by Ann Purser
“Hello, is that Inspector Cowgill?” It was, and he was delighted to hear from Lois. However, he kept his delight out of his voice, and asked her crisply what he could do for her.
“You asked me to keep my eyes open—something to do with that Wycombe lot. Well, I need to ask a question or two. I can’t help unless you squeeze the tiniest bit of information out for me.”
Cowgill ignored the sarcasm, and said, “Fire away. What d’you want to know?”
“How many, where do they meet, what do they do, and is one of them called Max?”
He gave her details that made grim listening. Up to thirty had been seen gathering in twilight on Tresham Common. They liked fires, and were not averse to a spot of chanting. Nothing had been proved, but they were thought to be behind a lot of the racial disturbances in town. And not just blacks. Chinese, immigrants, gays. They were not fussy. Max Wedderburn was their leader. “A very nasty piece of work, too,” added Cowgill. “We’re watching them closely, but they’re smart. Always out of the way by the time we arrive, and careful not to infringe any by-laws at their meetings. Kind of sad mixture of good old-fashioned black arts, and the KKK, which is infinitely worse, and why we’re more than interested in Mr. Wedderburn-cum-Cockshutt.”
“Well,” said Lois, a catch in her voice. “That’s not too good, because our Sharon Miller has gone to a party with the said Max Wedderburn, and I have no idea where it is.”
“Ah,” said Cowgill.
“One more thing,” said Lois. “Are they dangerous?”
“Yes,” said Cowgill bluntly. “Every instinct in my old policeman’s body tells me they’re dangerous, so sit tight, Lois, and I’ll keep you posted. Bye.”
But this was not good enough for Lois. She felt a reluctant responsibility for Sharon, and pulled on her coat, yelling out to Gran that she was just off to borrow ice cream. That would do for the moment.
The street was dark, and a cold wind made Lois wish for her scarf. She passed old Cyril’s house, shut up now, with its mullioned windows blank and dead. Like Cyril, really. Lois knew there was something about Cyril at the back of her mind she’d meant to follow up. His sister? No, that had been a false trail. The old girl had hardly known him for years. Big show for his funeral, but no help in guessing what took him off so violently. Ah, well, it would come back. Right now she had to find out where Sharon had been taken. She turned in at Miller’s garage and knocked at the house door.
“Is Sharon in?” she said, as Mr. Miller answered the door.
He shook his head. “Gone out to a party,” he said. He peered out into the darkness. “Mrs. Meade, is it? Come in, won’t you. It’s a chilly night again.” He stood aside to admit Lois, and took her into a warm, cheerful sitting room.
Mrs. Miller stood up, smiling. “Hello,” she said. “What brings you out so late? Nothing wrong with Sharon’s work, I hope?”
“No, not at all,” said Lois. “She’s fine. I’d nipped out to post a letter, and thought I’d have a quick word about tomorrow’s client. Save a phone call. But she’s not here?”
“Gone out with the new boyfriend,” Mrs. Miller said. She frowned, and added, “Not sure I like this one. Too smarmy by half. Now that Sandy, he’s a nice lad. Bit flighty, from what I hear! But that’s right and proper at his age. No, this new one is a different kettle of fish all together.”
“Do I know him?” said Lois innocently, taking the chair offered by Mr. Miller.
“We didn’t.” Sharon’s father was unsmiling. “Just appeared suddenly. Turned up at Cyril’s funeral. God knows why. Our Sharon took a tumble and he steadied her. Now it’s Max this and Max that, and we don’t hear no more about Sandy Mackerras. I know which one I prefer,” he added glumly.
“Ah, well, our Josie was the same,” said Lois, remembering her own daughter’s involvement with serious crime. “And look at her now—couldn’t be more respectable and settled! Still, if you think there’s something not quite right, perhaps we should at least find out where she’s gone?”
“Chance’d be a fine thing,” said Mr. Miller. “We asked, but she didn’t answer. ‘Where’re you going?’ we asked, but all she said was ‘Out!’ Slammed the door and was gone. All done up in her best, hair washed, lots of makeup. Isn’t that right, gel?” He turned to his wife, who nodded.
“Like a cup of tea?” Mr. Miller said, suddenly reluctant to let Lois go.
But Lois’s niggling worry had turned to anxiety now, and she stood up. “Better not,” she said. “Derek’ll be wondering where I’ve got to. Cheerio—and don’t worry too much. We all go through it!”
If only I was as sure as I sound, she thought, hurrying back up the street. There was one person who might remember something, with a little prompting. Brian Rollinson. Sharon must have rabbited on as usual to him, and it was unlikely she’d keep a party to herself. She would ring him straightaway.
“Good evening, Mrs. Meade. What can I do for you?” Brian tried to keep irritation at bay. He’d been in the middle of a really good play on television—a rare enough happening—and almost left the phone to ring. But it could have been Sandy. He had said he didn’t know what time he’d be home, but not late. It wasn’t Sandy.
“Did Sharon mention a party? No, I would have mentioned it to you, wouldn’t I? But she does run on, so it’s possible I wasn’t listening. With Max Wedderburn? Ah, now that’s the one we were talking about, isn’t it. I don’t know much about his haunts … where they meet, get together and do whatever it is they do. Mumbo jumbo, Sandy said, but he did go once or twice. Something there that attracts him, I suppose. Now, let me think.”
Lois waited, fingers crossed. “Yes, this might help,” Brian continued more confidently. “I believe your son knows Annabelle—granddaughter of Mrs. T-J—up at the Hall. Gone away? Oh, I didn’t know that. But she was certainly one of the group, or society, or whatever they call themselves. Could be they meet up at the Hall sometimes? There’s plenty of secret places on the estate, if that’s what they like. You know, my dear,” he added confidingly, “I had my suspicions that the burnt cross we found in the churchyard had something to do with that lot.”
Lois remembered the small handkerchief with “A” embroidered in the corner. “Thanks,” she said quickly. “Thanks a lot, vicar. See you.” And rather to Brian’s disappointment now, the phone clicked off. Then he heard Sandy’s key in the lock and forgot all about Lois.
“Ah, there you are.” Brian looked at Sandy’s flushed face. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. Might go out later. There’s a good programme on telly I’ll miss, but you can record it for me.” Sandy went straight to the fridge, looking for a beer. He turned to Brian, his breath revealing that it wouldn’t be the first that evening. “Thought I asked you to get some supplies?” he said crossly. “Been looking forward to one all the way home.”
“Sorry,” said Brian. “I’ll go down to the pub. Won’t take me long.”
“OK,” said Sandy. “But don’t be long. I’ve got one or two things to do, and then I’ll be off. And I don’t want that programme missed.” His belligerent tone depressed Brian, but he promised to be back and left.
Sandy completed his task quickly, sniffed at his hands, then washed them and changed into fresh clothes. He slumped down on the sofa. It shouldn’t be long now before he had his own place. Maybe he could tempt Rebecca to join him … a woman’s touch about the place, and all that … God, he was tired! Funny way to make a living, flogging houses. And what on earth had Brian got on the telly? Some God-bothering programme. He turned down the sound and leaned back, eyes closed. A quick cat-nap would do no harm, then he’d be on his way. Brian would be back in a few minutes and he’d wake him. He began to snore gently.
“LOIS!” IT WAS DEREK, BACK HOME IN A GUST OF COLD air. “For God’s sake, woman, get off that phone. I’m expecting an important message about a big contract, but they’ll never get through at this rate.”
“And hello duckie to you, too,” said Lois. S
he had not taken off her coat and, planting a moist kiss on Derek’s cold cheek, said she’d be back soon. “Just off to clinch a job with a woman on the new estate. She’s only there in the evenings.” Then she was gone.
“Is that you, Lois?” called Gran. “Did you get the ice cream?”
Derek walked into the sitting room. “No, it’s me,” he said. “Your daughter has flown the coop, and as far as I know, taken the ice cream with her. What’s for tea?”
LOIS’S CAR WAS SLOW TO START. DAMP, PROBABLY. IT was not old, and had served her well so far. A smart white van, with New Brooms in gold lettering, it had been her proud purchase a couple of years ago. After one more attempt it fired, and Lois was on her way to the Hall. She found herself going faster than usual in the narrow, twisting lane. And what am I going to do if I find them? she asked herself. March in and demand to take Sharon home? She’s not a child, for God’s sake. But she kept going, and finally turned into the long drive up to the Hall. There were no lights in the house itself, but security lights snapped on as she drove into the stable yard. Nothing. No cars, nobody in the outbuildings. Everything quiet and still. They’d not met here, then.
Lois got out of the van and looked around. The stable yard was muddy with the rain, and a whinny from one of the loose boxes reminded her that Mrs. T-J kept a couple of hunters for her own use. Lois walked over to check on them, and stepped straight into thick mud. She looked down, furious with herself. New shoes, too! Then she saw the tracks. The security lights were bright, and she identified quite clearly the tracks of a car. And over in the shadows more showed up. Soon she realized they criss-crossed the entire yard. A number of cars had been here then, and quite recently. Damn! Must have been a short party … unless it continued somewhere else.
A stab of panic hit Lois. Where had they gone now—and why?
THIRTY-TWO
THE WYCOMBE SOCIETY WAS ON THE MOVE. SHARON, back in Max’s car, was feeling decidedly peculiar. “Am I a bit out of it?” she asked Max, and giggled. Had she had too many glasses of that stuff, whatever it was? She couldn’t remember. She felt a bit sleepy, and not able to focus properly. But at the same time, she felt marvellous. She’d been the star of the party! They’d all crowded round her, asking Max to introduce them. After a while, she’d begun to see herself as the heroine of one of her novels. Little village mouse makes it into the big time! Now she knew the sky was the limit. She felt invincible. Max had shushed them all, and had made a speech, while they all hung on his every word. Something about perverts? She didn’t really approve of that kind of language, but Max had sounded so grand. She was going out with somebody really important! If only he’d do something about his teeth. Sharon giggled again, and Max found her hand, squeezing it and sending lovely shivers through her. If only Sandy had been there, like Max had said.
“Where’re we going?” she asked again.
“You’ll see,” he said. “We’ll have that barbecue I promised you.”
“Isn’t it a bit cold?” Sharon was sober enough to know her leather jacket was smart, but too short to keep her warm. “No, I’d rather go home,” she said. “If it’s all right with you. Or … we could go to the pub?” Her voice was bright. She felt intelligent and sharp. Equal to any of them, she reckoned. What was it that Annabelle had said just now? Something about Sharon only being there for the power. Only she’d said it in capital letters: The Power.
“Hey,” she said suddenly. “I thought that Annabelle had gone back to London? Mrs. M said her Jamie was a bit upset.” Lois had said nothing of the sort to Sharon, of course, but she had eavesdropped. Useful stuff you could pick up that way. She giggled again. “Bit out of his league there, anyway,” she added.
“Annabelle came back to look after the horses,” Max said shortly. He negotiated a sharp corner, and then Sharon realized where they were. Back in Long Farnden, outside the village hall, and all driving very slowly with no lights, into the car park. Engines were switched off, and there was complete silence. Sharon heard an owl hoot to its mate at the bottom of the playing field. “What’re we doing?” she said, a quaver in her voice.
“Sshh …” Max put his finger to his lips. Silence again.
Sharon shivered. “But …”
“You’ll see,” he whispered. “Not long to wait, but we have to be quiet … Your moment will come very soon.” He grinned at her, but she could not see in the darkness. There was usually a security light at the back of the village hall. Why hadn’t it come on?
Suddenly Sharon felt afraid, and reached for the door handle. “Locked,” whispered Max. “Sit quiet, there’s a good girl. Not long to wait now,” he repeated, and silence fell once more.
THE PUB WAS WARM AND WELCOMING, AND BRIAN OBEdiently ordered himself a half of Best.
“Evenin’, vicar,” said a friendly voice. It was Bill Stockbridge, and by himself, Brian noted. They fell easily into conversation. Bill talked about his church back in Yorkshire, and asked Brian questions which he evaded without trouble. It was so nice to talk to a young man without having to watch every word, reflected Brian. He relaxed, and ordered another half.
“And what are you having?” he asked Bill.
“Same again, thanks,” said Bill. “Aren’t you having another?”
“No, I have to get back,” Brian said, but Bill wasn’t having that.
“Give the vicar another half,” he called to the landlord, as they made their way to the chairs by the roaring log fire.
“Good for business for you, a night in the pub,” said Bill, with a grin. “Mix with the locals, and all that.”
“I suppose that’s true,” said Brian. “But I do have to get back.” His full glass arrived, and looked inviting. Sandy hadn’t said what time his programme was, but the ones he wanted to watch were usually pretty late on. A little longer wouldn’t matter. Bill was a very good-looking lad. Better watch it, though. They talked on, and refilled their glasses. Brian forgot about the programme, but realized Bill was getting fuddled, and worried about him driving back to Waltonby. He supposed he should offer him a lift, but thought he should soon be getting back. There was a reason, wasn’t there? He shook his head to clear it, but he couldn’t remember. For the first time, he felt relaxed and accepted in the pub. And it was quite pleasant to be away from Sandy’s constant sniping. He’d been getting worse lately, no matter how Brian tried to please him. Brian laughed louder than necessary when Bill said he did not know how the vicar put up with that little squirt who lived with him.
“Sandy, you mean?” What had the boy done to make Bill so virulent? Ah, now he was saying something about Rebecca. All was becoming clear. Sandy had made several passes at Bill’s girl, and she was reciprocating.
“Not the same at home at all,” said Bill thickly. “She’s not my loving Rebecca any more. I could kill him, nasty little—”
“Hey, hold up!” said Brian. “He’s my godson, you know. I have to defend him, I suppose. Though I agree he has a few faults. But he’s done wonders with the choir. You must give him that, Bill. Got a roving eye, yes. But he’s young, still looking around.”
“He’d better look somewhere else then,” said Bill belligerently. “Took up with Sharon Miller and then dropped her again, poor kid.”
“That’s being young, isn’t it?” said Brian wistfully. “Got to play the field until you find the right one.”
Bill stood up. “Well,” he said, clenching his fists, “Rebecca’s the right one for me, and until your Sandy came along, we were very happy. So you can tell him …”
At that moment, Rebecca walked into the pub. “Thought I’d find you here,” she said shortly. She took one look at Bill and ushered him out like a naughty schoolboy. Brian, now mellow and full of goodwill to all men, began another conversation with young farmers up at the bar.
Much later, to his surprise, Rebecca was back. “He’s escaped,” she said, “silly fool. I’ve searched everywhere. Could you possibly help me find him? He’s in no fit state to be out on h
is own.” She looked at Brian, swaying slightly on his feet. “My God,” she said, “what on earth have you two been up to?”
The end of a perfect day, she thought bitterly, as she took the vicar’s arm to steady him. The governors’ meeting had ended in acrimony, and then Sandy hadn’t turned up to their rendezvous. And now this. Perhaps it’s time I moved on, she thought to herself. Ah well, first things first. Got to find that big idiot, before he does something stupid.
THIRTY-THREE
THE RAIN HAD STOPPED, AND THOUGH IT WAS LATE and there was no moon, it was not completely dark. As the unlikely pair trudged slowly arm-in-arm back to the vicarage, Rebecca suddenly stopped. “Hey!” she said. Brian had his head down in a vain attempt to see where he was going. “Hey, Brian! Look at that!” She started off again, at a quick trot, dragging him behind her. He looked fuzzily to where she had pointed and was sober in an instant.
Fire! And coming from the direction of the vicarage. Even as they began to run in earnest, Brian could hear crackles and shouting, and saw showers of sparks shooting up into the air like unseasonal fireworks. Oh, my God! Sandy!
A crowd had gathered, and Mr. Miller from the garage came running up to the vicar. “Thank God you’re safe!” he said. “Fire engine’s been sent for. We don’t know how long it’s been alight, but a while, from the look of it.”
Rebecca pulled away from Brian, but was immediately grabbed. She screamed. “He might be in there! Sandy might be in there!”
“You’re going nowhere,” Brian said. “Leave it to me.” He got as far as the path to the front door, and was held back at once by several bystanders. He struggled, suddenly enormously strong, but could not break free. He began to sob. “I left him in there,” he said. “He could still be there … gone to sleep … Oh God, please keep him safe,” he moaned.
Then the fire engine could be heard in the distance. But before it reached them, Brian saw a shadow moving across an upstairs window. There, against a fiery backdrop, was the unmistakable silhouette of his godson. Sandy was trying desperately to open a window. It was locked, Brian thought dully. And the window keys were in the kitchen, in an old Ovaltine tin, on the shelf. He fell to his knees, and his captors released him, standing back and staring at the window. Then there was an explosion and a burst of flames and they watched helplessly as the black figure fell back, disappearing into the inferno.
