7 Sorrow on Sunday (18 page)

“Easy,” said Dot. “Close as a couple o’ toads, Horace and Joe are. Gambling, women, money. Been goin’ on for years. Mind you, they’re close in other ways, too. Nothing much leaks out. Got away with it for years, too. If you want to know more about them, I got contacts. As for the stable thefts, I’ll see what I can do.” She stood up and held out her hand. “Partners?” she asked.

“For now,” answered Lois, shaking her hand. “But with a get-out clause at any time.”

“Goes for me, too,” said Dot cheerfully, and made for the door.

*   *   *

L
OIS BEGAN TO TIDY UP THE DESK, AND AS SHE TOOK
the dirty mugs into the kitchen, she heard a loud squeal of brakes, and then an engine revving.

“Oh no!” she yelled, and rushed out into the road. Not far from Dot Nimmo’s house near the top end of the road she could see a dark shape lying in the road. People were beginning to run towards it, and Lois joined them.

“Let me through!” she shouted, and pushed her way to the front of the gathering spectators. “Oh, God,” she said in a shocked voice. “Not Dot! Please God, not Dot!”

But of course it was Dot, and in due course police and ambulance arrived, and Lois was making another call to Gran, saying she would be home later than expected.

“A
ND GUESS WHO WAS QUICKLY ON THE SCENE?”
D
EREK
asked grimly.

Gran, Derek and Lois were in the sitting room, and for once the television was not on. It was quite late, and Lois had forced down a meal, with Derek and Gran sternly standing over her. Now, after a long pause, Derek had made his sour remark.

“Yes, you’re right. Cowgill was there,” Lois said flatly. Gran reckoned she was in shock, and had said so. Lois had denied it hotly, but was like a zombie going through the motions of the day.

“You haven’t told us much, lovey,” Gran said gently. She remembered when Lois was a young girl, reluctant to confide in her parents. She needed coaxing. “Was Dot all right when she left you in the office?”

Lois gave herself a little shake and made an effort. “She was fine. We’d had a good talk, and sorted things out. It was going to be easier in the future for both of us. I admire her, you know. Dogged and brave, in her way.”

“What did the ambulance man say?” Derek said. “Was she . . . well, you know, had she snuffed it?”

“Nearly,” said Lois. “They reckoned she couldn’t live much longer. Extensive injuries, they said . . .”

Suddenly Lois collapsed and hid her face in her hands. Derek moved to sit next to her on the sofa, and put his arm around her shoulders. She pulled herself together in seconds. Lois Meade did not blub. But the lapse in self-control had relaxed her, and she began to tell them the whole story, from beginning to end, but leaving out the partnership pact.
“I keep thinking that if I’d let her go earlier, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Had you thought, me duck,” said Derek, “that whoever ran her down might have been waiting for her? It wouldn’t have mattered what time she came out of the office, she’d still have been in trouble. Didn’t anybody see the sodding hit-and-run merchant?”

“Don’t know,” Lois said, “but you know what Sebastopol is like.”

“I expect you’ll be hearing from Cowgill, anyway,” Derek said. “You can bet on it.”

“I have to make a statement,” Lois said. “So I expect I’ll know more after that.” She was quiet for a minute, and then said angrily, “Who the hell would do a thing like that to a woman like Dot?”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “You’re not telling me Dot was a poor defenceless widder woman, mindin’ her own business and no threat to nobody?”

Lois shrugged. “No, I’m not,” she said, “but I shall still do my best to find out who killed one of my team and then buggered off.”

“She’s not dead yet,” Gran reminded them.

*   *   *

L
ATER IN THE EVENING, THE TELEPHONE RANG.
“I
T’S
for you, Lois. It’s him,” called Derek.

“I’ll take it in the office,” Lois said. “And yes, you can listen in if you want.”

Derek frowned and stomped off upstairs. He dreaded Lois becoming more and more involved in anything to do with the Tresham mobs. They were small beer, compared with some, but could be dangerous, even so. Witness Haydn Nimmo. Derek would never forget the smashed-up face, the awkward twist of his neck.

“Lois, how are you?” Cowgill’s voice sounded anxious. “I’ve been worrying about you. You went off looking so pale and wan.”

“Thank God, then, that you stayed at the scene of the
crime,” said Lois, restored to her usual stroppy self. “Have you got the villain who did it?”

She heard Cowgill sigh. “Not yet,” he said. “But we have good leads, and are following them up.”

“So you’ve got no idea,” said Lois. “Well, neither have I. But I’ve got plenty to work on. When are you coming to take a statement? I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, and can’t waste time.”

“Lois, dear,” Cowgill said, a risky strategy, “I know you’re not heartless. Dot Nimmo worked for you, and I’d expect you to defend her. So you don’t need to pretend to me. A nice young policeman will be round tomorrow morning about ten o’clock. Will that do?”

“It’ll have to, I suppose. You know what I’m going to ask next . . .”

“She’s hanging on,” Cowgill said quietly. “You’ll be the first to know if the worst happens. I’ll see to that personally. Now,” he said in a brisker, police inspector voice. “
I
shall need to see you to ask a few questions. Formally, of course. Can you come down to the station, or would you rather I came to Farnden?”

“I’ll come to you,” said Lois, thinking of the chilly reception he’d get from Derek and Gran. “Tomorrow, I suppose? Blimey, I shall be talking to policemen all day. Can’t I tell it all to the nice young policeman? No. Well, if you were a villain, I’d be deeply suspicious. All right, all right! Three o’clock tomorrow? That’s the only time I can do, and it can’t be for long.”

Cowgill had another appointment at that time, but he said, “Fine. Three o’clock tomorrow, then. Goodbye, Lois.”

He put down the phone and buzzed for his secretary. “Cancel my three o’clock appointment tomorrow,” he said, “and refix it for any other free time.”

*   *   *

I
N THE INTENSIVE CARE DEPARTMENT OF
T
RESHAM
General Hospital, a grey-haired doctor looked down at the inert figure of Dot Nimmo and shook his head. Tubes hung
in festoons around her, and her face was parchment yellow. The heart monitor bleeped away her life, with alarming gaps at intervals.

A young nurse stood by. “Sad, isn’t it?”

“It’s always sad,” replied the doctor. “I’ve lost count of how many Nimmos I’ve seen in this hospital over the years. You could say they were an unlucky family, but they made their own luck. Let’s hope this is the last,” he added, and walked away.

A
LICE
P
ARKER
-K
NOWLE WAS THE FIRST PERSON
L
OIS TELEPHONED
the next day. It was fortunate that Dot had not as yet worked for many New Brooms clients. Alice was first because Dot had worked for her before, and was obviously a special person to her.

“Is that Mrs. Parker-Knowle?” Lois wasn’t sure of Alice’s voice yet.

“Oh, hello, Lois. Nothing wrong, I hope?”

When Lois told her what had happened to Dot, there was a long silence. “Alice? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here.” The voice was calm, not what Lois had expected.

“I’ll be sending you another one of the team. They are all good people.”

“Not like Dot, though,” Alice said quietly. “She brightened my life, Lois. When you get to my age, not many people can do that.” There was another pause, and then Alice continued. “Did she tell you about the paint sprayed on her windscreen?”

“I saw it,” Lois answered. “Dot didn’t seem too bothered about it.”

“It was the second warning in one day. Somebody had clamped her car while she was having a quick sausage roll before coming on to me. She was late, by the time it was taken off. She made up the time, of course.”

Lois frowned. “She didn’t tell me that,” she said. “In Dot’s circle, threats and feuds are part of life. Most come to nothing, and she probably reckoned it would all be sorted out.” She thought privately that Dot must have been vulnerable ever since her Handy had died. Haydn had obviously
been no protection, and she had been left alone to cope. Lois’s anger rose. “We don’t know yet,” she said, “that the accident was deliberate. But the car didn’t stop. Not sure if anybody saw anything, but it’s still rough around there and most people think it best to keep mum. You can be sure I shan’t let it rest, Alice. Meanwhile, Dot is still alive, just, and we must hope and pray.”

*   *   *

T
HE
B
UCKLANDS WERE NOT TOO CONCERNED.
T
HEY
said they were sorry, and asked when the replacement would be coming. Their au pair girl was not accustomed to cleaning, and her time was fully taken up with helping the nanny look after the children.

Blanche Battersby was nearly as upset as Alice. Although she had had only a brief acquaintance with Dot, she had looked forward to her next visit. The confidence of the woman made her feel better, stronger, more able to cope with Horace. It was ridiculous to think like that, Blanche knew, but she had found herself disagreeing with him several times lately, and not giving way to his blustering.

Lois wasn’t sure whether she needed to ring Margaret Horsley straight away, but then remembered the appointment, and dialed her number. A man answered.

“Joe Horsley here. Who’s that?”

“Lois Meade, New Brooms. Is Mrs. Horsley there, please?”

“No, she’s not. But how are you getting on, Mrs. Meade? Spent all your money yet?” His voice was unpleasant, and Lois bristled.

“I’ll call back,” she said.

She was about to ring off when Joe said, “Is the old bag dead?”

It was like a shower of cold water. Lois shivered. How did he know about Dot? She had said nothing, and she’d checked that the story was not in the local paper that morning.

“What old bag?” she asked quietly. “Who do you mean?”

Joe Horsley laughed loudly. “Oh, come on, duckie,” he
said. “You’d better stay out of all this. Too deep for amateurs. You’ll cry at her funeral, I expect, but there won’t be many others.”

Lois heard the click as he ended the call. She put down her phone and sat motionless, thinking. Finally she was interrupted by Gran coming in with a message.

“You all right, Lois?” she said. “There’s a policeman at the door, come to take a statement. I’ve settled him in the sitting room. Didn’t you hear him?”

Lois shook her head. “Miles away,” she said. “Thanks, Mum. I’ll come through.”

*   *   *

“G
OOD MORNING,
M
RS.
M
EADE.”
T
HE POLICEMAN
stood up politely. He was young, but not the fresh-faced novice she had been expecting. She guessed he was about thirty, and he seemed calm and confident.

“Sit down, then,” Lois said. “I see Mum got you a cup of coffee. You’d better drink it down, else you won’t be able to write, will you?”

The policeman grinned. He had been forewarned by Inspector Cowgill. “Thank you, Mrs. Meade,” he said, and gulped it down. “Now, I have to ask you a few questions . . .”

“I know all that,” Lois said. “Let’s get on with it. I’ve got work to do.”

“First I have to tell you my name,” he said. “I’m Matthew Vickers. I’ve been loaned from Manchester for a few weeks.”

“Thanks,” Lois said. “I’ll try to remember that.”

In spite of her anxiety to be rid of him as soon as possible, she found him extremely charming, but steely. She answered his questions, and found that he spotted immediately her attempts at concealment. She was a match for him, of course, but had to be alert and on her guard.

Finally, he thanked her, put on his hat and walked to the front door. “You’ve been most helpful, Mrs. Meade,” he said. “Oh, and Inspector Cowgill sends his good wishes. I understand you work with him from time to time.”