vulgar, and reputed to be a wife beater – I enlisted his help. He was only too willing! Said he’d wanted to have a go at the bugger for a long time…”
“No need to swear, dear,” said Mrs Betts automatically. She heard herself uttering this banal comment, and waited for an explosion. But he laughed, and she realized he wasn’t really listening to her. It was a spine-chilling, mirthless laugh, and she shivered. “Go on, then,” she said. “What happened?”
“Well, I suppose for the first time in my life, I failed to teach a lesson successfully.”
“But the knight’s armour…?”
“From the theatre,” he said. “I got young Gary to help. I know quite a lot about that lad, and it wasn’t difficult to persuade him. The three of us, Dick and me and Gary, got the suit of armour from the props cupboard. It was made of some lightweight stuff, so not difficult.”
“But didn’t he struggle, or shout or something?”
“Drugged, fast asleep,” said Mr Betts, and his voice was firm. “Oh yes, my dear,” he added, “Gary was useful in more ways than one. Knew where to get the necessary. That Mrs Murphy at the theatre, the cleaner, was involved. But I left that side of it to him.”
“How do you know the major was the one who made Prue pregnant?” said Mrs Betts cautiously.
“Obvious,” said her husband dismissively. “She wouldn’t tell me, of course, but I didn’t need to be told.”
“Did you mean to…well…”
“To kill him?” Mr Betts’ voice was light. “No, of course not. We were going to leave him in the church, and then when he came round he’d have the devil of a job getting free. But it was possible. We made sure of that. Tried it ourselves. Trouble was, he didn’t come round. The dog did, though,” he added inconsequentially.
“Oh, my God,” said Mrs Betts, and covered her face.
In the Ladies, after she had made sure nobody was around, she took out the mobile that she had vowed so mistakenly was a waste of money, and dialled clumsily, with shaking fingers, the number she found under New Brooms.
“Is that Mrs Meade? Ah, good. I’m so sorry to trouble you, but I need some help. I can’t think of anyone else who could…”
Her voice broke, and Lois, startled, but immediately alert, said, “Of course I can help. What is it, where are you?”
Mrs Betts pulled herself together rapidly, aware that time was short. She told Lois in a few brief sentences the bare outline, and then stopped, sadly aware that she had no idea what Lois could do. She had seemed such a nice woman, and so well organized, but…
“Carry on,” Lois said urgently. “Do exactly what he wants. It could be hours before your plane goes – wherever it’s going – and we’ll be there. Try not to upset him, and don’t worry.”
¦
Explaining to Derek was difficult. “I don’t see why you have to go,” he said. “Just tell your pal at the police station. Let him get on with it.”
“I have to go,” Lois said, “because I told her I would. She rang
“I’ll ring you from the airport,” she said. “When it’s all over.”
? Terror on Tuesday ?
Forty-Seven
“What time does the plane go?” Mrs Betts felt momentarily reassured, pinning all her hopes on Lois Meade, a woman she scarcely knew. She had not been able to ring the police, though she knew this was the rational thing to do. She tried to order her thoughts, but failed. Who would be rational in my place? She stared out of the window at the passing traffic. I am in a dark car on a dark motorway, heading for Gatwick airport, with a man who has technically committed murder, and that man is my husband. She glanced at his profile beside her, and saw that he was perfectly calm. There was even a half-smile on his face, lit up by passing traffic.
“Oh, not for hours yet,” Mr Betts replied. “We have to check in two hours before the flight, but we shall be there long before that. I thought we might have a meal…Are you hungry, dear?” He sounded so normal, so concerned for her.
Mrs Betts had never felt less hungry, but said that she probably would be by the time they got to Gatwick. “Why do we have to check in so early?” she said. “After all, we’re going on an inland flight.” She was not at all sure these went from Gatwick, but could not be certain.
“Security,” her husband replied. “It’s all been tightened up since the terrorist attacks. Good idea, in my opinion.”
We needn’t have left in such a hurry, then, thought Mrs Betts. They had left like thieves in the night. And what would Prue think, if she telephoned them and got no reply? She asked how long before they got to Gatwick, but Mr Betts was concentrating on his driving. He opened a window, admitting a blast of cold air. “What’s that for?” said Mrs Betts, pulling her coat around her.
“To keep me awake,” he said shortly. His mood had changed again.
She said in a neutral voice, “Would you like me to take a turn driving? You could pull off on to the hard shoulder?” Again no reply.
Mrs Betts sat in a miserable huddle, doing her best not to cry. She wanted to go home, to find her daughter waiting for them, she wanted to be told it was all a bad dream, and it was time for school. But it was not a dream. She faced this, and began once more to go over what he had told her. Then she realized that there was a big gap.
“There’s something I don’t understand,” she said as neutrally as she could, “something you didn’t tell me. Can you close that window, dear. I can’t hear myself think.”
Mr Betts closed the window, and said, “What is it? I am trying to concentrate, you know. I don’t want to miss the exit, and then have to go on for miles to turn around.”
“This is very important,” Mrs Betts said. “You haven’t told me what happened to Dick Reading. Perhaps you don’t know?” she added hopefully.
“Oh, I know all right,” he replied. “Stupid fool panicked. He said the police were getting close to finding out about the major and our part in it. Said Gary Needham was unreliable, and the others at the theatre couldn’t be trusted with anything.”
He was silent for a few seconds, and Mrs Betts prodded him on. “So what happened?”
“He had to be silenced,” Mr Betts said.
“Who silenced him, then?”
“I did.”
Mrs Betts gasped. Then she began to scream, a terrible, terrified scream. She struck at her husband wildly, causing the car to swerve across the lanes. He managed to control the car, and get them back into the slow lane. He came to a stop on the hard shoulder and turned to face her.
“Settle down, dear,” he said, as if she was a naughty child in class. “You asked me to explain, so try to listen. It was easy,” he continued, “especially after he said that our Prue was a little slag, and got what she was asking for. We were backstage at the theatre, just Gary and me. Everybody else had gone, and I had the key to lock up. Then Reading came in and began yelling that he’d decided to go to the police and tell them we didn’t mean to kill the major. I knew I had to act quickly, and grabbed a knife left on the table by the woman who does refreshments. It was over in seconds, and Gary never moved a muscle to help.”
“How did you manage to get him out?” asked Mrs Betts, in a flat monotone.
“Gary helped then. He had to, though he was scared to death. It was my idea to take Reading to the woods and tie him to a tree. I’d discovered the spot where Lois Meade – did you know she was a police informer? – had meetings with her inspector. A little surprise for them both. Rather good, that, don’t you think? Kept up the theatrical theme. I was rather proud of that. We had the devil’s own job cleaning up, of course. Messy business. Still, Gary was perfect for that. New Brooms came into its own!”
Oh, dear God, come and help me, please, please. Mrs Betts mind was floating now, and her body frozen into
