by Ann Purser
Upstairs was much the same, virtually empty. A single bed against the wall, with grubby sheets rumpled all anyhow. A solitary wooden chair had acted as bedside table and bore a single unwashed mug, indelibly stained. The back bedroom had been divided to make a tiny bathroom, where rust stains spread over basin and bath. A tap continued to drip.
"So there's just a box room left," said Cowgill. He opened the door, looking at Lois for her reaction.
"Ye Gods!" she said. "What on earth . . . ?"
"Sleeping bags," said Cowgill. "Dozens of 'em."
The pile reached from floor to ceiling. Lois moved to touch them, to count them.
"Don't touch!" Cowgill warned.
"Must've been expecting visitors," Lois said.
"Exactly," agreed Cowgill. "But who was he expecting? It's hardly bed- and- breakfast accommodation."
"Or," said Lois, "was he mad as a hatter? Nutty as a fruitcake? And who the hell was he?"
TWENTY
MRS. BLAIRGOWRIE SAW IT ALL. SHE SAT BEHIND THE curtains in her bedroom and watched as the drama unfolded. She saw the police arrive, the pavement cordoned off, the nosy group assembling and then being dispersed. She saw Lois marching down the street and being met by Hunter Cowgill. When Douglas set off on his bicycle, she watched until he rounded the corner at the end of the street. Shapes appeared inside the recluse's house and she identified them as Cowgill and Lois. She saw the ambulance, and knew that the shrouded body was that of Clem.
Poor old Clem! He had been a friendly old man, and she'd been touched and amused at his scheme for helping her out if she was in trouble. She had even looked out a brightly coloured scarf to dangle at her window should it ever be needed. And now he'd gone, with no warning and without a friend standing by.
Finally the street was quiet, and she moved slowly away from the window, remembering to take her stick as she made her way to the telephone.
"Is that you, Alastair? Yes, well, I think it would be a good idea for you to postpone your visit today. But we need to talk soon, so keep in touch. 'Bye. Oh, and wait a minute! The new cleaner woman is coming tomorrow afternoon, so best not to come then either. 'Bye."
As she put down the telephone, she heard a sharp knock at her door. She put on the dark glasses, picked up her stick, and went through to see who was there.
"Good morning. Sorry to trouble you, madam. Inspector Cowgill. May I come in for a few minutes?"
SUSIE WAS AT WORK, AND WHEN THE MANAGER CAME OUT AND asked very nicely if Susie would come into the office for a moment, she wondered what on earth she had done. Up to now, she hadn't put a foot wrong. In fact, she'd received one or two compliments on how well she had settled in and grasped all the details of the routine. She coloured, as always, and followed Mrs. Higham into the office.
"Sit down, my dear." Susie sat on the edge of her chair and waited nervously. When Mrs. Higham told her gently what had happened, Susie sat rigidly without moving or saying anything. After a few seconds, her boss came over and put her arm around her shoulders. "I expect you'd like to go home, my dear. I'll get one of the girls to come with you. Let me know how you're feeling, won't you?"
Susie came to life. "There's nobody at home," she said. "No point in my going back there." She hesitated, and then said, "I'll just carry on, if you don't mind. The girls are a nice bunch, and if you could just tell them, I'd be happier among friends. I'm not going to collapse in front of the customers or anything. I expect I'll cry later."
Most girls would grab the chance of a day off, thought Mrs. Higham. This one was a brave soul. "If you're sure, Susie. I'll have the girls in one by one, and then there'll be no disruption to upset you. Stay if you like for a while, and I'll get you a coffee." But Susie said she preferred to get on with her work. It would be better that way, would give her something to think about.
"Fine," said Mrs. Higham, "and there is one other thing. The police have been in touch, and will want to talk to you later. They know you used to call in to see your granddad quite often. But they're very tactful and nice, and won't frighten you."
Susie looked at her now, dry-eyed. "I don't frighten easy," she said, and went quietly back to work.
DOUGLAS WAS NOT DOING QUITE SO WELL. HE HAD TURNED UP, found his way to the right office, and been welcomed tactfully. The first day, he'd been told, would be spent familiarising himself with colleagues, the geography of the place, and— most important—the ways and wonders of his computer. He sat staring at the screen, his mind back in Gordon Street, seeing not the high-tech surroundings of his new job, but the small back yard of Clem's house, the brick lavatory with its polished wooden seat and Satan on the floor beside it. He tried hard to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing, but a sudden picture of Clem's slippered foot with its stringy greyish ankle sticking up like a cry for help flashed through his head.
He stood up, and walked quickly towards the door to the toilets. This had fortunately been one of the first landmarks pointed out to him. He had the place to himself, and splashed cold water over his face, taking deep breaths and trying to compose himself. This wouldn't do. The old man was almost a stranger. They'd met only once or twice, and he'd been a nosy old sod. Then Douglas remembered Susie, and wondered if she'd been told. She'd given him her mobile number, and he had wondered if he was doing the right thing to encourage her. Now he checked the number and dialled. He had no idea about company rules on private calls in work time, but he'd make it quick.
"Hello? Is that you, Susie? Douglas Meade here."
"Oh, Douglas, thank goodness it's you. I thought the police . . ." She trailed off, embarrassed.
"Have they told you? About your granddad, I mean?"
"Well, yes. I know. It's horrible. It hasn't quite sunk in," she said, and he could hear that she was fighting tears.
"I'll be home about six. Can you drop in, or are you going home? We could, perhaps, well . . . you know, help each other. I found him, actually."
"I know. Yes, I'll be there at six. Thank you ever so much for ringing. Better go now. 'Bye."
Douglas put his phone back in his pocket, aware that his dizziness had subsided. He walked back to his desk with a lighter step.
"Feeling better, mate?" His colleague looked concerned. Douglas reassured him, and explained that he'd had a bit of bad news this morning, but he'd be fine.
BY THE TIME HE TURNED HIS BICYCLE INTO GORDON STREET, THERE was no trace of anything untoward. Cars were crawling nose to tail to the supermarket, and most of the houses presented blank, net-curtained faces to the street. Then he saw Susie, waiting inside his tiny front patch of garden. She was quite still, staring into space. When she saw him, she moved forward and waved, opening the gate to greet him. Her face was pale now, but full of relief at his arrival.
"Hi, Susie," he said, and on an impulse rested his bike against the fence and put his arms around her. He hugged her gently and felt her begin to shake. He managed to unlock the door and shepherd her inside before the storm broke. It was several minutes before she was able to detach herself and reach for a tissue. "Sorry," she said, and sniffed.
"I'm not," Douglas said. "Not at all, really. Except about Clem, o' course. Here, take your jacket off and I'll make us some tea."
TWENTY-ONE
"HELLO, DOT. MRS. M HERE. HAVE YOU HEARD ABOUT Douglas's neighbour in Gordon Street? You have. I thought you probably would have." Uppity voice from Dot in response. "Now, listen, Dot. You're due at Mrs. Blairgowrie this afternoon, and we need to have a chat before you go. I shall be in the office with Hazel later on this morning, so can you pop in? Say about twelve? See you then."
Gran put her head round the door and said, "Have you spoken to Douglas this morning? How is the lad? I was really worried last night when he didn't ring."
"Yeah, I spoke to him first thing. Seems he went out to take his mind off it all. Took that granddaughter, Susie, to the movies."
Gran brightened. "That's nice," she said, and disappeared. Lois was not so sure. The girl
was a lot younger than Douglas, and though she wouldn't hear a word against her son, she did know that he'd had a good few girlfriends, and none of them so far had lasted more than a few months. Still, that was how it was with young people these days. She smiled. That sounded like an oldie speaking! Still, she did sometimes feel as if the world was becoming a place where she felt ill at ease, didn't quite belong. She and Derek had more and more conversations about the good old days, when they were youngsters. Things were better then, they agreed.
But of course that was nonsense. Lois stood up and went to the window. She looked down the street and saw houses big and small, and all with an air of prosperity, even smug selfsatisfaction. She told herself that she was thinking rubbish. But she remembered Gran telling her that when she was a child, she'd been brought from where they lived on Tresham's Churchill estate to Long Farnden for a picnic. It had been a lovely day, warm and still. They'd sat by the river on a rug, and eaten sandwiches and jam tarts. Gran had been about six, and had wandered off. She'd leaned over the edge of the bank to look at the tiny fish in the shallows. Two seconds later, she had fallen facedown into the water, then surfaced and screamed blue murder. Before her father reached her, a man had appeared, waded in, and pulled her unceremoniously onto the bank. Her dad had thanked the farm worker profusely, and he had said it was nothing. He was hedging upriver and heard her scream. Dad had said he'd buy the man a drink, and the two of them had gone off to the pub laughing.
Where was Health and Safety then? Today she'd be wearing a life jacket, and the bank would be fenced off. There'd be no fish in the water, anyway, and farmers cut their hedges with monster machines that completed the job in no time. The skill of laying a hedge was all but gone. What was laying a hedge, anyway? Lois realised she had no idea. Sounded like something to do with chickens.
Lois's daydream was interrupted by a car drawing up out side the gate, and a familiar figure coming up the path. It was Hunter Cowgill, and Lois waited until Gran came through to answer the doorbell.
"Oh, it's you, Inspector," Gran said. "I'm not sure, but I think she's out. Shall I tell her to call you?" Lois couldn't believe her ears. The old bag! Still, she no doubt meant it for the best. Lois decided to call her bluff.
"Hi, Mum, I'm back," she said, coming up behind her with a false smile. "Good morning, Inspector. How can I help you?"
Cowgill knew perfectly well that Lois wasn't out. He'd seen her looking out of the window. But he decided to ignore the fib. That was between the two women. He said blandly that he was sorry to disturb them but he needed to ask Mrs. Meade a few questions.
"Come into the office," Lois said, and added, "No, Mum, no coffee. The inspector is not allowed to take bribes."
When the door was shut, Cowgill said, "Really, Lois. You are not very kind to your mother. I'm sure she's only trying to protect you from my fiendish intentions."
"Leave my mother to me, if you don't mind," said Lois. "Now, what d'you want? I've got work to do."
Cowgill explained that he was anxious to find out everything possible about Clem Fitch. "On the face of it," he said, "he was a nice old man, if a bit nosy." He'd had an exemplary career on the railways, and his daughter and family kept in fairly frequent touch with him. He was belligerently independent, not very clean, and extremely fond of his granddaughter, Susie. His family had lived in Gordon Street for generations, and he was usually very suspicious of incomers. But one of the residents from the far end of the terrace had said Clem seemed overfriendly with that blind woman in Braeside right from the beginning.
"Maybe she's rich," said Lois. "I wouldn't put it past him to have an eye on the main chance. He thought quite a lot of himself, you know."
"He might just have fallen for her, Lois," Cowgill replied. "Cupid strikes at strange moments," he added, a soft look in his eyes.
"Oh, for God's sake, grow up!" Lois frowned, and added that she knew nothing about the blind lady's love life, but doubted if there was much going on. "She was the new girl on the block, and Clem would have felt it was his right to check her out. Anyway, Dot Nimmo's going there this afternoon. My team don't gossip, as you know, but she'll probably have something to tell me later. If I reckon it's useful, I'll pass it on. Was there anything else?"
Cowgill nodded. "Your Josie," he said, "I don't want to go into the shop and spread rumours at these early stages, but could you ask her to keep her ears open? Anything to do with Clem Fitch. She can report to you."
Lois bristled. She had always tried not to involve the family in her ferretin', and Cowgill knew this. He also knew that she sometimes failed. Lois saw the confident look on his face and retaliated. "Too late, Cowgill," she replied. "You've been upstaged. Your handsome nephew has been talking to my Josie already. Broke the news, actually. You could ask him to pursue his enquiries." She stood up and added, "Now, I've got a new client to meet, so I'll see you out."
THERE WAS NO NEW CLIENT, BUT LOIS HAD HAD AN IDEA. SHE'D remembered offering to find Clem a new home for Satan. Her previous tenants had found the bird disturbing enough to move out. Where had they gone? She remembered their name was Freeman, and that they'd been very stroppy in the end. Definitely worth a trip to the agents to see their records. The Freemans might have something useful to say, apart from how they would have strangled the so- and-so bird if they hadn't moved.
THE LETTING AGENTS WERE HELPFUL, AND IMMEDIATELY FOUND the details Lois wanted. The Freemans had moved to a small house on the east side of Tresham. This sprawl of new housing had grown larger over the years and had become a magnet for trouble, or so it seemed to the decent citizens who'd first moved there. As a result the house prices had stayed low, and the Freemans had managed to afford one in order to make a new start. He had been on sickness benefit for a long time, and she had had serious depression. Now, at last, he'd got a job and she had finally shaken off the miseries.
Lois listened to all this with interest. Her former tenants were not likely to be all that pleased to see her after what they would see as noncooperation over Satan. But at least now she'd have other topics to talk about.
First, to the office to see Hazel, and then to have a talk with Dot. "I'm off now, Mum," she said, passing through the kitchen.
"I'm glad to hear you being a bit more polite to that policeman," Gran said. "A pity you can't extend it to your mother."
"Sorry, Mum," Lois said breezily. "Won't be back for lunch. I'll grab a sandwich with Hazel."
"Much good that will do you," said Gran acidly.
"I'll make sure it's organic," Lois replied, and left quickly before her mother's all-that-organic-nonsense diatribe began.
Hazel was waiting for her, and was her usual efficient self,
with lists and notes ready for their weekly conference. She'd had several new enquiries, and went through with Lois the ones that would need a visit from her. Some of them were returning to New Brooms after a break. It was quite usual for women clients to say that after all they could do their housework themselves, and then, as a few weeks of enthusiasm quickly dwindled to boredom, some would say jokingly to Lois, "Come back! All is forgiven."
The two had finished their business, and were having a quick coffee and sandwich, when Dot appeared, spot on time. "Morning both," she said, sitting squarely on the remaining chair and opening her bag. "Don't mind if I join you, d'you?" She pulled out a venerable-looking meat pie and began to munch.
Lois gave up trying to maintain a position of authority and opened the subject of Mrs. Blairgowrie. "She'll probably be in a bit of a dither, Dot," she said. "Just go easy with her. Bill used to say she followed him about, and I know you hate that. But . . ."
"What d'you mean?" Dot interrupted. "How could she follow him about if she's blind?"
Hazel spoke up. "I had an aunt who was blind," she said. "She knew her house so well that she could walk around in the pitch dark and never bump into anything."
"Must've saved on the electric," said Dot grumpily.
"I expect Mrs. Blairgowr
ie is the same," Hazel continued. "Anyway, Bill said she had vestigial sight in one eye, didn't he, Mrs. M?"
Lois confirmed this, but said that she reckoned it was possible Mrs. Blairgowrie saw more than she owned up to. "Still, that's none of our business," she added. "We're just there to do a job to the highest standards."
Dot said it was time she went, and shook the crumbs from her pie into the wastepaper basket. "See what high standards I got," she said with a smirk.
"I don't know why you put up with her," Hazel said, making it sound like a joke, though it wasn't. "I'll go and wash the mugs, Mrs. M."
Lois sighed. "She's right, Dot. Now, before you go, there's one more thing."
"Will I keep me eyes an' ears open in Gordon Street? I knew old Clem, y' know, from way back. He were quite a nice ole boy. Pity, really."
"And whatever you find out, keep it to yourself."
