a solid lump. She knew she could not move, not even to defend herself. She was sure that it might now be necessary. Her husband had clearly lost his reason, and she had no idea what he would do next.
The motorway unrolled before them, and round and round in Mrs Betts’s head went the words ‘New Brooms’. Now she knew Lois Meade had a connection with the police, she was certain help would be on the way. But would they arrive in time? Please God, she repeated, help me, please.
And then there it was, the turning to Gatwick airport. Her husband drove slowly now, following signs to the long stay car park. In a daze she got out of the car, waited for him to make the necessary arrangements, and then they caught the bus that took them on a rattling ride to the terminal building. He kept up a running conversation, amiable again and chattering about nothing in particular. He seemed not to notice that she was silent.
¦
Lois had never travelled so fast in a car. On a motorbike, yes, when she was about sixteen and then it had been decidedly illegal. She sat in the back, where she could only guess, but reckoned they were doing at least a hundred. Chief Detective Inspector Hunter Cowgill’s tall figure in front of her obscured the view. When he turned to talk, she could see his shadowy face, and his expression was surprisingly relaxed. When he spoke, it was about anything other than the business in hand. “You’ll see, Lois,” he said in answer to her questions. “All will be revealed. We’re nearly there.”
“No, sir, we’re not,” said the driver, and Cowgill raised his eyebrows.
“Nearly to the conclusion of the case, I meant,” he said sharply. “Just keep your eye on the road, Sykes, and leave the talking to me.”
“Sir,” said the driver stiffly.
“So it was Betts,” said Lois. She refused to be silenced by Cowgill. It seemed to her that this was the ideal time to get as much information as possible. “Do you know exactly what happened?”
“More or less,” said Cowgill. “We have one or two gaps to fill in, but I’m afraid you’ll be looking for another cleaner.”
“Poor Gary, is he up to his neck?” said Lois. “And Hazel?”
“A good girl, Hazel,” said Cowgill. “Now Lois, tell me about that husband of yours. Is he making a good recovery? And what did he think about this midnight jaunt of yours?”
“Oh, he was over the moon, naturally,” said Lois crossly. Nothing like a bloody cop for caution. Never give too much away, no matter how in debt you are to a perfectly honest woman trying to serve the cause of justice…She broke into a sudden laugh, thinking that not even her mother would recognize that description. “You’re not goin’ to tell me
“Because you’ll be needed. Just have patience, Lois,” Cowgill said. “We’ve warned Gatwick to keep a close eye on them when they arrive, but not to confront them unless they are actually about to take off for Rio.”
“It’s Rio, is it?” said Lois. She remembered again the holiday brochures. So he’d planned an escape route well-used by other criminals. “Not very original,” she said. “I’d go somewhere nobody would think of looking.”
“Like?”
“Oh, I dunno. Iceland, the South Pole, somewhere like that. Have we got much further to go?”
“Patience, Lois,” said Cowgill.
¦
Mrs Betts sat opposite her husband in the airport cafe, staring at a plate of pasta bake, wondering how she could get rid of it without actually eating it. Every time she got a forkful of the stuff up to her mouth, her stomach turned over and she felt violently sick. But he mustn’t know how she felt. If he got her talking – something he was very good at – she knew she would spill out the telephone call to Lois Meade, and then he would do something really stupid. When she tried to follow through on this thought, imagining just what he would do, the shutter came down in her brain, and she felt sick again. Perhaps if she concentrated hard on something else she could get some of the glutinous mass down her throat.
She looked across at him, tucking into his food with what could only be called gusto. How is it possible that I have been married to this man for twenty-two years, and now see a complete stranger – no, a
Thinking along these lines, she got a portion of pasta into her mouth and swallowed quickly. Her gorge rose, but she detached her mind swiftly and thought of the major and Prue. She doubted very much whether Todd-Nelson had been the culprit. There had been that time when he’d brought her home from the pub, but Mrs Betts reckoned she would have known from Prue’s face if he had been…well, if he’d been Prue’s lover…Another forkful went down, and this time it was easier. Back to the major quickly. He’d obviously liked Prue, maybe tried it on a bit. But she could have sworn there was nothing more.
Who then? One of those young farmers in the pub, probably. That’s what her sister-in-law Betty had told her, cautioning her not to tell Mr Betts. “We don’t want a big scene in the pub,” she’d said, adding that Prue was keen enough, anyway. This had shocked her at the time, but not now. Prue was a young woman…Oh no, what was all this going to do to Prue? She felt the tears come into her eyes, and determinedly pushed another load of pasta into her mouth.
“Delicious, isn’t it, dear?” Mr Betts said.
She nodded, and, in a kind of desperation, finished up the plateful and put down her fork. “Is there anything else to do now, before we catch the plane?” she said.
They had spent ages in the queue, checking in their luggage. “Shame we can’t afford business class,” Mr Betts had said, glancing at the much shorter queue. It was then that she had seen that they were, in fact, en route for Rio de Janeiro, and not a friendly Scottish airport less than an hour away. She had not bothered to mention it. Nothing could surprise her now. All she wanted was for Lois Meade to walk across the cavernous entrance to Gatwick airport, accompanied by police officers, and find them sitting quietly at a table, finishing their meal. She could not bring herself to imagine beyond this point.
“Do you think I could have a doze, dear,” she said, and even managed a small smile. “I am really tired, and I’ve never been able to sleep on planes. I could stretch out on one of those long seats over there, and you could wake me when it’s time.”
“No wife of mine is stretching out on an airport bench like some no-good student,” Mr Betts said firmly. “Come on,” he added, and got up from the table. “We’ll sit together, and you can lean on me. It’ll be just like the old days,” he continued, and took her hand. “Just like when we were off on honeymoon, do you remember?”
She had great difficulty in controlling her tears now, and hurried over to a likely looking seat. “This will do,” she said, patting the place beside her. They arranged themselves comfortably, and he said she should shut her eyes and relax. “I’ll keep an eye on the screen for our flight number,” he said. He put up a hand towards her, and she flinched. But he stroked her hair and said, “We’ll be fine, dear. Just leave it all to me.”
? Terror on Tuesday ?
Forty-Eight
To a casual passer-by, they were a respectable couple waiting for a plane, the wife asleep on her husband’s shoulder and his arm around her. They were not at all noticeable, but they were the first people Lois saw as she and Cowgill, tall and stern in his dark suit, crossed the waiting area.
She put a hand on his arm, drawing him to a halt. “There,” she said quietly. “Over there, on the seat.” And then, unexpectedly, sadness overwhelmed her. She bit her bottom lip, and Cowgill looked at her.
“OK, Lois?” he said. “It’s going to be very hard for Mrs B, and you are the very best person to look after her. She remembered you. Don’t forget that.”
After a second or two, they moved forward. When they were a few paces away, Mr Betts turned his head and saw them.
In an instant, his alarm communicated itself to his wife, and she was awake, clutching his arm. He shook her
