by Ann Purser
“Gary? What do you want?” Hazel stood in the doorway, and he was shocked at her pale, drawn face.
He gathered his wits, and asked if there was somewhere they could talk. “Oh, and I’m really sorry about your dad,” he said quickly. “Must’ve been a terrible shock.”
Hazel nodded and seem to be considering whether or not to let him in. “Mum’s here,” she said. “But we could go upstairs to my room. She’s asleep at the moment. Doctor gave her some pills. I don’t want her worried, so it’ll have to be quick.”
He followed her in and up the stairs on tiptoe. With the bedroom door shut, he turned to face her. “What’s going on?” he said. “Have you got any idea?” Hazel looked at him, and then sat down suddenly, her shoulders drooping. He saw that she was crying, and put his arm around her.
She scrubbed at her eyes with a screwed-up tissue. “You don’t think I did it?” she said in a muffled voice.
Gary said nothing. He had no idea how much he could trust Hazel. “Yeah, or me,” he said, with a poor attempt at an ironic laugh. “What d’you think?”
Hazel shook her head. “I dunno. Don’t suppose you’d have the bottle. No, Dad was up to something. He was always bloody well up to something…”
Gary sighed. He walked across to the window. “Look at it,” he said. “Just look at your idyllic village. Twilight in the Garden of Eden, most people would think. And it’s as rotten underneath as anywhere else. Anyway,” he added, “I’ll go now…if anything comes up…can you let me know?”
She stared at him, frowning. “It’s a bloody mess, Gary,” she said, and as he brushed past her on the way out, she realized he was shaking violently.
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Twenty-One
It was two in the morning on the luminous bedside clock when Lois suddenly sat bolt upright, her eyes wide open and staring at nothing.
“Lois?” muttered Derek, turning in his sleep. “Whazza-matter?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, “just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.”
It was true: she had had a dream, but one that was so ridiculous that she knew even while she was dreaming that it was rubbish. But then it had changed, and what came next was so frightening and plausible that it woke her up with a start. She had seen quite clearly the meeting place in the woods, and Dick’s body tied to a tree, but as she watched from some invisible hiding place, she saw Bridie and Hazel. They were adjusting the ropes, and then stood back to admire their handiwork. They were laughing, and even as she woke up Lois had felt the terrible nausea of shock.
She slid quietly out of bed and crept downstairs to the kitchen, being very careful not wake the kids. She had to think, and once the day started there was so little time for careful thinking. Pouring a glass of orange juice, she sat down at the table. Melvyn the cat, curled up in the old armchair beside the Rayburn, opened one eye and looked at her, then went back to sleep. The shelf clock measured out the time with its uneven tick. It was very peaceful, and Lois relaxed. The second part of her dream had been just as much rubbish as the first, she told herself. First of all, Hazel and Gary had appeared in police uniforms and arrested a protesting Derek in front of all the kids. And then she had seen Bridie and Hazel at their murderous task. But Bridie was her oldest friend, and she knew that however bad it had been, she would never have committed a violent act. But Hazel? She had a fierce hatred of her father. Lois had seen plenty of evidence of that over the years. There was no doubt that her will was strong enough, but neither of them were physically up to manhandling a live or dead Dick Reading into the woods. He was a big bloke. An accomplice? No, this was getting ridiculous. She would just go back to bed, forget the dreams and concentrate on whatever facts came her way.
She heard a sound, a footfall on the stairs, and then the kitchen door opened. It was Josie, peering into the kitchen with a worried frown. “Mum? Are you all right?”
“Fine,” said Lois, smiling reassurance. “Just couldn’t sleep. Sometimes it helps to come down and sit for a bit.”
“I couldn’t sleep either,” said Josie, slumping into a chair opposite Lois.
“Something worrying you?” said Lois, feeling her heatbeat quicken. These days, anxiety for the kids was always lurking in the background. She did not share Cowgill’s casual certainty that Joanne Murphy had not known who Josie was, and now she looked closely at her. In her cotton nightdress, and with her dark hair loose around her shoulders, she appeared younger than usual. Even younger than usual, Lois thought. Fifteen years old was still childhood.
“I keep thinking about Hazel’s dad,” Josie said. “I didn’t like him, but he was her dad. Why would anyone want to kill him, Mum?” She was near to tears, and Lois stretched her hand out across the table.
“We don’t know yet, love,” she said. “But they’ll find the killer. Nothing surer…very few get away with it.”
“They haven’t got the bloke who killed that major over at Waltonby, have they,” said Josie flatly. “Was he something to do with Hazel’s dad?” she added, sniffing loudly.
Lois shook her head. If only she knew! Then she could tell Cowgill, and the whole bloody mess would be cleared up. They sat quietly, holding hands across the table, for a few minutes, and then Josie spoke again. “Mum,” she said, and hesitated.
“Yep, what?” said Lois.
“They were talking on the bus today,” Josie continued.
“O ‘course everybody knew about it. One of the boys said his mum knew the major. At some drama thing in Tresham. Said he reckoned he was gay and that’s why he got killed. Jealousy, an’ that.”
“But…” said Lois, wondering what to say to this, “but what about him fancying young girls? I thought that was the gossip about the major?” So this was what they talked about on the school bus. Well, they’d done the same in her day, swapping scurrilous stories and one-upping each other, getting wilder all the time.
“Oh, you mean Prue Betts,” said Josie knowledgeably. “Yeah, well, she was asking for it. Not as goody-goody as you think, Mum. She was one of the gang.”
“What gang?” said Lois sharply.
“Oh, you know, clubbin’ and dabblin’ in this an’ that. They think they’re so clever that nobody knows. But it’s all over the school. We all know who they are, and where they get it from. You can smell it sometimes. Soon as we get off the bus one of the boys lights up.”
Lois knew better than to ask which boy. “What d’you mean, you know where they get it from?” she said, very wide awake now.
“Oh, Mum,” said Josie wearily, “it’s not that difficult. All the gang put money in, and one of the boys buys the stuff. Then they share it out.”
“But do the teachers know?” said Lois, trying to keep the alarm out of her voice. She knew Josie would clam up at the slightest hint that her mother might take some action.
Josie shrugged her shoulders. “Dunno,” she said. “If they do know, they don’t do nuthin’.”
Silence descended again. Then Lois made up her mind. “Josie,” she said. “I know you’ve got more sense than to join any bloody gang, so I’m going to tell you something that you probably know already. There’s no future in drugs. Don’t believe anybody who tells you otherwise.”
“Dad uses drugs,” said Josie stubbornly.
“What?” snapped Lois.
“He drinks, don’t he? And he used to smoke. I’ve seen him pretty drunk once or twice, so what’s the difference?” Josie looked at her mother’s face, and relented. “Anyway, Mum, you can save your breath. Me and the others don’t touch the stuff. Don’t need it, thank God, though it’s been offered plenty enough times. You can stop worrying about that. And what I just said about Dad…I know you think there’s a difference. I’m not sure, but I’ll take your word for it for now.” She stood up, came round to Lois and gave her a hug. “Night, Mum,” she said. “See you in the morning.”
Lois nodded, and walked over to the armchair. “Move over, Melvyn,” she said, and sat do
wn beside him, wiping away sudden tears. After a while, she dozed off, and that was where Derek found her when he came down in the morning.
♦
As she drove through the park to Dalling Hall, Lois caught sight of the church, solid and safe-looking in the distance. She remembered reading in history lessons that at one time you could get sanctuary in a church. Once inside with the door shut, nobody could touch you. But that wasn’t why they put the major in the church, that was for sure. He was there so he couldn’t touch anybody outside. He was dead for that reason, probably.
She stopped the car at the end of the footpath to the church, and got out. She was early anyway, and a few minutes wouldn’t make any difference. Hazel would carry on without her. It occurred to Lois that Hazel might not turn up after all, but she would discover that soon enough.
The narrow oak door was ajar, and Lois hesitated. It was early in the day, surely, for the church to be open? She pushed the door and looked in. At first she couldn’t see much in the gloom. She walked down the steps and stood still until her eyes adjusted. Then she saw she was not alone. The shadowy shape of a man came into focus, in the far corner, where one of the less elaborate of the tombs of the Dallings seemed to have its lid standing on end, propped up. The man was as motionless as she was.
“Who’s that?” Lois said, her voice strong and impatient. She’d had enough of shadows and mystery. There was no answer, but the shape moved, and as he came into the light from one of the high-up windows, Lois could see he was big and bulky. The light caught the top of his shaved head, and his expression was not friendly.
“Get out!” he said. “If yer know what’s good for yer, get out!” he repeated.
“Sod you!” said Lois. “I’ve got as much right as you…” She just had time to see him taking off his jacket before he was on to her, and she could neither see nor breathe.
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Twenty-Two
“Well, well,” said Joanne Murphy, teetering on high heels and arms akimbo, “so who have we here? I’ll be buggered if it’s not Mrs Mop herself!”
Lois spluttered, getting her breath. She could still taste the sourness of the man’s jacket. He’d put it over her head and squeezed, and then unaccountably let go suddenly, pushing her back so that she landed on a pew, gasping and rubbing her eyes. Of course, now she saw why she had been released. Joanne Murphy had arrived in the nick of time. An unlikely rescuer, but Lois thanked God she’d appeared. Her head felt muzzy, but it occurred to her straight away that Murphy must have some authority over the gorilla who was now sidling back towards the open tomb.
“Get that sorted, Tony,” Joanne said sharply, and then turned back to Lois, who was trying to stand up. No bloody Joanne Murphy was going to talk to her like that. But she was pushed back roughly into the pew. “Just a minute, I’ve got something to say to you before you go anywhere.” The brassy blonde wig shone in the light coming from the upper window, and Lois noticed heavy make-up, transforming the sluttish woman she remembered from their first encounter. Perhaps she should pretend dizziness, let her speak and see what came out.
“God knows what you’re doin’ here,” said Joanne.
Big Tony in the corner sniggered. “That’s good, Jo,” he said, “yer know, this bein’ a church an’ that…”
She ignored him, and continued to stare at Lois. “You’re in the way, Mrs Mop,” she said. “We can’t ‘ave you bustin’ in ‘ere, interruptin’ a bit o’ business between me and Tony.”
Lois shook her head, as if to clear it, and said nothing. This was like something out of a bad movie. She hoped it would have a happy ending.
“Now this is what you’re gonna do,” continued Joanne. “We’ll let you go, and you’ll forget you ever saw us. Forget everything you saw,” she added, glancing back at the tomb. “And,” she said with great emphasis, “if you don’t forget, I shall know about it, and you’ll be sorry. Not just sorry, but bloody finished. I know how I’d feel if one o’ my kids went missin’…you know, how they do, endin’ up in fish ponds an’ that.”
Still Lois said nothing, but if Joanne Murphy had bothered to notice Lois’s change of expression, her cockiness might have been somewhat dented. But she noticed no change, because she was high on triumph and revenge.
“So clear off,” she said, “and don’t you bloody well forget what I said. Go on, bugger off!”
Lois stood up. She finally had words for Joanne Murphy and her henchman: “Touch my kids,” she said, and her voice was cold and clear, “and you’re dead.” And then she walked swiftly out of the church.
♦
“You all right, Mrs M?” Hazel was waiting for her at the hall, and frowned at Lois’s pale face.
“I’m OK,” said Lois. “How about you? And how’s your mum?” She had expected a call from the Readings, changing their minds about working on. But here was Hazel, neat and attractive, cleaning equipment in hand.
“Mum’s fine,” she said. “Well, you know, not fine, but coping. She’s gone to the vicarage, so she’ll be all right. He’s a nice old bloke, that vicar, and it’s quiet and peaceful there.”
Lois nodded. “Let’s get on then,” she said. “Sorry I’m late – got held up.” Well, that was true. She was still very angry, and noticed Hazel looking at her hands, which shook as she plugged in the cleaner. She was angry mostly with herself, for putting herself at the mercy of that ratbag. And that oaf, scrabbling away in the corner by the tomb – what the hell was he doing?
“Don’t you think so, Mrs M?”
“Sorry?” said Lois. “What did you say?”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Hazel looked at her curiously.
Lois nodded and managed a smile. “Yep,” she said, “now let’s get cleaning.” After a while, her swirling thoughts settled down to one question. How often was that church used? She walked down the long corridor to find Hazel, and asked if she knew. “Is the Waltonby vicar in charge of Dalling church as well?” Lois had judged her young cleaner accurately. When Hazel had first worked for the vicar, she had bombarded him with friendly questions, just to put him at his ease, she said. And so she knew precisely that he was indeed in charge, and took a service once a month at six o’clock in the evening for the few people scattered around in park houses and any odd guest from the hall.
“He told me he sometimes forgot, it not being very often, and then sometimes the man who was supposed to open up, he forgot his key. So it was all a bit unreliable. Anyway,” she added, “why d’you want to know about Reverend Rogers?” Hazel spoke casually, but Lois was acting strangely this morning, and Hazel was worried.
“Just wondered,” said Lois. “You know how if something bothers you, you have to find out. My mind wandering, that’s all.”
With promises from Hazel that she would let Lois know immediately if Bridie needed help, they parted after work and went their ways. Lois drove slowly past the church, looking to see if the big black car was still there. But of course it was not. They would have scarpered long since. She toyed with the idea of going back to look at that tomb in the corner, but decided against it. Everything would be back in place. No, she would go on home, get lunch for Derek, and consider what to do next. One thing was definite: the kids were going nowhere on their own from now on. They’d have to find some way of doing it without alarming them, but Lois did not trust Joanne Murphy one inch. She took her threat very seriously, and knew that as soon as possible she would have to alert Hunter Cowgill. A telephone call straight away was the best idea. She pulled over into a lay-by, and dialled his number.
♦
Cowgill sounded concerned, and assured Lois that everything necessary would be done to protect the kids. She worried about this, knowing that they could not be shadowed every hour of the day. Cowgill listened closely to what she had to tell him about the church, and agreed that a talk with the vicar would be a good idea. “Why don’t you talk to him, then?” said Lois, already backtracking on her idea.
“Huh!” said Lois. “Anyway, chances are he’s pretty ga-ga. That’s how Hazel sees him, anyway.”
“That one probably thinks anybody over forty is ga-ga,” said Cowgill, with amusement in his voice. “Just call in on some pretext – checking on Bridie’s work? – and have a chat.” Lois wondered at his apparent familiarity with Hazel, but then remembered that of course he’d had hours of conversation with her and Bridie about Dick’s death.
Early in the afternoon, Lois dialled the Waltonby vicarage number. “Christopher Rogers here,” said a gentle voice. Lois reminded him who she was, and said that she was interested in Dalling church. She wondered if he had any records, history, legends, anything like that. “Why, yes,” he said. “All churches have interesting records. Anything particular you were looking for?”
Lois cast about for something convincing. “Just the family, really,” she said. “I’m working at the hall and got interested. You know, how they lived and children dying young, an’ all that.”
“Why don’t you call in some time?” he said, just as Lois had hoped. “I could look out some papers.”
“Tomorrow?” said Lois swiftly. “About two o’clock?”
“Well…er…yes, that would be all right,” said Christopher Rogers.
“Thanks,” said Lois, and rang off.
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Twenty-Three
The vicarage at Waltonby was an impressive old house, all pinnacles and turrets, with a large garden and glebe meadow where a neighbour kept two engaging donkeys. The stonework of the house had mellowed pleasantly, and when the sun shone, it glowed as if blessed. For the Reverend Christopher Rogers, living in this idyll was not always so pleasant. Built for a cleric with private means and a staff of four or five to run the establishment, it had sadly deteriorated in a more atheistic age. Now he lived mostly in his kitchen and study, opening up the large, chilly drawing room only for Parochial Church Council Meetings and the occasional visit of the bishop. He was, fortunately, a keen gardener, and the approach along a short driveway welcomed visitors with flowers and shrubs. His vegetable garden provided him with a vital supplement to his regular diet of sausages and fish fingers.
