Threats at Three

by Ann Purser

  “Of course he’s all right, Mrs. Hickson,” the nurse said, raising her eyebrows. “Very much so, if you don’t mind my saying so. We’re having difficulty keeping him quiet. Now, you must understand that he was quite seriously bruised and concussed in the accident. I can’t think how the organisers got away with racing those dreadful soap boxes. No safety belts, apparently! And then we have to pick up the pieces. . . .”

  “Funny way of putting it, nurse,” Jack Sr. said. “Just how much treatment does our son need? And when can he come home?”

  The nurse explained that the bruises would go away in time, although the boy would be sore in quite a lot of places, mainly where Rebellion had slammed into his chest as he hit the crowd. He had been thrown back, and hit his head on the raised seat frame behind him.

  “Was anyone else hurt?” Paula said. “I wasn’t down at the finish. I couldn’t bear to look in case he came in last. By the time I got down there it had happened. But people said there were three stretchers put in the ambulance?”

  The nurse paused and looked at Jack. “Well, obviously your husband was badly cut and bruised. I believe there was a knife.”

  “Who had a knife, Jack?” Paula said urgently. “What the hell was somebody doing with a knife?”

  Jack shook his head. “Don’t know,” he said. “It all happened so quickly. I didn’t see. Just felt the sharp pain in my arm and hand.” He looked away from her, thinking that it hadn’t taken long for him to break his resolution to tell her only the truth from now on. But now was not the time for long explanations. They needed to see Jack, and get him home as soon as possible.

  When young Jack saw his mother and little Frankie, and then his father, being led down the ward by the nurse, he stopped shouting and trying to climb out of the bed with raised sides where he’d been put for his own safety. He stared from one to another, and then back to his father.

  Frankie began to struggle when he saw his big brother, and Paula smiled unsteadily. “What you been getting up to now, then?” she said. “And here’s your dad come to see you. You nearly killed him from the look of him.”

  “Hi, Dad,” Jack said. “I wasn’t aiming at you, y’ know,” he added in a strangled voice.

  “Yeah, I know, lad. An’ I’m not that badly hurt. Women always exaggerate,” he added.

  “Too right,” said the boy, and nodded wisely. “I suppose the old battle-axe won?”

  “’ Fraid so. But you were not the loser, son, not by a long chalk.”

  BY THE TIME PAULA AND JACK SR. EMERGED BACK INTO THE reception area, Lois and Josie were desperate for news. When they heard that Jack would be fine, they relaxed.

  “This is his father, Mrs. M,” Paula said.

  “We’ve met,” said Lois caustically. “In the rain,” she added, and stopped there. There was little point in going over old dramas. God knows what will happen to him, she thought. But it looks as though there’s been a get-together here, for the moment at least.

  “I’m Mum’s daughter,” Josie said, feeling left out. “Shall I take Frankie for you, Paula? I just love giving him a cuddle, and he seems to like me.”

  “Could I have a quiet word, Mr. Hickson?” Lois said, as the others went across to the café for drinks.

  “You want to know about the other bloke, I suppose,” he said, a spasm of pain crossing his face.

  “I know a bit already. If you could just tell me if it was your workmate at Parks and Gardens? The one you had a fight with?”

  Jack nodded. “It was him,” he said. “I think he had been following me, and right at the last minute he appeared from nowhere. I knew at once it was him.” He said nothing about his own long and fruitless attempt to find Ross. “He said something,” he continued, “but I couldn’t hear because of the cheering. Then I saw the knife and tried to get away, but I was hemmed in by the crowd. It was then that young Jack’s soap box came straight towards us. The knife caught my arm as the fool went down.”

  “And?”

  “He was killed instantly,” Jack said slowly. “Hit his head on a stone bollard on the pavement. The knife fell to the ground, and a cop picked it up.”

  “What are you two talking so seriously about?” Josie said, as they returned with a tray of coffees. “We should be celebrating that things weren’t any worse!”

  Lois said nothing, and nor did Jack Sr. Frankie amused them all with his attempts at drinking apple juice through a straw, and the third stretcher was not mentioned again.

  SIXTY-ONE

  GAVIN, KATE AND CECILIA AMBLED HOME WITH TONY AND Irene Dibson. They didn’t talk much, except to say that it had been a wonderful day. Until the last minute, that is.

  “Took the shine off it,” Tony said. He struggled to get the wheelchair over a rough patch on the pavement, and Gavin insisted on taking over.

  “I saw it all,” Kate said in a small voice. “I was so excited, and so was Derek. He was standing at the finishing line and we’d just had a word when they came down the track. He was rooting for young Jack, like most other people. Then it happened. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Rebellion seemed to be going so well.”

  “Well, actually,” began Gavin hesitantly, “there might have been a bit of a problem with the steering. The garage man was checking the vehicles at the start, and he said something about too much play on the wheel. But Derek was going to have a word with John Thornbull to tighten it up.”

  “Oh, Lord!” said Kate. “D’you think that’s what happened? Why it went off course?”

  “They’ll find out,” said Irene. “There’s bound to be an investigation. Three people were hurt, weren’t they? I do hope they’re all okay.”

  “Don’t you worry, missus,” Tony said, taking over the chair and pushing up his garden path. “Derek will see to it.”

  DEREK WAS WAITING ANXIOUSLY FOR HIS MOBILE TO RING WITH news from the hospital. He had been busy trying to clear people away from the accident so that the ambulance could get near, and he did not really know the details of who was hurt—or worse. He had seen three stretchers taken, and that was all.

  He was keeping busy, helping out wherever it was needed, dismantling the straw bale barrier, taking down the ramp, collecting up notices and so on. “Heard anything yet?” John Thornbull shouted to him from his forklift truck. Derek shook his head. “I’ll let you know, boy,” he said.

  Preying on his mind was the obvious question. Had the steering failed on Rebellion? He could not now remember whether or not he had asked John to check it. So much had been going on, and he had been required everywhere at once. The sensible thing to do would be to ask John right now, when he was there in front of him.

  “John!” he shouted. “Can you come down here a minute?”

  They stood by the half-dismantled ramp and John thought hard. “I couldn’t swear to it,” he said, “but I don’t think you asked me. I know I didn’t look at it, and I think I would’ve if you’d asked. But honestly, Derek, there were people firing questions at me from all sides and I really can’t remember. Do you think that’s why the box went into the crowd?”

  Derek frowned. “I’m not sure, of course,” he said, “but it was just at the time there was a scuffle on the edge of the track and a straw bale went crooked, leaving a gap. Seems a bit of a coincidence. We shall know a bit more when Lois rings, I hope.”

  A man Derek recognized as a local journalist approached. “Can I have a word, Mr. Meade?” he said. “Just a few details to add to my paper’s big feature about the grand prix.”

  Oh God, thought Derek. I know exactly what he wants to ask. “What can I tell you?” he said as pleasantly as he could. No point in antagonising the press.

  “It was the accident that occurred in the final. Do you know who got hurt? A young boy driving, I believe? And two other men? Do you have their names?”

  Derek shook his head. “Sorry, no, I don’t. I am waiting for a call from my wife. She took the mother of the boy to hospital.”

  At this point, Derek�
�s mobile rang. “Excuse me,” he said, and walked away, up the garden path and into the bungalow. The old lady who lived there beckoned him in, and shut the door firmly in the journalist’s face.

  “Lois? Thank God you’ve rung. What’s the news?” He dare not phrase the question he wanted to ask. Is Jack Jr. dead? But then he didn’t have to, because Lois told him the good news that he was hurt but alive, and so was his father, who had been in the crowd, disguised as a woman!

  “And the other bloke?”

  There was a pause, and then Lois cleared her throat. “Didn’t make it, I’m afraid. He hit his head when he fell. But there was something dodgy about him. It seems he had a knife and had gone for Jack’s father. Lucky that Rebellion went into the crowd just at that moment and stopped him. I gather he’d intended to kill.”

  “Blimey! Looks like it’s more complicated than we thought.”

  “I’m just leaving now. Jack’s dad has to stay in overnight, so I’m bringing Paula and Frankie, and Josie, back home.”

  “And young Jack?”

  “He has to stay for a while until they’re sure he’s okay to release.”

  “Sounds like prison,” Derek said, without thinking.

  Again a pause from Lois. “That might happen,” she said, and rang off.

  CECILIA WAS SAFELY ASLEEP IN BED, AND GAVIN AND KATE SAT with a drink in hand watching the local news.

  “Here we go,” said Kate, as the announcer said that a successful day in Long Farnden had been marred by an accident resulting in three people being taken to hospital. Luckily, they had some good shots of the soap boxes in action before the final race, and a great one of Mrs. Tollervey-Jones spurring on Jam & Jerusalem as she careered round the corner by the green. Then there was a shot of Rebellion turning off course and screams and shouts as the crowd tried to escape.

  “Pity we can’t see exactly what happened,” Gavin said, leaning forwards to look more closely. “Mrs. T-J is in the way.”

  “It still looks grim,” Kate said. “Perhaps they’ll tell us who was hurt, and how badly.”

  But the item ended there, with no further details of names or the condition of the people involved.

  The phone rang, and Kate went to answer it. “Josie? Are you back home?”

  Josie explained she had just got in, and was ringing to say she’d picked up an evening paper in the hospital and had some news that might interest them.

  “How’s the boy?”

  “Ah, it’s not about the accident. But young Jack is okay, and so is his father.”

  “His father?”

  Josie gave her a brief account of their meeting in the hospital, and then said again that she had something else to tell them. She knew Paula Hickson had talked to Lois about things that had happened in the past, and this had something to do with where she worked once as a catering assistant.

  Kate’s heart stopped. The construction development company and Tim Froot. She had forgotten all about him for one whole day.

  “It’s about that building business in Tresham. You know that Dutch one? I think you said Gavin used to work there?”

  “Me, too,” said Kate. “What’s the story?”

  “Gone bust,” said Josie. “The boss is up for fraud and embezzlement, trafficking and God knows what else. They arrested him yesterday. Kate? Are you still there?”

  SIXTY-TWO

  JACK JR. HAD PLENTY OF TIME TO THINK WHAT HE WOULD SAY when the police asked him questions. It had been agreed that in view of the trauma he must have suffered, they would try to keep him resting and quiet over Sunday, and begin their questioning on Monday. He went along with this, sure that they would want his account of what had happened. He had no intention of telling them the truth, which was that he had steered straight at his and his father’s enemy, with the intention of seriously harming him. He knew he had succeeded, although when he asked the nurses they just flaffed about, not telling him.

  Now, bright and early on Monday morning, he was ready for them. He had remembered that stuff about the steering not being right. The man from the garage had said so to Derek Meade, and he’d said John Thornbull would take a look at it. But had he? Jack had hardly left Rebellion’s side all day, until the final race had ended. He could not remember anybody looking closely at the steering, or anything else on the box, for that matter. If anybody had asked him about the steering, he would have denied that there was anything wrong with it. He knew it was perfect.

  He helped himself to an apple from a bowl of fruit the nurses had brought him, and continued to think. He thought of possible answers to questions that were certain to be asked. It might be a good thing to blame the steering, and get Mr. Meade and John Thornbull to support him. Yes, that would be best.

  To the nurse who had just come on duty, he smiled sweetly. He was determined now to get out of this place as soon as possible. He was fed up with the parents of screaming kids who looked across at him, all alone and without visitors, and came over to be nice to him. Little did they know, he thought, that he had ordered his mother to stay away and look after the others, and his father was still having tests somewhere else in this great rabbit warren of a hospital.

  He needed to plan. With any luck he would be allowed home today or tomorrow, and then there would be a while before they would expect him back at school.

  “Now then,” the nurse said. “How are we feeling today?”

  “I don’t know about you,” said Jack Jr., “but I’m feeling fine. I hope the doctor will say I can go home today.”

  “Ah, well, we shall just have to wait and see. Now, do you want anything?”

  “To go home,” said Jack Jr., on the principle that if you said something often enough it was bound to happen.

  The nurse had read his notes, where he was described as a mixed-up, feisty youngster, who needed firm handling. “Patience is a virtue,” she recited gently, “possess it if you can, seldom in a woman, never in a man.”

  “If I’m a man,” retorted Jack Jr., “why am I in a sodding children’s ward?”

  “No beds free in the men’s ward. One of them occupied by your father, I believe? Would you like a visit from him? I know he’s walking about.”

  Jack Jr. considered this, and said he thought his dad would be coming down later to see him anyway. He needed some more thinking time before he rehearsed what he would say to the police. His dad would know at once if he was lying, but now he had no need to lie. The steering had not been checked, and the garage man had said it was loose. That was all he needed to say to anyone who asked.

  “OF COURSE YOU MUST GO IN TO SEE HIM,” LOIS SAID FIRMLY TO Paula, who had called her to say would it be all right if she got Floss to fill in for her at the hall this afternoon.

  “And don’t worry about asking Floss. I’ll do your hours myself. I’d quite like a chat with Mrs. T-J. I bet she’s impossible now she’s the soap box champion. Still, she did do well, the dear old thing. She’s put Farnden WI on the map! Several calls have come through from newspapers and telly people, and not all wanting to know about the accident. Jam & Jerusalem is a star!”

  “Thanks, Mrs. M,” Paula said. “The kids are taken care of, and I can take in my two Jacks in one fell swoop!”

  “Oh, right,” said Lois. She wondered whether she could sound out Paula on the husband and wife situation, and decided against it. None of her business, Derek would say. She wished Paula well, and said to give her regards to young Jack. “He’s in the news at the moment,” she added, “but he’ll soon drop out of it again, so don’t let him get too bigheaded.”

  Paula said that now she would have Jack’s father to help control him, she reckoned her wayward son was going to be a lot easier to handle in the future. So there’s my answer, thought Lois.

  Gran came in with coffee, and asked who had been on the phone. Lois was tempted to tell her it was a business call, but then relented and gave her a brief account of Paula’s call.

  “Oh, that’s great,” said Gran, “and not b
efore time. A boy needs his father, especially at young Jack’s age. I’m off now,” she added. “Triumphant meeting of the WI Jam & Jerusalem committee.”

  “But you weren’t on it,” Lois objected.

  “I’m deputizing for you,” said Gran. “I told them you’d be too busy this morning, but I knew you’d want to spend some time with Jamie before he goes back.”

  Old bag, that was meant to be a subtle reminder, said Lois to herself, but she smiled. Still, she’s right. But first, a call to my friendly neighbourhood policeman.

  “Morning, Lois,” said Cowgill. “How are you, and how’s your clever husband? A great day yesterday. Must have raised a mint for the village hall refurbishment?”

  “Not counted up yet. Anyway, that’s not what I’m ringing about. What’s more, you know it’s not.”

  “Right. So what exactly did happen in the last race? Chris is going in to see the Hickson boy this afternoon, and anything you can tell us would be a great help.”

  “Before we get on to that,” Lois said, “Derek says it’s possible Rebellion’s steering was faulty. He was supposed to have got John Thornbull to check it, but thinks he may have forgot. Now let’s talk about the man who was killed. You’ve checked, I expect?”

  “He had no identification on him, but you know who he was, don’t you, Lois. Come on, light of my life, save me some valuable police time.”

  “Hunter Cowgill,” said Lois, “don’t push me too far. Think back. Jack Hickson Sr. had a major bust up at Parks and Gardens, and injured a man who’d quarrelled with him. So, if you remember that Jack Hickson Sr. was standing next to the man who died, and a knife had been drawn a couple of seconds before Rebellion crashed into them, doesn’t that make you wonder?”

  “What are you saying, Lois? Do you mean young Jack’s father killed him?”

  “No, not that way round, stupid! The man flashing the knife was after Jack Sr., aiming to settle a score. It was when he fell backwards and hit his head on the bollard that he bought it. Got it? I don’t know his name, but I’ll probably find out. Just tell Chris to go easy on young Jack. What happens next will probably affect the rest of his life. Let me know how it goes. Please.”