Foul Play at Four

by Ann Purser

  “No, Gran, wait!” said Douglas. “He says he’ll be all right. Doesn’t want an ambulance. What d’you think, Mum?”

  Lois looked at Derek. He was pale, and seemed to have laid a large egg at the back of his head. He winked at her, and she sighed. “Looks as if he’ll live,” she said. “Best put on the kettle, Mum.”

  “Hot sweet tea,” said Gran, and took no notice when Douglas said that was for shock, not for a bash on the head.

  Eventually, they all settled down in the warm kitchen, with Derek downing strong painkillers for an almighty headache. They considered what had happened.

  “They were already in the house,” Derek said. “When I knocked, I thought nobody was around. But their scruffy old truck was still there, and the engine had been running. When the door opened, I only had time to see one of’em. Big bloke, with black hair and eyebrows that more or less met in the middle. Lowbrow wasn’t in it! Then I heard this scared-sounding voice saying they’d better scarper.”

  “And then you turned your back on them and gave ’em the perfect opportunity to bash you into Kingdom come!”

  “We don’t all have the same expertise as you, Lois, when in tricky situations. I just said if they didn’t beat it right away, I was calling the police. It was the best I could think of. Got the registration number of the truck, though.”

  He fumbled in one pocket, and then another. “Here it is,” he said, and handed it to Lois. She tore out the page and handed the book back. “This’ll be useful. Well done, love. Now, if you’ve had enough of being the man of the hour, I reckon bed would be the best place for you.”

  Douglas stood up. “And I suppose I’m not to mention it to anybody, Mum? And certainly not to Matthew Vickers or Josie?”

  “Not for the present, Dougie, if you don’t mind. This attack on Dad has probably got something to do with other theft jobs going on round the county. I’ll get on to Cowgill tomorrow, I promise. And thanks for coming over so quickly.”

  “He’s me dad, isn’t he?” said Douglas, and patted him on the shoulder. “Night, everybody,” he added, and left.

  “So what’s going on, Lois?” Derek said.

  “At the moment, it looks like a load of burglaries, probably done by the same pair of villains who did the shop, but not the one with the gun, who’s been arrested. He was more in the big time, apparently. Only interested in money, and lots of it. Or big hauls of valuables, like my client over at Fletching, where Andrew’s doing a big interior design job. I need to report to Cowgill tomorrow, then we’ll know more.”

  “Except that you always say he don’t mind taking information, but isn’t s’good at giving it out,” Gran said. “If you ask me, as Ivy Beasley used to say, I’d get on to him right now. Sooner the better. Them criminals could be a long way away by morning.”

  “Not in that vehicle!” said Derek. “No, let’s leave it to Lois. Deal with it in the morning.” He began to stand up, and Lois rushed to his side.

  “Steady now, boy,” she said. “One step at a time.”

  TWELVE

  COWGILL WAS AT HIS DESK EARLY NEXT MORNING. HE HAD taken a day off yesterday to play in a golf tournament at his club, and there was, as always, a pile of papers waiting for him.

  “Morning, Chris,” he said as his assistant poked her head round his door.

  “Did you win?” she said. He looked up at her, and after a pause, she said, “Ah, I see. Well, never mind. Better luck next time.”

  “Come in,” Cowgill said sternly. “Just one thing I have to say to you.”

  “Sir?”

  “Don’t take up golf. Ever. That’s an order.”

  “Right, sir.”

  “Now, let’s get down to work.”

  Five minutes later, the phone rang, and Cowgill answered. “Lois! How are you, my dear?”

  Chris got up. Coffee break, and an unspoken order to take her time about it. She signalled to her boss that she would be back, and closed the door behind her.

  “I’m all right,” said Lois, “but Derek isn’t. He’s been beaten up and has a lump on the back of his head the size of a goose egg. That’s why I’m calling. And don’t ask me if he’s been to the hospital, because he wouldn’t go. I’ve looked up concussion, and he hasn’t got it, and apparently an egg is a good thing.”

  She gave Cowgill brief details of what had happened, and said it looked very likely that the burglars had been the same pair that took money from Josie’s shop. Derek had taken a note of the truck number, she said, and read it out.

  “I’ll get it checked. Probably best if I come over and have a word with Derek,” Cowgill suggested, scenting an opportunity of seeing Lois. “Is around two this afternoon convenient? Good. And don’t worry,” he added. “We can pull those two in anytime we need to. They’re known to us. Following in their father’s footsteps unfortunately.”

  “WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU TWO ARE GOING?” SAID GLADYS. Gerald and Clive were coming down the stairs, carrying large bags stuffed to the gills and spilling out a sock where the zips would not close.

  “Off for a few days, Mum,” Clive said. “Time we had a break, Gerald thinks. Just taking off and following our noses. We’ll let you know where we are. Probably the west country. Maybe see Auntie May in Bristol. Maybe not.”

  “Not definite,” said Gerald. “But we’ll be in touch.”

  “You goin’ in that old truck?” Gladys said, frowning. There was something funny going on here, but she was too well trained to ask for details.

  Gerald shook his head. “Nah. It’d never get there. We’ll swop it with something better from Arthur over on the Churchill estate. He’ll see us right. So if anybody wants to know, Mother, you don’t know where we’ve gone, or how. You know the drill.”

  Gladys sighed. She knew only too well, and she also knew that it was never any good. The cops always caught up in the end. And look where it had landed her no-good husband! She heard the front door bang as her sons departed, and turned to look up at the top cupboard. They’d left her a drop, surely. She fetched the steps to climb up and find the bottle. She stood on tiptoe and then lost her balance. Her foot slipped off the top step, and she lurched sideways, clutched in vain at the cupboard door and fell heavily onto the kitchen floor.

  “D’YOU THINK SHE’LL BE ALL RIGHT ON HER OWN?” CLIVE SAT IN the passenger seat of a well-used Ford, which Arthur had said would take them anywhere they wanted to go. Just fill her up, and off she goes, he had assured them. He’d taken the old truck from them, promising to reduce it to a flattened cube by tomorrow. “Them breakers know their job,” he had assured Gerald. “It ain’t worth nothing anyway,” he had added slyly, holding out an open palm, on which Gerald placed a bundle of twenty-pound notes.

  “You’ve not seen us, then,” Clive had said anxiously as Arthur gave them the Ford key.

  Arthur had shaken his head wisely. “Never ’eard of you,” he said, and winked at Gerald. “Good luck, mate,” he had added, and waved cheerily as they drove off.

  Now Gerald turned and looked at his brother. “Is who all right?” he said.

  “Mum, of course.”

  “She’ll be fine. Nobody like our mum for looking after number one. Dad always used to say she was the trickiest of all of us. Now, for God’s sake, be quiet for a bit. I got some thinking to do.”

  It was warm in the car, and Gerald slotted in some loud music, saying he could only think when he’d got music to shut the world out. For a while, Clive watched the countryside slip by, until it became a blur and his eyelids drooped. Gerald glanced at him. Poor devil, he thought to himself. Not really bright enough for this job, but I have to look after him. After all, I only got one brother. Then a thought struck him. Maybe he’d looked after him too well over the years, not let him stand on his own feet enough. Maybe if things got too hot, he’d be better ditching Clive and see if he’d manage better on his own. It was a thought anyway.

  Gerald had a rough idea of where he would find a sympathetic bed for the night,
and turned off the old northbound Great North Road—no chance they’d go west!—onto a small side road that ended up in a farm high up on moorland that stretched for miles and miles with no other sign of habitation. It was getting dark now, and his headlights picked up a badger crossing the lane. He stepped on the accelerator and felt the bump as he hit it. Great! He began to whistle, and Clive stirred in his sleep.

  There were no lights in the farmhouse, and Gerald drove round to the back of a large barn, where cattle shifted and snuffled in the straw. He switched off the engine and looked at his watch. Harry should be home shortly. Market day in town, and the old boy always went for a drink with his mates before coming home. It’d be a surprise for him! And a nice one, Gerald hoped, feeling in his pocket for the bottle of whiskey he had remembered to get at the corner shop before they left.

  THIRTEEN

  COWGILL AND HIS ASSISTANT CHRIS KNOCKED AT LOIS’S DOOR at two o’clock exactly, and Gran shot out of her kitchen to answer it as usual.

  “Inspector, please come in. Lois was going to speak to you today. She didn’t tell me to expect you in person,” she said conversationally. Now that Josie was engaged to Cowgill’s nephew Matthew, Gran felt entitled to a warmer relationship with Lois’s senior cop.

  “Ah, there you are,” said Lois, coming out of her office and indicating to Cowgill that he should go into the sitting room, where Derek was resting and watching racing on the telly. Gran was about to follow, but a look from Lois caused her to hover in the hall. Chris sat on a chair by the window, and took out her notebook.

  “Afternoon, Derek,” Cowgill said. He knew that he was not Derek Meade’s favourite person, and quite understood why. But his conscience was clear. In all the time he had worked with Lois, he had never overstepped the mark of proper behaviour for a policeman. Affectionate banter, yes, and a genuine concern when Lois had got herself into dangerous situations, certainly. The fact that he had lusted after her—still did, if he was honest—and had loving feelings for her that he had never felt for anyone else, was neither here nor there as far as it concerned Derek. Cowgill occasionally wondered what he would do if Lois finally agreed that there could be something more between them. Back out probably! Anyway, it was not likely to happen.

  “Morning, Inspector,” Derek grunted. “This won’t take long, I hope?”

  “No, no,” said Cowgill soothingly. “Just a few questions for you, and then we’ll see if Lois remembers seeing anything unusual in the stable yard. Now, when exactly did you suspect that something was wrong?”

  Derek gave him a good, factual account of what happened up to the time he was knocked unconscious, and then Lois took over, saying the most unusual thing she found in the stable yard was her husband lying on the ground, out for the count.

  “So you only saw one of them, Derek?” Cowgill checked.

  “Yep, the other was just a scared-sounding voice in the background. I reckon they hadn’t had time to get going on the job they come for.”

  “I expect you’ll check with Mrs. T-J about missing or broken items?” Lois said. “I wouldn’t like any suspicion to fall on my girls.”

  “Who do you send cleaning up there?” Cowgill asked.

  “Paula Hickson and Floss Cullen. They both get on well with the old duck, and that’s not an easy thing, believe me. You know she’s not well?”

  “I heard she’d been excused duties on the bench for a while,” Cowgill said. “Still in London, then. I presume that’s why Derek went up there? To check everywhere was locked up safely?”

  “Not safely enough,” Derek said. “Even I can work that out.” He shut his eyes and frowned for a moment, and Lois immediately said that if Cowgill had finished asking his questions, it was time to leave Derek in peace.

  “We had an emergency this morning at the station, needing all hands,” Cowgill said, rising to his feet, “but one of my officers will be going round this afternoon to chat with the Mowlem brothers. Not like them to be violent, but there’s always a first time, especially with a father like theirs. I’ll keep in touch. Take care, Derek.”

  “Lois will do that,” Derek said bluntly.

  AFTER A QUICK SANDWICH, MATTHEW VICKERS FOUND HIMSELF negotiating the back streets of Tresham, in search of the two dodgy characters he’d followed from Farnden. He strongly disagreed with the decision to let them go with a caution. If he’d had more time, he reckoned he would have found where they’d stashed the cash in their truck. But these days, with so much gang warfare and serious weaponry on the streets, the theft of the till takings from a village shop received only cursory attention from the police.

  Well, it was his Josie’s shop, and if he had to work in off-duty hours, he intended to find out if his suspicions were true, and if not, who had put the frighteners on a defenceless girl, his girl.

  He checked the address held at the station, and pulled up a couple of hundred yards away. This was an area of town where the appearance of a police car was guaranteed to send an alarm signal round the neighbourhood. If he had parked outside their house, the Mowlem brothers could be out of sight before he’d got out of the car.

  He knocked at number eleven, and after a long pause, he heard slow footsteps approaching. The door opened a fraction, and a woman’s face looked out. She had a bandage round one eye, and hobbled with the help of a stick. Good God! And his uncle had said the brothers were not violent!

  “Mrs. Mowlem?” He showed his identity card and asked her if she would answer a few questions. He suggested it would be better if she let him in, as she clearly needed to sit down. “What happened to you?” he enquired with no hope of a truthful answer. As he expected, she said she had fallen from a stepladder whilst trying to reach a high cupboard. How many times had he heard that one? But he said no more about it, and helped her into a chair.

  “Now, I wonder if your sons are about?” he said. “I need a word with them. An emergency, and they might be able to help.”

  “What kind of an emergency?” said Gladys suspiciously. She was used to dodging police questions, but immediately thought something might have happened to the boys.

  “An accident up at Farnden Hall. We know your sons were in the vicinity a day or so previously, and wondered if they could help us.”

  “Not here,” Gladys said blankly.

  “Where are they working, Mrs. Mowlem?” Matthew had little hope of a straight answer, but watched her face closely. That is, he watched half her face. There was a lot of bandage, and one eye was completely covered.

  He was sure she stiffened before saying that they had gone off on a big job down in the west country. Could be away for weeks. And no, she didn’t have an address. They said they’d be in touch. She laughed hollowly. “Not that that means much,” she said.

  “Mobile number?” Matthew asked, hope now more or less extinguished.

  “Not working,” Gladys said. “Never is. Either out of money or battery. Useless things, if you ask me.”

  After Matthew had gone, Gladys wondered whether she had done wrong to mention the west country destination. But no. She reasoned that if they’d said west, they almost certainly meant east, south or north. No, she had done the right thing.

  MATTHEW WALKED BACK DOWN THE STREET, LOOKING ALL ROUND for sight of the old truck. They had the registration number, but he would recognise it without. If he could have a quiet search . . .

  He approached his car, and stopped twenty feet away. All the tyres had been slashed, the windows cracked, and when he got closer, he could see a big dent in the roof. Sod it! His uncle had warned him it was a rough area, but it had seemed quiet enough when he parked. How long had he been with Mrs. Mowlem? It couldn’t have been more than a quarter of an hour. Twenty minutes at the most. He looked up and down the street, but there was nobody in sight. With a sigh, he dialled the station, half dreading what the lads in the ops room would say. As it was, he came under fire more than most, just because he was Cowgill’s nephew. Now they would have a field day.

  A
fter he had made the call, he walked around, aware of twitching curtains and eyes at every window. On an impulse, he dialled Josie at the shop.

  “Matthew? Where are you? Is something wrong?”

  If he needed proof that she was the girl for him, here it was. Before he had said a word, she knew he was in trouble. “Just wanted to say I love you,” he said, and signed off as he saw a breakdown van approaching.

  FOURTEEN

  IN THE GUEST ROOM IN ROBERT’S HOUSE IN SHEPHERD ROAD, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones opened her eyes and squinted at the sunlight streaming in. She never drew her curtains at night, saying that by so doing she would miss the best part of the day. She looked at her watch. Half past seven, and shouts from her grandchildren reached her from the kitchen below.

  She sighed. She had dutifully submitted to an examination by her son’s doctor, and he had pronounced that she should have a few days’ complete rest, and then could go home and make sure she saw her own doctor for further tests. He would write, so that the Tresham surgery would be expecting her. Time to go home, she decided. She would have a word with Robert as soon as possible. Meanwhile, she had to admit that her bed was very comfortable. She turned over so that the sun was not in her eyes, and dozed off.

  A knock at the door heralded a grandchild. “Bye, Grannie! We’re just off to school. See you later!” She smiled. Farnden Hall was going to seem quiet after this. Blessedly quiet maybe, but she was surprised at her own misgivings about returning to a huge, empty and silent house. But she knew she must go, possibly tomorrow. Felicity was a dear girl, but mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law trod a narrow path, full of hazards. One comment too many about child rearing could cause a very chilly response.