? Terror on Tuesday ?
Thirty-Three
Lois sat in her parked car and looked around her, attempting to clear her mind. She had too many thoughts whizzing around, confused and repetitious. Maybe she would concentrate on what she saw, and then she could describe it to Derek and cheer him up. It was certainly a beautiful day, a day when surely nothing bad could happen in the heart of the country, here in the park with sheep munching and ducks cackling from the lake. There was the church sitting on its mound with a dry moat full of daisies. The sky was blue…
It was no good. It
She walked up and tried the door. It swung open, and she was overwhelmed by the musty, damp stone smell. She had not been prepared for such a forcible reminder of her last visit. Standing at the top of the short flight of steps leading down into the interior, she looked round carefully, her eyes adjusting to the dim light after the bright sunshine of the park. There was no one there. “Hello!” called Lois, just to be sure, though if the Gorilla was hiding, he’d hardly be likely to pop up and say “Hi, Lois.”
She walked down the steps and crossed the stone floor to the tomb where she had first seen him lurking. How had they managed to get the heavy stone top off, and what had they hidden inside it? Supplies of drugs? Weapons of violence? Money? Somehow she knew it was the last. Drugs were guarded closely, and, as far as she knew, Joanne Murphy had an army of only one, and he was the Gorilla who kept his knife about his person. She put her hand on the top of the tomb. It was clever, she had to give them that. Nobody would dream of looking in an old tomb. She wondered if Cowgill had investigated it. She could not remember whether she had told him that part of it…She realized now that she had not been all that coherent after the attack on her.
The stone was warming up under her hand. In fact, it had not felt cold when she first touched it…It was in a particularly gloomy corner, and she peered at it more closely. Then she scratched it with her fingernail. Grey paint came off on her hand, leaving a white scar. For God’s sake, the props department again! Whoever had made the knight’s armour had done an equally good job with a stone slab.
She put both hands under the rim and heaved. The slab moved at once. It was very light in weight, and she had no trouble sliding it off and on to the floor, leaning it up against one end of the tomb. She looked around, and saw deep in shadow in the corner, where only spiders and mice would venture, the real stone slab propped up against the wall. How had they managed it without anyone seeing? They must have a key to the church…or be in cahoots with someone who had…
The tomb was empty, of course. Joanne and the Gorilla would have moved the contents as soon as the police had gone, after the major had been found. Lois stared down into the darkness. Something small and whitish caught her eye and she leaned over, reaching down to pick it up. A tiny piece of paper, but it was too dark to see anything written on it. She replaced the tomb cover without difficulty, and walked over to a pew where a ray of sunlight touched the dark oak. It was very quiet, but full of a presence of something. It was very strong, and Lois shivered. She supposed it must be all those generations of prayers, stored somehow in the old stone of the church. The presence of God, some would say. After all, it was supposed to be His house, wasn’t it? She peered without much hope at the scrap of paper. It was the corner of something. At first she could see nothing but then, holding it up into the sunlight, realized there was a very faint pattern of dots and lines and, yes, a tiny circle with the letter ‘C’, and a couple of words: ‘THE GOV’.
Lois got out her purse. She had been right in thinking the tomb was a hiding place for money. The scrap of paper was the left-hand bottom corner of a very worn ten-pound note. She put it carefully in the purse and snapped it shut. So, Joanne and the Gorilla stashed their piles of cash away in the tomb, no doubt returning every so often to collect and move on large amounts. But who did they move it on to? Cowgill knew all about the local small dealers, including Joanne Murphy. He had told her that much. He was after bigger fry, which was why Murphy was still out on a long leash. Lois began to think seriously. It could have been the major, though pathetic, vain men like him never seemed to have the bottle to do anything really big. Dick Reading? Lois silently shook her head. Horrible as he had been, and violent, she could not imagine him masterminding anything. He was a creature of impulse, quick to draw attention to himself with an outburst of temper. It hadn’t mattered where the family had been, out for the day on an excursion bus or swimming at Tresham pool, if Hazel or Bridie had annoyed him, even slightly, they would have been sure of a noisy explosion.
No, a mastermind working very much on the wrong side of the law would surely keep his head down. He was very likely operating from somewhere else, miles from Tresham. On the other hand, perhaps he wasn’t? Perhaps he was the most obvious suspect, maybe responsible for the murders, too, even if he didn’t necessarily carry them out himself. A double bluff? Well, it could be anybody…except Derek. Soon be time to go and see him. At least she had one thing clear in her mind. She would not tell him who’d very likely nearly done for him in the accident. It wouldn’t help to have a vengeful Derek taking on something that might be more dangerous than either of them knew. But she had to carry on. If she gave up, told Cowgill she’d have nothing more to do with it, Joanne Murphy wouldn’t know that. So Lois would still be on the hit list, whatever she did now. And it’d be a lot more useful to help clear it all up than to leave the cops to plod on. Suddenly she felt very alone. On an impulse, she shut her eyes and put her hands together, just like she had as a Mixed Infant years ago. Dear God, she said in her head, please help Derek get better soon. Please.
A pigeon cooed rhythmically outside. It was so quiet. Lois’s eyes stayed shut. She saw Prue Betts laughing across the bar at a good-looking young farmer, and followed her as she left with him, out across the back yard of the pub and into a barn full of sweet-smelling hay. Oh yes, it was easy to imagine. Poor kid. And then the panic, and the desperate search for a solution. How did she land up in a backstreet abortion? Was that something else Joanne Murphy dealt in?
“Is that Mrs Meade?” Lois opened her eyes with a start, her heart thumping furiously. “Oh dear, I do hope I didn’t startle you.” The voice was familiar, and Lois struggled to her feet. It was the Reverend Christopher Rogers, and he was smiling at her.
“So sorry to disturb you,” he continued. “It is not often I encounter people at voluntary contemplation in this church. I am delighted to see you, my dear. Don’t hurry away, please.”
She smiled back at him. “It is so peaceful in here,” she said.
He nodded. “It’s certainly hard to think there’s a nasty old world out there,” he agreed. “May I join you?” he added, and slipped into the pew beside her, dropping to his knees in an attitude of prayer.
A minute passed, and Lois began to feel uncomfortable. Then the vicar sat back in the pew and sighed. “I heard about your husband,” he said, without beating about the bush. “I prayed for him, of course, and will continue to do so, my dear.”
“So did I,” said Lois, surprising herself, and then spoiled it by saying, “might as well. You never know.”
Christopher Rogers smiled. He liked this straightforward young woman, and attempted reassurance. “We none of us know, that’s true,” he said, “but some of us have faith, and that can be pretty powerful.” Then he slid out of the pew and stood looking at her. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he said. “I’d be pleased to visit Derek.”
Lois was not sure about that, and said he was still in intensive care and not really very awake, but promised to ring the vicar and let him know how things were progressing. “Oh, and by the way,” she added, “the church was open when I came in this morning. Is it always open?” She remembered that he had talked to her about keys, and thought he’d said that Mr Betts was one of the holders.
Christopher Rogers smiled happily. “I’m lucky,” he said. “I don’t have to come over every morning and evening. Our churchwarden, Mr Betts, is most obliging and does it for me. Of course, he’s home from school earlier than most people finish work! I often think schoolteachers have an easy life, with short hours and long holidays, but I’m sure they wouldn’t agree with me.”
He looked like burbling on for a while, so Lois stood up and walked towards the door. “Must go,” she said. “I’m off to the hospital to visit Derek. Nice to see you, anyway, Vicar. And thanks,” she added, and walked up the stone steps and out into the sunshine.
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