Fear on Friday (32 page)

Screaming red SALES notices were everywhere, and the streets were crowded. But soon she was out of the bus station and walking fast down a back alley that came out exactly where she wanted to be. She climbed up stone steps, waited for the automatic doors to open and went in.

The reception area was full of people waiting for attention. A dark, plump girl was sobbing into her handkerchief, and a kindly grey-haired man tried to comfort her. Finally it was Jean’s turn. The young man behind the reception desk apologised for keeping her waiting. “Handbag thieves are out in force today,” he said. “It’s the sales, you know. People come in from the villages, not vigilant enough.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Jean, looking at her watch. “As long as I can be seen right now.” The young man listened to what she had to say, nodded and spoke quietly to someone at the other end of an internal line.

“Yes sir, it’s urgent, apparently. Very well, we’ll bring her up.”

D
OREEN ALSO DRESSED WITH CARE
,
BUT MORE FRIVOLOUSLY
, to please Ken. He liked her to be feminine. It was a chilly morning, but she decided on a frilly blouse and close-fitting skirt. High heels, of course. Then she spent the morning preparing. She made notes and crossed them out. Should she leave the talking to Ken? No, not entirely. She had important things to say. In the end, she decided to wait for the way things went, and act accordingly. Safer to prepare sandwiches! She cut wholemeal bread, placed
smoked salmon on the buttered slices and squeezed lemon juice. Then she remembered Ken liked horseradish with his salmon sandwiches, and made a stack of these as well.

He might arrive early, and she was ready. She had opened a bottle of chilled white wine, and set out the sandwiches on the kitchen table. Sun poured through the windows, and the view down the trim garden and out across the shining water meadows filled her with optimism and confidence. It would go well. She could trust Ken. In fact, she had always trusted Ken more than she could Howard. Howard was a lying toad most of the time. He wasn’t very good at it, and she had almost always found out the truth. After a while, she’d decided it was either divorce or putting up with it, and had decided on the latter. She had found ways of coping, and Ken was one of them. As for Norman Stevenson, he had been like one of those flies that persist on landing on your bare arm no matter how many times you brush them away. He would never take “no” for an answer. He had declared undying love, threatened to reveal what he knew about Howard, but she had never let him come near. Ken and Jean had helped keep him at bay. They knew him well, and Jean had felt sorry for him. Doreen had not, and the letters had been a pleasure, as well as a way of settling her bank balance. She hadn’t asked for much, after all. She hadn’t wanted him dead, but could not raise much sympathy for him now that he had been finally swatted.

A knock at the door. Doreen’s pulse quickened, in spite of herself, and she walked nervously to open up. Ken stood there, frowning. He pushed past her, without the usual peck on the cheek, and went straight into the kitchen. “What’s all this?” he said, looking at the table, the sandwiches and bottle of wine. “Nothing to celebrate, is there?”

His voice was harsh, and Doreen quaked. Surely it was not that bad? It could all be sorted out, no question about that.

“Won’t you take off your coat, dear?” she said.

Ken shook his head, and slumped down into a chair. “What time is she due?” he said.

“Two o’clock. There’s plenty of time for us to have a bite. And I need a drink, even if you don’t.”

Ken said, “We need to talk first.” Doreen felt irritation rising. This was her house, and she expected guests—even Ken Slater—to be at least polite.

“Arc you suffering, then?” she said sharply. “Still got a hangover? It wouldn’t be surprising after your little exhibition yesterday.” He looked at her with bloodshot eyes, and said nothing. She relented, and said, “I wasn’t going to mention it, Ken, but you are such a bloody misery …”

He nodded. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, and sighed. “And yes, I am feeling grim. Still, hair of the dog. But I’ll keep my coat on. Feeling shivery, and I know that serves me right, so you needn’t say so. Here, shall I pour?”

She persuaded him to have a sandwich and the atmosphere lightened. He began by telling her all that had been said between him and Jean the night before, and this morning. “I just hope she believed me,” he said. “I told no lies.”

Doreen said sagely, “There’s ways and ways of telling the truth, Ken dear. I’m sure Jean is with us all the way. It is the matter of Lois Meade we have to talk about.”

“Yes, well, it may be that we are too late. She fancies herself, you know, as a kind of Miss Marple in the village. Been involved in several crimes, ferreting about and informing that Hunter Cowgill. Time he retired,” he added glumly.

“Still, that wouldn’t necessarily stop our Lois,” Doreen said. “Wretched woman, why can’t she mind her own business and stick to cleaning? Ideas above her station, if you ask me.”

“In that case,” said Ken, “we have to remind her. She has to be stopped. Things had quietened down nicely before she started poking her nose here and there. I didn’t like the look of her that day you moved in. And Norman said she’d been very narky with him. Denied anything to do with being a private eye. Mind you, I can’t think why he ever rang her … he must have been desperate, poor sod.”

Doreen had a sudden impulse to tell him about the letters, but wisely held back. She had to keep Ken thinking she was a brave little woman who had done her very best in a bad situation. He would have to know eventually, of course. It was Lois Meade’s insistence on taking that letter to the post that made her certain the woman knew too much. And then the call she took on her mobile. She lied about that, Doreen was convinced. She was used to a lying face. Could tell in an instant.

The sun had gone in, and the kitchen clock ticked relentlessly on to five minutes to two. Doreen felt a sudden pang of fear. Was this a good idea? Lois Meade didn’t seem the type who would agree to keep her mouth shut, not even for the wad of notes in a brown envelope in the kitchen table drawer. Ah well, Ken seemed to know what he was doing. Silence had fallen between them, and then suddenly there was a tap at the door, and she heard Lois’s key in the lock.

L
OIS KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG THE MINUTE SHE
stepped into the hall. It was there in the air. Mrs. Jenkinson clattered towards her on high heels, and said, much too brightly, “Good afternoon! How are we today?”

“I’m fine,” Lois said. “I don’t know about the rest of us.”

Mrs. Jenkinson’s smile disappeared instantly. “Well, good,” she said. “Just go on into the kitchen, please. We have to have a little talk before you begin.” As Lois walked down the hall, she heard Mrs. Jenkinson turn the key in the mortise lock in the front door. She turned around and said, “Why did you do that? Not expecting burglars, are we?”

“I’m not,” Doreen said sharply. “I don’t know about the rest of us.”

Well, sod you, thought Lois, who was not used to being outsmarted. She strode into the kitchen and saw Ken Slater sitting at the table. “Oh, sorry!” she said. “Don’t let me disturb your lunch. I’ll just get some things.”

“Sit down, Mrs. Meade,” Ken said, without ceremony. “Sit there, and listen.”

“What did you say?” Lois glared at him. She raised her eyebrows and turned to Doreen, who nodded briefly.

“Do as he says,” Doreen said.

Thoughts of leaving at once crossed Lois’s mind, but Ken was ahead of her. “Give me your keys to this house,” he said. Once more Lois appealed to Doreen, and once more received a curt nod. She handed over her keys, quite sure that she could escape by the scullery door. It was almost never used, and they would have forgotten about that.

But Ken’s chair was placed so that he could easily intercept her on her way to the scullery.

“Go on, Mrs. Jenkinson,” she said, feigning reasonableness.

“Well, dear,” Doreen said, “it’s just that since my husband died, I’d been hoping for a peaceful time to grieve, to try and build a new life. I had thought that with the passing of time Howard’s memory would take its place and I’d be able to remember the good times without bursting into tears all the time.”

My God, thought Lois, she should have been an actress. Even the chin was wobbling! What about the bad times? Would she mention those?

Ken cleared his throat, but Doreen began again quickly. “And now, unfortunately, old wounds seem to be opening up. The dreadful accident had been thoroughly investigated, and I was perfectly satisfied with the explanation. Of course, I wasn’t there, and if I had been it would never have happened. I shall never forgive myself for that.”

Ken Slater’s face was a study. If she hadn’t been tense with alarm, Lois would have laughed. Disbelief was written all over his grey pallor and heavy eyes. But Doreen hadn’t finished. “Now the police have started asking questions again. Insinuating things which upset me. And we were wondering, Jean and Ken and I, whether it was something you had said, something on your mind which you had mentioned to your friend Cowgill?”

Ken had had enough. “The woman knows exactly what we’re talking about,” he said. “She’s a snoop, a cheapskate
who takes money for information. This cleaning business is a cover for getting into people’s houses. It’s got to stop, and right now, as far as we’re concerned!”

Lois stood up furiously. “You can go to …” Her voice petered out. Ken had pulled his hand from his pocket and was holding a pistol, aimed straight at her.

“Sit down!” he said. “This is the real thing, and I know exactly how to use it. You will sit there and say nothing, and listen to our proposition. After I let you go, you will contact your masters and tell them you want no more to do with them. Use some excuse—husband, kids, too dangerous … which it will be, if you don’t do what you’re told.” He waved the gun with an unpleasant grin that sent a shiver down Lois’s spine. The man was a loony, driven to it by all the twists and turns of the web of lies they had woven between them. If he was trigger-happy, she would have to watch every move.

“And then,” he continued, “you will take this package,” he reached into the drawer and held a fat brown envelope towards her, “and book yourself and your husband a luxury holiday far, far away from here. Perhaps you might be persuaded not to come back. We have been thinking about that, haven’t we, Doreen? Ways of making you disappear, maybe temporarily, maybe permanently.” The gun held steady.

Lois gulped. She looked over Ken’s shoulder at the garden and the water meadows. It was early afternoon in Long Farnden, just down the road from her house, and across the road from Josie’s shop. Was this really happening? Just as she looked away from the window, back to the outstretched hand with its evil bribe, a flash caught her eye. It was in the corner of the window, and she was certain it had been a face. A white face, that was gone at once.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, making a huge effort. “Could you explain it a bit more clearly. What exactly are you saying? If I don’t shut my mouth, you’ll bump me off?” She laughed then, and this was the most difficult thing of all. “But I know you didn’t mean that,”
she said. “After all, what chance would you have of getting away with it? No, you must have meant something else.”

“Just watch it, Mrs. Meade,” Ken said slowly. “And don’t be too sure about what I would or would not do. Everything we have done, Doreen and me, has been carefully planned.”

Lois looked hopefully towards the corner of the window, but there was nothing. She had to keep them talking somehow. “Why should I bother about you lot?” she said. “You’ve got it all wrong. I know you were his best friend an’ that. And Mrs. Jenkinson was so upset when he … when he died. I’m just sorry for you all, and New Brooms has done its best to help Mrs. Jenkinson through bad times. If the poor man hadn’t had too much to drink that night … it was a tragic accident, wasn’t it?” She couldn’t help her voice rising in a question.

Doreen spoke again, soothingly, and without looking at Ken. “Of course you and Bill have been a great help. It was just that we’ve heard things. Our friend Norman Stevenson …” Ken darted a furious look at her. “He had told us about you,” she continued. “Said he’d asked for your help in a certain matter, but you’d refused. So we know your reputation, dear.” Lois managed a half-smile, and willed her to continue. “As for that terrible night,” Doreen went on, as Ken leaned across the table and held the gun ever closer to Lois, “there were unfortunate things that were best kept untold. You see, Ken was there, keeping Howard company. They were such good friends. And both were pissed as newts!” Doreen turned and laughed at Ken. He turned around slowly towards her, the gun moving with him.

“You stupid bitch!” he said, and Lois looked again at the window, praying that help was out there somewhere. This is what it must have been like that night, she thought. Howard faced with this terrifying idiot. What was it Susanna had said? Her lover had been scared of lots of things? Had he found a way of coping? But maybe not that night. Maybe he was
too
scared. Guns were scary enough,
but for a man in a panic attack? Perhaps he could do nothing to save himself. Fear would have been enough.