an informer for Cowgill. That all added up to quite a lot. Lois changed gear.

“On second thoughts,” she said, “I think I might go over to the pub myself. After all, it would be only natural. I met the woman once or twice with Derek. No, you stand back for a bit, Hazel,” she added. “Ask around the village. Someone else might have seen something. All I want is to find the villains who did that to Derek. Nothing else matters to me. Nothing.” Her voice was firm. Everything else could wait. Maybe for ever. Lois was only too well aware that Derek had been nearly killed because of her involvement with Cowgill. She wasn’t ready to face up to that yet, but it would have to come. Meanwhile, she would concentrate on the job in hand.

“I mean to get them, Hazel,” she said coldly. “Cowgill might get there first, but that’s not stopping me. If you can help – and I suspect you can – then I’ll be grateful.”

That’s that, then, thought Hazel, standing up and getting out her car key. “See you in the morning,” she said.

Lois nodded. “There’s a big do on at the hall, and they want us to put in some extra time,” she said. “Be there a bit early if you can. Thanks for coming, Hazel, and love to Bridie.”

Lois sat for another hour alone in her study, thinking. She had to get some things straight in her mind before tomorrow. It was no good trying to think of Derek’s accident as unconnected to the rest. Go back to the beginning, that would be best.

A man is killed, a solitary man nobody seemed to know very well, but everyone seemed to think was dodgy in some way. The man is connected to two girls, both been in trouble of some sort, by chatting to them in the pub. The girls’ fathers are both known to be at the least belligerent, and at the worst violent. One of them, the violent one, gets killed. There is a connection through Hazel with the drugs scene in Tresham, though Prue was apparently not involved. But what about Josie’s story of a very different Prue? Was Hazel lying about that?

And then there was Gary. Had she been deceived by him too, by his undoubted charm and blarney?

And all of them, she suddenly realized, were connected with that theatre. Every single one, including Joanne Murphy and the Gorilla. Prue was perhaps the only exception, but her father certainly had a job there, scene- shifting. It was more than likely that Prue knew the place. Hazel had disappeared backstage that time, and Dick… no, perhaps not him. Still, he must have been keeping a close eye on his daughter, and it was a point to keep in mind.

She looked at her watch. Half past nine. It was not too late to ring the pub, and she dialled the number. “It’s Lois Meade here,” she said. “Would it be convenient if I looked in tomorrow? Around lunchtime? Just to check that everything’s all right with Gary now, after that spot of bother. Fine. Oh…Derek?…Yes, thanks. He’s holding his own. Yes, a very nasty accident. Thanks for asking.” She put down the telephone and went to join the others.

? Terror on Tuesday ?

Thirty-Two

The pub was quiet, with only one old man sitting quietly in the corner with his pint. Lois nodded a greeting to him, and then looked around. “Anybody about?” she said.

The old man cleared his throat. “Betty!” he yelled in a hoarse voice, then smiled at Lois. “She’ll be ‘ere in a minit,” he said. “You that electrician’s missus?”

Well, it doesn’t take long for news to travel round villages, and Lois reconciled herself to most of the population of Waltonby knowing that Derek had had an accident on the crossroads, that he was an electrician who had been working at the pub, and that his wife was that woman who ran a cleaning business. Oh, yes, and that the Readings and Mrs Stratford were working for her. She was hoping against hope that this network of gossip would