by Ann Purser
“They’ve got rid of it,” he said. “It’ll never be found. They’ve done it before, and know the ropes. But what they don’t know,” he added, with the vestige of a smile, “is that I could trace it. No problem. I overheard JM talking to that gormless idiot backstage when they thought nobody was around. So it could be found. Trouble is, it wouldn’t take them long to guess who talked. I’m scared, Hazel, I don’t mind admitting. It’s getting very nasty.”
“Very nasty indeed,” said Hazel grimly. “And I – we – have to end it. I owe Mrs M. And so do you. You could’ve been out on your ear if she hadn’t given you another chance. So now we have to make a plan, get all the help we can, and fix ‘em. Right?”
“Right,” said Gary doubtfully. “Let me know. You’re the brains. Usual contact.”
He scrambled out of the car, and she watched him head back towards the theatre, his head down and his thin legs moving fast. You can see he’s scared, she thought. Sticks out a mile. Worst possible thing, with Joanne Murphy and her crew on the lookout.
♦
Next morning, Lois turned up as usual at the hall and met Hazel at the entrance. “You didn’t have to come, Mrs M,” Hazel said. “I could’ve managed…done a couple of extra hours. Are you sure you’re…” She stopped, smiled at the expression on Lois’s face, and said, “Come on, then, let’s get going.”
They worked in silence for most of the morning, and then finally, when they were putting away the cleaning tools, Lois said, “Hazel, we need to talk. Not now. I’m going straight into Tresham from here to see Derek. I rang earlier, and they said he was still out of it, but I just want to be there. So can you come round this evening? Eightish? It shouldn’t take long. I know some of it, and you know some of it, and we’ll get on a lot quicker if we work together. Forget Cowgill for the moment. He has his uses” – Hazel smiled broadly – “but I’ve got an idea of what we can do. It’ll need your help, and in particular anything you know that I don’t.”
Hazel nodded. “Righto,” she said. “Eight o’clock. I’ll be there. Give my love to Mr M…don’t matter if he don’t hear…just give it him.” A shadow crossed her face, and she turned away abruptly. “See you,” she muttered, and walked away swiftly.
Poor kid, thought Lois, walking into the car park. Not much of a life so far. But maybe it would get better once all this was sorted out. Bridie would make a new start, she was sure of that, and Hazel could shake the dust of Waltonby off her feet. She was a bright girl, full of spirit, and deserved a break.
As she drove into Tresham, she stopped at a flower shop and bought a couple of bunches of freesias. The scent filled the car. Lois hoped it might penetrate through to Derek. He’d always brought them for her into the hospital when the kids had been born. Freesias had meant something special. She remembered when that kid at Ringford Hall had pinched a load of them from the greenhouse and given them to Derek. He’d been really chuffed, and presented them to her as if he’d actually bought them.
Lois turned into the hospital car park. It’s not right, she thought, as she put money in the machine. It irked her that the authorities were taking money from people in trouble, visitors or outpatients who had no alternative but to park their cars here, the hospital being right in the middle of town where there was no possible other parking place. It’s a con, she said to herself, walking across and into the entrance. Intensive care: she followed the arrows and stopped at the reception desk.
The woman looked up at her unsmilingly. “Who?” she said.
“Derek Meade,” repeated Lois. Her heart had begun to race. Why didn’t she recognize the name? He must still be here. They’d said on the phone this morning that there had been little change. Oh my God, suppose he’d…But surely they’d have let her know…The woman consulted a list in front of her.
“Oh yes,” she said in a lofty voice, “you can go in…nurse is in there already. Know the way?”
Lois wanted to strike her, thump her as hard as she could, slap her round the face until she yelled for mercy. But she just nodded and walked on, down the corridor to where she knew Derek, her Derek, unrecognizable and absent, was lying. Not waiting for her, not expecting her, not full of things to tell her or questions about the kids. Just there.
“Ah, Mrs Meade,” said the kindly nurse. “What lovely flowers – you sit down here, and I’ll put them in water.”
Lois sat down beside Derek. He looked much the same, if a little paler and the shadows under his eyes deeper. She managed to quell the rising panic as she thought the unthinkable. Of course he was going to get better, come back home, go to work again. She reached out and put her hand on his, and thanked God that it was warm…alive.
The nurse returned with the freesias, now in an unsuitable orange pottery vase, but wafting their wonderful scent across the room. Lois smiled at her, showing that she was in control, not about to break down and become an embarrassment. The nurse left, and there were no sounds except the humming of machines and the bleep of the heart monitor which Lois tried unsuccessfully to blot out. Perhaps she should talk to him. Maybe he would be able to hear her, even though he seemed completely unconscious.
“It’s me,” she said tentatively. “It’s me, Lois. Sorry about all this, Derek,” she added, and forced back tears. “You’ll be OK soon,” she continued, gaining confidence. There was a young nurse over the other side of the room, attending to another patient, and neither were taking any notice of Lois. “I brought you some freesias,” she went on. “Can you smell ‘em? Not as good as those from Ringford Hall, but not bad.” She reached out and moved the flowers around, rearranging them.
Derek’s hand moved.
“Derek?” Her heart stopped and she breathed in sharply. She looked closely at his face, but his eyes were fast shut. Then his nose wrinkled. She daren’t move, but held his hand a little tighter. “Derek? It’s Lois…I’m here…”
The young nurse had come over now, looking intently at Derek. “Keep talking, Mrs Meade,” she said. “I’ll go and get Sister.”
Lois gabbled now, saying anything that came into her head, all kinds of rubbish about the kids and Gran. The sister appeared and stood silently at the foot of the bed. And then Derek opened his eyes. He looked straight at Lois, and, seeming to focus with difficulty, he said, “Good gel…” Then he sighed deeply, and his eyes closed again.
For one terrible moment Lois thought he’d gone for ever. But then she saw his breathing was regular, the bleeping steady, and the sister was smiling broadly. “Well done, Mrs Meade,” she said. “He’s going to be fine.”
“It was the flowers,” muttered Lois, as she fumbled for a tissue. “He could smell ‘em. The freesias…they’re special…” The nurse put a hand on her shoulder, assured her she could stay for as long as she liked, and then left her alone.
After a long time, Lois stood up. “Got to go now, Derek,” she said. She could have sworn his eyelids flickered. “See you tomorrow, boy…take care.” She walked out of the hospital without noticing anything, not even the old man in a wheelchair who used to live on the Churchill Estate, and waved a palsied hand at her. It was going to be all right. Derek was going to be all right.
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Thirty-One
At eight o’clock exactly Hazel’s car drew up outside Lois’s. She tapped lightly at the back door, then walked in. The kitchen was empty, except for Melvyn asleep in the big old chair. She could hear sounds from the television in the front room, and went through to find Lois. Douglas and Jamie were watching a cartoon, and Gran was reading the evening paper Lois had brought back from Tresham. Lois herself, and Josie, were not there.
Hazel cleared her throat and they all looked round in surprise. “Anybody could walk in here and steal the silver,” she said with a smile, and Gran got to her feet.
“Is something wrong, Hazel?” she said.
“No, didn’t Lois tell you? She asked me to come round for a business chat. Is she upstairs?”
“No, I
’m here,” said Lois, appearing at the doorway. “Hazel,” she went on, “could you go up and have a word with Josie? She’s got maths homework, and I can’t make head or tail of it. If you could just give her a pointer in the right direction, I’ll put the kettle on. Coffee or tea?”
Half an hour later, Hazel came downstairs with a grateful Josie. “Dad usually helps,” she said, “but…” She tailed off and looked at her mother.
“It’s good news…well, goodish,” said Lois. “Derek surfaced for a minute. Spoke a couple of words, and then went back to sleep. But real sleep, the sister said. So it looks as if things are going to be all right.” To her surprise, the usually cool and unemotional Hazel stepped forward and gave her a hug.
“Great!” she said. “Now, Mrs M, shall we get started?”
Settled in Lois’s office, the light slowly dying in the village outside, the two began to talk. Hazel told Lois what she already knew from Cowgill, but added a few things about the teenage drug scene in Tresham. “Compared with some places, it’s pretty small time, I suppose,” she said. “But I’ve seen some bad things, Mrs M. Whole families blown apart…And kids who’ve got no idea how to handle it.”
“Is there a way to handle it?” said Lois. She remembered Josie saying there was only one way. Leave it alone. “Easier said than done for lots of kids,” said Hazel. “They hang around town, no parents at home, and plenty of offers from their mates who’re already using. A lot of it is idle curiosity, with nobody to tell them the dangers. That was me. Mum and Dad were always too busy shouting at each other to notice.”
“But your dad found out?” said Lois gently.
“Yep. All hell broke loose. Didn’t make any difference. I just went to ground. There are ways of keeping it quiet. Mind you, that last time – when Cowgill found me – was an eye-opener all right. Got some bad stuff, I reckon. I nearly died, they said. Mum was great. She said we’d got to stick together because of Dad, and I was no use on drugs. She said she’d help me if I’d help her, and that’s how I kicked it. Dad never forgave me, of course. His little girl…”
“And Prue Betts?” said Lois.
Hazel shook her head. “Not drugs,” she said. “It was something else, but nobody was talking.” Lois looked at her closely, and was sure Hazel knew more than she was telling. But she changed the subject. She had learned long ago that Hazel could keep secrets better than anyone.
“Now then,” she said, taking the lead, “we need to talk to the woman at the pub in Waltonby. Seems she saw Derek’s accident. She might remember more if we prompt her a bit. Your job really, Hazel. You must know her well. Next time you’re on bar duty would be best. Don’t want her to think we’re snooping. You never know who knows who.”
You’re right there, Mrs M, said Hazel to herself. She wished she could tell Lois more than she had, but as yet things were so deadly that she knew it would be best to wait. The time would come – with luck – when they could get it all sorted out. She had been surprised when Cowgill told her that Lois was working for him, and thought privately that it was a big mistake. But who was she to judge? If Lois had a little sideline in private enquiries, then it was nothing to do with anyone except herself. And maybe Derek and the kids. It was dangerous ground Lois was treading, Hazel knew only too well. Oh well, it was up to her to keep Lois as clear as possible. “Yep,” she said, “I can do that. What do we want to know?”
“The police will have got the car number,” said Lois, “if she saw it. And them darkened windows don’t give much away. But I noticed the day they were after me that there was a sticker on the windscreen, just in the top corner. It was red, with a white band across it. Couldn’t see any words, but it showed up. She might have seen that. And there must have been a dent or something after you’d bashed into them? Ask her about the back of it.”
“Good idea, Mrs M,” said Hazel, but added, “there’s only one snag. That car will have vanished. They’ll have got rid of it, and by now it will be a different set of wheels altogether.”
Lois stared at her. “How do you know?” she said.
Hazel shrugged. “That’s what they do, them sort,” she said.
Lois had thought Hazel was on the edge of all this, just keeping Cowgill informed of the small-time drugs pushers and dealers. But it was beginning to look as if she was in deeper. As they chatted on about ways of identifying a vanished car, her thoughts were busy going over what she really knew about Hazel. She loved her mother and hated her father. Gary Needham had been at least an acquaintance for years. She knew her way around Tresham’s underworld. She had worked at the pub for some time, was a friend and confidant of Prue Betts, and had experienced the major’s overtures at first hand. Her hated father had been murdered, and she was an informer for Cowgill. That all added up to quite a lot. Lois changed gear.
“On second thoughts,” she said, “I think I might go over to the pub myself. After all, it would be only natural. I met the woman once or twice with Derek. No, you stand back for a bit, Hazel,” she added. “Ask around the village. Someone else might have seen something. All I want is to find the villains who did that to Derek. Nothing else matters to me. Nothing.” Her voice was firm. Everything else could wait. Maybe for ever. Lois was only too well aware that Derek had been nearly killed because of her involvement with Cowgill. She wasn’t ready to face up to that yet, but it would have to come. Meanwhile, she would concentrate on the job in hand.
“I mean to get them, Hazel,” she said coldly. “Cowgill might get there first, but that’s not stopping me. If you can help – and I suspect you can – then I’ll be grateful.”
That’s that, then, thought Hazel, standing up and getting out her car key. “See you in the morning,” she said.
Lois nodded. “There’s a big do on at the hall, and they want us to put in some extra time,” she said. “Be there a bit early if you can. Thanks for coming, Hazel, and love to Bridie.”
Lois sat for another hour alone in her study, thinking. She had to get some things straight in her mind before tomorrow. It was no good trying to think of Derek’s accident as unconnected to the rest. Go back to the beginning, that would be best.
A man is killed, a solitary man nobody seemed to know very well, but everyone seemed to think was dodgy in some way. The man is connected to two girls, both been in trouble of some sort, by chatting to them in the pub. The girls’ fathers are both known to be at the least belligerent, and at the worst violent. One of them, the violent one, gets killed. There is a connection through Hazel with the drugs scene in Tresham, though Prue was apparently not involved. But what about Josie’s story of a very different Prue? Was Hazel lying about that?
And then there was Gary. Had she been deceived by him too, by his undoubted charm and blarney?
And all of them, she suddenly realized, were connected with that theatre. Every single one, including Joanne Murphy and the Gorilla. Prue was perhaps the only exception, but her father certainly had a job there, scene-shifting. It was more than likely that Prue knew the place. Hazel had disappeared backstage that time, and Dick…no, perhaps not him. Still, he must have been keeping a close eye on his daughter, and it was a point to keep in mind.
She looked at her watch. Half past nine. It was not too late to ring the pub, and she dialled the number. “It’s Lois Meade here,” she said. “Would it be convenient if I looked in tomorrow? Around lunchtime? Just to check that everything’s all right with Gary now, after that spot of bother. Fine. Oh…Derek?…Yes, thanks. He’s holding his own. Yes, a very nasty accident. Thanks for asking.” She put down the telephone and went to join the others.
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Thirty-Two
The pub was quiet, with only one old man sitting quietly in the corner with his pint. Lois nodded a greeting to him, and then looked around. “Anybody about?” she said.
The old man cleared his throat. “Betty!” he yelled in a hoarse voice, then smiled at Lois. “She’ll be ‘ere in a minit,” he said. “You t
hat electrician’s missus?”
Well, it doesn’t take long for news to travel round villages, and Lois reconciled herself to most of the population of Waltonby knowing that Derek had had an accident on the crossroads, that he was an electrician who had been working at the pub, and that his wife was that woman who ran a cleaning business. Oh, yes, and that the Readings and Mrs Stratford were working for her. She was hoping against hope that this network of gossip would also come up with something useful about the sods who’d rammed into Derek and then driven off.
“Morning!” A plump, blonde woman came in and stood behind the bar. “What can I get you?” Lois liked the look of her. She was tidy and neat-looking, with a very pleasant smile. I must find out her surname, she reminded herself. Her dealings so far had been with the landlord, and now that she knew they were not married, she did not want to offend.
“I’m Mrs Meade,” she said. “I rang…”
“Oh, of course, dear,” the woman replied. “Now, how is that husband of yours? We were so sorry…But anyway, you came to talk about Gary. Do you want to come somewhere private, where we can talk? You’ll hold the fort for me, Charlie, won’t you? Give a shout if anyone comes in. Geoff’s gone into Tresham,” she added to Lois.
The old man nodded vigorously. “You go and ‘ave a gossip,” he chortled. “I know what you wimmin are…”
Settled with a fresh coffee, Lois relaxed. She’d be able to talk to this woman. “Betty,” she said, “I hope you’ll excuse me calling you that, but I don’t know – ”
“You carry on, dear, everyone calls me that. Geoff and me, well, we’re not married, but we’re more married than some who are, if you know what I mean. My name is really Betty Betts, but everyone calls me Betty Boggis – Geoff and Betty Boggis. It’s been that for years.”
“Betts?” said Lois, frowning.
