Murder on Monday lm-1

by Ann Purser

  She steeled herself against weakening as she saw tears slide down Josie’s face. “Now get yourself cleaned up and come down and give me a hand with the tea,” she added briskly. “Oh, and there’s something else,” she said. “Did you ever go to Melvyn’s house when they lived in Tresham?”

  Josie nodded. “Once or twice,” she said.

  “And meet his Mum and Dad?” Josie nodded again. “They were nice,” she said. “At least, his Mum was.”

  “What about his Dad?” said Lois.

  Josie hesitated. “Bit funny,” she said.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Well, sort of quiet and serious. Not friendly and nice like our Dad is most of the time. They were all a bit scared of him, I reckon,” she added.

  “Right,” said Lois. “Now, downstairs in five minutes, young lady, and no more of this nonsense.” She patted Josie’s back forgivingly. But inside she felt uncomfortably apprehensive. I wish none of this had ever happened, she thought. Gloria and Derek, the doctor and Mary, horrible Malcolm Barratt, Josie and Melvyn. What was coming next? She went slowly downstairs to welcome her mother and Douglas and to give Jamie a bit of a hug.

  ∨ Murder on Monday ∧

  Thirty-Five

  Lois parked outside the Barratts’ house instead of driving in. She was unsure of her reception this morning, her last words flung at Malcolm Barratt having been on the lines of good riddance to bad rubbish. She had intended never to go to the Barratts again, but Hunter Cowgill’s gentle hint had convinced her that she should carry on, see it through to whatever nasty end was in store. She was sure now that Gloria’s murder had been the result of circumstances involving more than one of Farnden’s respectable residents. Not that the actual killing was necessarily done by more than one person – and she still was not sure who did it – but she was quite sure that the Rev Peter White, Professor Barratt, and possibly Dallas Baer were all entwined in something very nasty. The doctor and Nurse Surfleet were also involved, she was sure of that. Gillian Surfleet had certainly been fond of – possibly in love with – Gloria Hathaway. That could well have meant jealousy, revenge, collusion…And Dr Rix, well, she could not bring herself to think ill of him, and put it to the back of her mind. No, the other four were definitely guarding a slowly emerging secret, and all of them were rattled.

  It had to be sex. One single woman living alone and, as Lois knew, one who was more than willing. So far, so clear. Lois was beginning to have more than glimmerings of what exactly had been going on.

  Her thoughts were roughly interrupted by the Barratts’ front door being jerked open as she walked up the path to the house.

  “Lois! I thought you said you weren’t coming back!” It was Malcolm, still in his pyjamas, feet bare and hair wild. “Thank God,” he continued. “I had no idea what to say to Rachel if you didn’t turn up…come on in, woman, quickly.” He took her hand and pulled her into the house, releasing her at once when he saw her face. “Sorry! Sorry! No offence…Now listen, quickly, before Rachel comes down.” He followed her into the kitchen and shut the door.

  “I know now it wasn’t you. It was Rachel, sifting through my papers. Tidying them, she said. Saw that name and number and tried it out. Big scene! But it’s all sorted out and if you could forget our little contretemps the other day, I’d be eternally grateful…please ‘, Lois?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Lois, turning her back on him. She began collecting her cleaning things, and added, “I shan’t say nothing. But if you ever try anything on again – ”

  He put up his hand, as if to ward off a blow. “Never! Trust me, Lois. Friends again?” His smile was sickly and anxious. Sounds of footsteps down the stairs sent him charging out of the kitchen, and Lois heard voices, not raised, but some commonplace interchange. Then Rachel came into the kitchen.

  “Morning, Lois. Are you feeling better?” Lois did not know what to say to this, but presumed that Malcolm had made illness an excuse for the lack of cleaning done last week.

  She nodded. “Fine, thanks,” she said.

  The morning passed slowly. With Rachel back in full control, the house was clean before Lois began. But why should she worry? Rachel had asked her to go over the inside of the bedroom windows, so she began on the big bedroom which overlooked the main street. As she worked, her eye was caught by a couple of figures standing on the doorstep of Dr Rix’s house. One was Keith Simpson, she was sure. He had a peculiarly upright stance that matched his official language and his undoubtedly righteous nature. The other, she now saw, was Detective Inspector Cowgill. Lois’s heart sank. The door opened, and she saw the two men disappear inside. If only she could hear what was being said. And yet…she was glad that she could not. Of all the people involved in what she now thought of as a conspiracy to murder, Dr Rix was the one who concerned her most. She was sure that whatever his involvement, it was not a cruel or violent one. A man who on almost every occasion had been kind and considerate to Lois, with an excellent reputation in the village, could only have been caught up against his will, surely?

  As she moved on to the next room, again with windows facing the road, Lois was so astonished at what happened next that she dropped her duster out of the open window on to the flowerbed beneath. The doctor had appeared at the door, with Keith and the Inspector on either side, and they were clearly escorting Andrew Rix from his house to the police car waiting outside.

  Lois rushed downstairs and out to the gate. What am I doing? she thought, as she watched the police car drive off slowly and then disappear up the Tresham road, villagers outside the shop staring as it passed, She had a mad impulse to stop the car, demand an explanation. How stupid, she thought, as she retrieved her duster from the flowerbed. Poor Mary Rix. Lois walked back into the house, holding out her duster in explanation, and met Rachel coming into the hall with a vase of fresh flowers.

  “Everything all right, Lois?” she said brightly. She laughed when Lois told her about dropping the duster and said they might as well have coffee now, while Lois was downstairs.

  As Rachel set out mugs and biscuits, Malcolm’s footsteps came thudding down from the attic to the kitchen, his face showing an expression of pure panic.

  “Got to go out!” he said.

  “But your coffee…?” Rachel turned in surprise.

  “Later,” he said. “Shan’t be long…just thought of some…er…parish matter…urgent…catch Nurse Surfleet before she goes off on her…”

  He was gone before Rachel could reply, and she shrugged. “I don’t know, Lois,” she said. “Men…I’ll never understand them.”

  But Lois was beginning to understand only too well. She had remembered that the attic study windows also overlooked the road.

  ♦

  Malcolm returned very soon from his flying visit looking haunted.

  “Not at home,” he said briefly, as he passed Rachel in the hall, and retreated to his study, banging the door behind him. Lois heard the telephone ping once as the study extension was lifted, but the faint murmur of Malcolm’s conversation was too far away for her to hear his words. She noticed that Rachel was singing in the sitting room, rearranging cushions and ornaments from where Lois had just put them, apparently oblivious of her husband’s drama.

  The morning finally ended and Lois breathed a sigh of relief as she went towards her car. Then her heart lurched; there was someone sitting in it, in the passenger seat. She promised herself that once this whole business was sorted out, she would never set foot in Farnden again. Then she saw that it was Mary Rix and she knew that there might, after all, be something she could do, if only listen.

  ♦

  The deserted wood was chilly, but Lois still had the rugs in the car that she had taken on the long journey to retrieve Josie. Wrapped in these, she and Mary Rix sat on the broad tree stump, and Mary talked while Lois listened.

  “They’ve taken Andrew for questioning, they said,” she began. “I don’t know what that means, but they said they’d bring
him back. Everything’s going round and round in my head and I can’t tell anyone else,” she continued, close to tears.

  “Go on, I’ll help if I can,” said Lois quietly.

  Mary looked at her gratefully and continued, “I don’t really know how many were involved in the village. It was so awful, Lois. Like something in one of those films. At first I couldn’t believe it. Not Gloria Hathaway, surely, I thought. But she was wicked, you know. That’s the only word for it. Prim and proper on the outside, certainly. She could play the innocent spinster better than anyone I knew. Of course, when we first came to Farnden she was quite young. Never seemed to have any real job, yet always had plenty of money. Cars, holidays, clothes. We all wondered about it, but Andrew told me not to gossip. None of our business, he said. Well, that was a joke.”

  She was silent then, and Lois shifted around to make herself more comfortable. “Why was that, Mary?” she said gently.

  “Because he was the first,” she said and then began to cry in earnest. “All those consultations and visits, when she was perfectly well. Nothing wrong with her at all. Perfect excuse!”

  “Did you say anything to him?” Lois was aware that there must be so much to tell. They couldn’t stay in this wet, cold place much longer. But she dare not interrupt Mary, in case she should think twice about confiding in her.

  “He just laughed, then got cross. Said I was a jealous woman and if I wanted to save our marriage I should get things into perspective. It was around the time of my last pregnancy and I’d just lost the baby. I couldn’t believe he could be so cruel.”

  “Did you ever have any proof that he was carrying on with Gloria?” Lois was trying hard to keep a level head. She knew that anyone who had been in such an emotional turmoil could not be entirely reliable.

  Mary stared at her. “Of course,” she said simply. “There was the other baby – ” Crack! She was interrupted suddenly by a gunshot behind them. Both of them leapt to their feet, and clutching rugs around them, stumbled out of the wood and into Lois’s car. Mary Rix’s face was white and she was trembling. Lois took several deep breaths and turned the key to start the engine. It spluttered and died. Twice more she tried, with the same result.

  “Damn!” she murmured. “Give it a minute or two and I’ll try again.”

  She looked into the wood fearfully. How could anybody have known they were there? By her car, of course. She’d made no attempt to conceal it.

  “Lois! Look! There’s someone coming!” Mary fumbled for the door catch, as if to run.

  “Hey, wait,” said Lois. “Aren’t they rabbits?” The man came closer, gun held in the safe position, a pair of limp, dead rabbits in his hand. They sat as if frozen in the car and watched him approach. He glanced at them curiously, then nodded. Lois wound down the window. “Morning,” she said shakily. “Just trying to start the car. I think the engine’s damp.” He told her to have another go, saying he could help if it wouldn’t fire. But this time it did, and Lois backed hastily out on to the road, changed gear and headed back towards Farnden.

  “Shall I come in, make you a cup of coffee?” she said, as they drew up outside the Rixs’ house.

  Mary’s face was still pale and drawn. But she shook her head. “I’ll be all right,” she said. She hesitated. “There’s one thing I’ll never forget, though,” and added, “you should know this about Gloria Hathaway. She came to the surgery one morning, and I answered the door. Didn’t want to see the doctor, she said, but had a letter for me. She handed me an envelope and went away. I took it into the kitchen and opened it.” Her face darkened at the memory. She was silent for a moment, then turned in her seat to look at Lois. “It was a photograph,” she said. “Of the other baby – ”

  “Oh, Mary…” Lois murmured, her heart aching for this poor woman’s suffering.

  They sat for a minute or two and then Mary said, “Better go home now, Lois. Forget what I said, dear,” she added. “Best forgotten, all of it.” And she ran to her front door and disappeared.

  Lois had no intention of forgetting. She turned Mary’s words over and over in her mind, and thought she understood. If Mary was truthful, and Lois was sure she was, Gloria Hathaway deserved everything she got. Such cruelty was unimaginable. But she had to be sure. It was Gloria’s baby in the photograph, that was almost certain. As for its father…well, Lois needed confirmation from someone who was sure to know. Tomorrow was Lois’s day at Gillian Surfleet’s and Lois hoped very much that she would be there, ready for a little conversation. There was quite a lot more to talk about now.

  ♦

  The telephone was ringing as Lois opened her door and she snatched it off the receiver.

  “Lois? Janice Britton here. Not sure if you know, but the DI asked me to ring you. They’ve detained Dr Rix for questioning, in connection with the murder of Gloria Hathaway. He says it’s very important for you to be careful. And your family.”

  “What! What do you mean?” Lois was shaking.

  “Don’t be too alarmed. Just be vigilant, that’s all. Keith agrees that you are vulnerable, knowing as much as you do. Better go now,” Janice added. “Bye. Take care.”

  ∨ Murder on Monday ∧

  Thirty-Six

  Later that day, when Lois was back home and trying to keep her mind on her family, the pub in Long Farnden witnessed an unusual event. At first, it was empty, except for an old man half-asleep in the corner by the log fire, a sheep dog dozing at his feet.

  Dallas Baer stepped into the gloom and thought it looked like a fine old painting. Dark browns and warm reds reflected in brass and copper, the old man’s head sunk on to his chest, the dog – it was so peaceful. Ah well, that would soon be broken when the young ones came in. Tall, powerful young farmers, giggly blonde girlfriends in tight jeans and skimpy jerseys. Not Dallas’s cup of tea. All noisy and confident, shouting above each other’s heads, monopolising the dart board and shove-halfpenny.

  For now, though, it was just the old man and Dallas Baer, who walked to the bar and rang the little brass bell. Don Cutt came through from the back and greeted him.

  “Your usual, Mr Baer?” he said, reaching for a half-pint beer glass.

  Dallas hesitated, then said, “No, thanks. I think I need a stronger brew tonight. I’ll have a whisky, please.”

  Don raised his eyebrows. “On your own, Mr Baer?” he said. “How’s the missus?”

  “Fine, thanks,” said Dallas, wishing the publican would mind his own business. Soon he’ll be asking about Dr Rix being questioned. Everyone in the village would know by now that he had been taken to the police station in Tresham. Half a day was more than enough for a piece of news as momentous as that.

  The door opened and the Reverend Peter White walked in and, close behind him, Professor Barratt. Good God, thought Dallas, they might make an effort! They looked as if the end of the world was nigh. But then, perhaps for some of them, it was.

  Drinks were bought and then the vicar leaned over the bar and said confidentially to Don Cutt, “Don, old chap, I wonder if we could use your function room for a little informal meeting. Shouldn’t take more than an hour. We’d be most obliged…parish council business, a little off the record,” he added hopefully, as if by taking Don into his confidence he would forestall any awkward questions.

  “In the absence of the ex-chairman, I suppose,” said Don Cutt meaningly. “Well,” he added, “here’s your new one, chairwoman Nurse Surfleet herself.”

  Gillian positively bounced up to the bar, smiling broadly, nodding a greeting to the old man in the corner and said good evening brightly to them all. Her smile was a reassuring embrace. In her strong arms, on her ample bosom, they could rest their anxious heads and all would be well. At least, that is how Dallas Baer saw it, and in spite of himself, felt cheered.

  “So is it OK for us, then?” he asked Don Cutt, who nodded grudgingly.

  “I suppose you won’t want to pay for hire of the room,” he said, only half-joking. “I shall have to put the
electric fires on…no other heating in there,” he added. The others ignored him and, taking their drinks, they headed off for the privacy of the pub’s function room, a bleak place smelling strongly of stale beer, and dreary now without the usual balloons or confetti or tables set for cricket teas.

  They sat down at the beer-stained table and looked glumly at each other. “Well, who’s going to start?” said Malcolm Barratt.

  “I will,” said Nurse Surfleet. “The rest of you look as if you’re incapable of starting a donkey race. Now,” she added briskly, “what do we know for sure. Andrew has been taken to the police station for help with their enquiries. We know that much from Mary. We also know that he is a true and loyal friend and will give nothing away that isn’t forced out of him by the Tresham Gestapo.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, woman!” said Malcolm sharply. “This is extremely serious, and we can do without your silly jokes.”

  Gillian Surfleet glared at him. “Very well, Professor,” she said. “You take over.” She hated them all. Men! Weak, cruel and selfish. They hadn’t really cared tuppence for Gloria, not one of them. Andrew Rix had been different. And it had all been so long ago, with him. The others were recent, amoral casuals without a responsible thought between them. Although she had no time for what Andrew had done, at least he had tried to put it right, had stuck by Gloria and supported her as best he could. If she had to eliminate them, one by one, Andrew would be the first to be ruled out.