Lois Meade 03: Weeping on Wednesday (1987) (26 page)

“Mrs M? What the devil…?” She whipped round and saw Bill. She had never been so glad to see anyone, and mutely pointed in the direction of the hand.

“My God!” Bill stared, and without thinking put protective arms round a very damp Lois. He had been on his way to the cows, helping out Seb Charrington with a call from the local farmer. He’d seen a figure in the spinney and had come to investigate. Now he’d found more than he had bargained for, and realized he had no idea what to do next.

But Lois had recovered. She disentangled herself gently from Bill’s arms, and said, “Thanks, Bill. Now, if you can stay with me for a minute or two, I’ll decide what we do now.”

H
unter Cowgill was humble and apologetic. “You were right, Lois, and I was wrong,” he said simply. “Must be getting slack in my old age.” He sat uncomfortably on a kitchen chair and looked at Lois. Far from triumphant at the success of her hunch, she was desperately worried. Now she knew that Enid was in the hands of a killer.

Lois said, “From what Gran and me gathered from Enid, it was the mother who called the tune, and Edward along with her. His mum adored him, and I reckon he grew to hate her. Blamed her for everything that went wrong for him.”

After she’d reported to Cowgill what she had found, the police had gone swiftly into action, and then he’d turned up at the door asking to talk to her and Derek. “All official now, Lois,” he’d said. “We’ll be interviewing around all the villages, and as Enid worked for you, you’re naturally on the list. We’ve pulled out all the stops, and they’ll not be hidden for long.” She didn’t ask him what they’d found when they started digging. She knew.

“I’ve got good news…of a sort,” Cowgill said, sitting on the edge of a kitchen chair.

“You know where she…” Gran stopped when she saw Cowgill shaking his head.

“No,” he said, “but we’re pretty sure we know who sent those letters.”

Derek stiffened. “Tell me who the bugger was, then,” he said angrily.

“We have obtained specimens of handwriting of Edward and Enid – not difficult, when you have the resources – ”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Lois. “And?”

“They are virtually identical. And match your letters. But an expert has picked up a quirk in the way the capital ‘A’ is formed in one of them, and it looks like Edward was your correspondent.”

“Why the hell should he want to stir up trouble here?” said Derek.

“I reckon I know,” said Lois, and looked at Cowgill. “Desperate to bust up my work with you. Much too close for comfort.”

“Right,” said Cowgill. “Anyway, it’s another to add to his list of offences. And it’s always a relief to know who sends anonymous letters.”

“Thanks,” said Derek, and held out his hand awkwardly. Cowgill, with considerable dignity, shook it. Nobody said anything for a moment or two.

Then Cowgill cleared his throat. “So now we’re on the move, following up several leads, and it shouldn’t be long,” he continued, getting to his feet.

He meant to be reassuring, but Gran looked doubtful. Lois had spent hours on the telephone, ringing round chemists and schools in Edinburgh, but with no success. Staff had changed several times in the shops, and schools were closed. She had found nothing, and began to wonder if Enid’s story of their early life in Edinburgh had been true.

Gran, too, had had no luck with the WI. She’d spoken to several of the older women, but no one seemed to know. They had forgotten that Mrs Abraham had been a local girl. It seemed that once the message had got about that the family were reclusive and did not welcome callers, the Abrahams were ignored.

“Lois did some ferretin’,” said Derek, “but nuthin’s come up.”

Cowgill gave Lois a wintry smile. “Thanks for trying,” he said. He recoiled though as she snapped back at him, “I wasn’t trying for you! Enid’s on my team, and is in real danger! That bugger Edward is a killer. I’m sure of it.” She saw Gran fighting back tears, and stopped. “Don’t, Mum,” she said. “We’ll get her back.” She turned to Cowgill. “Mum was a friend for Enid. Her only friend, probably.”

“Better get goin’, mate,” said Derek, standing up. “Sooner we catch up with ‘em the better.” He showed Cowgill to the door, but just as he was leaving, Lois yelled out for him to wait.

“Thought of something?” said Cowgill hopefully.

“No,” said Lois. “I just wondered…well, I expect it’s too soon to say…but d’you know how she was killed?”

Cowgill shook his head. “Not yet, Lois. We don’t even know who ‘she’ is yet. But it looks like it might well be Mrs Abraham. Still, I don’t have to tell you all to keep anything I say to yourselves. And Lois,” he added, and risked putting a gentle hand on her arm, “we’ll be doing everything we can. And that’s quite a lot these days. I’ll keep in touch.” He turned away then, and they followed him to the door. He waved a hand in farewell, and left them standing silently in the hall.

“M
rs Meade? It’s Rosie Charrington here. I just wondered if you’ve heard anything more about Enid Abraham? There’s been a lot of activity round here today – police and dogs, and the police helicopter too. The children have been so excited! Seb went down to look…they were all round the bridge…but it was all closed off, and he was sent back in no uncertain – ”

“No, I’ve heard nothing,” Lois said abruptly. “It is very worrying, I know. But I’m sure we’ll be hearing from Enid soon. Was there anything else?”

Rosie sounded huffy. “No, nothing else. Just thought you might have some information about what’s going on down there. Saw you there this morning. Well, keep in touch, then,” she added, and rang off.

Lois felt a stab of anxiety. If Rosie had seen her, who else had noticed her car parked as she searched through the meadow? The incredible disappearing Edward Abraham seemed to turn up all over the place. Could he have taken his father and Enid, hidden them somewhere, and come back to make sure his disgusting handiwork was secure? If he had seen her, she might be the next on his list. She certainly knew too much for his comfort. She shook herself. No, of course that was ridiculous. Wherever he was, surely he would not come back to Cathanger? The old saying about criminals and the scene of the crime came unbidden into her head. But anyway, she argued with herself, if he had been around this morning, he would have seen the cops arriving with dogs and helicopter and left as quickly as possible. Even so…

She heard the door open, and only one child’s voice. Where were the others? Oh no, not that again, not the dread of something happening to her family: Jamie abducted, or Josie attacked and raped! She rushed out of her office and swiftly made sure they were all there. “You OK?” she said. “Jamie? Douglas? Josie?”

They stared at her. “What’s up, Mum?” said Douglas. She hastily pulled herself together, and said nothing was the matter, and they’d better get changed and start on homework.

Relieved, they disappeared, and Gran emerged from the kitchen. “I know,” she said. “I bin thinking along the same lines. We’ll just have to be careful, that’s all.” She did not say that she’d always thought no good could come of this association of Lois’s with the police. She’d nearly scuppered her marriage, and now they were deep in it again. Still, to be fair, Gran reflected, the fact that Enid Abraham worked for New Brooms would have dropped them in it anyway.

§

Walter Abraham, lying awake in a narrow bed in a tiny flat in Edinburgh, was thinking back over the past months, and came to the conclusion that New Brooms was responsible for all that had happened. He wasn’t thinking rationally, but it seemed to him that from the time Enid had applied for that job, trouble had begun. Big trouble, this time. He thought of that terrible night of the flood, and all that happened. And all because of Enid and her job.

Walter turned over in bed with difficulty. He could feel his heart pulsing away much too quickly. Those stairs had been disastrous. What was going to happen to him? He supposed he should see a doctor, but had no hope that one would be allowed in. Tears ran down his furrowed cheeks and into the pillow.

His thoughts roamed on, round and round the events of that night. If only he could forget, but he never would. He almost welcomed the idea of death, of oblivion. It would be an escape from the nightmare that haunted him night and day.

Early on, Enid had brought her father a cup of tea and was appalled by his appearance. He seemed to have shrivelled overnight. His colour was bad, and as he’d tried to lift himself up to take the tea, he had begun to shake with the effort. “Father! Are you all right?” Enid had helped him to sit up and put a pillow behind him. She’d held the cup to his lips, but after a few sips he had shaken his head, and lay back with his eyes closed.

Enid had decided to let him sleep, and now, since hours had gone by and her father was still asleep with an ashen face, she went into the tiny sitting-room, where Edward, with a dirty jersey pulled on over his pyjamas, was reading yesterday’s newspaper.

“Edward! Come and look at Father, please. He’s not at all well. We’ll have to get a doctor to look at him. Please, Edward.” She tried to keep calm, although thoroughly alarmed at her father’s condition.

Edward peered at her round the edge of the paper. “Needs a day in bed, that’s all,” he said. “Journey too much for him, poor old sod,” he added, and went back to his reading.

“No, Edward! It’s worse than that! Come and have a look at him. And hadn’t you better get dressed?”

Edward put down his paper and turned to Enid with exaggerated patience. “Now listen,” he said. “Listen carefully, Enid. We are here in Edinburgh for one reason only. We are in hiding. Not necessarily for ever. But for now, nobody except me comes into this flat, and nobody except me goes out of it. You will stay and look after Father, and cook and clean for us. Should be good at the cleaning,” he added grimly. Then he went on: “If you want some painkillers for him, I’ll get them. I shall buy food, and anything else we need, and you and Father will stay here.”

Enid exploded. “Painkillers!” she said loudly, and Edward frowned and put his finger to his lips.

“Quiet, Enid! Never know who might be listening…”

Enid spoke more quietly, but continued firmly, “Father needs special care – hospital, probably – and if we don’t get it for him, he’ll more than likely die! It’s his heart – even I can tell that.”

“Nonsense,” said Edward. “You’re exaggerating as usual. A couple of day’s rest, and he’ll be right as rain.
And
,” he added in a suddenly menacing voice, “
if
you don’t mind, I’d be glad if you don’t talk about dying…nobody’s dying, Enid. Forget it.”

Enid had had long hours to think. She had wanted to believe the nursing home story and had allowed herself to think Edward spoke the truth. But she knew in her heart he was lying, knew for sure, in the way she’d always been able to tell. She had faced the worst, and answered, “Nobody
else
, you mean, don’t you, Edward?” Her former resolve to go along with everything, and play the innocent, obedient twin, was fast disappearing. She thought only of her father now.

Edward stood up, sending the newspaper flying. His face was dark and suffused, and he raised his arm. Before he could strike her, a quavery voice came from the bedroom. “Edward? Come here, son…I need your help…”

Enid stared at her twin, willing him to give way. After a second or two, to her huge relief, he turned away and went slowly into his father’s bedroom.

§

Across the courtyard from the ancient block of apartments sheltering the Abrahams, in another similar medieval building, a middle-aged couple from the Midlands, life members of the National Trust, were unpacking in the charming little flat done up with excellent taste by the Trust. They’d stayed overnight in the Yorkshire dales, and now were settling in.

“Oh, look,” said the wife, “there’s people in that empty flat!”

“You can’t say that, dear,” said the husband. “If there’s people in it, it’s not empty.”

Not for the first time, the wife wished she could hit him, not hard, but just enough to relieve her feelings. “Oh, you know what I mean,” she said. “It was empty all the time we were here before. Now I can see a man moving around…and…yes, there’s a woman, too.”

“Come away from the window, dear,” said her husband. “We don’t want them to think we’re spying on them.”

The wife obediently returned to her unpacking. “Where shall we eat tonight?” she said. “Shall we go out to a restaurant? Save me cooking, our first night?”

Her husband considered the matter carefully, as he considered everything. Then he shook his head. “Let’s just have a snack here, and an early night,” he said.

“OK,” she said sadly, and shoved a pile of knickers into a drawer which he had filled with an inordinate number of socks.

I
mmediately after an early lunch, Edward said he would go out and get more food and the papers. “We need to keep an eye on the news,” he said conspiratorially. He was used to Enid as henchwoman, but the new steely look in her eye gave him pause for thought. He agreed – or pretended to – to look up a nearby surgery and ask for advice on Father’s condition. “I can do that without giving away our whereabouts,” he explained to her in his new conciliatory tone.

He knows which side his bread is buttered, thought Enid bitterly, but felt encouraged that she was making progress.

After he had gone out, she went in to give Father a drink, but he had fallen asleep again. She thought his breathing was easier, and relaxed a little. In the tiny bathroom, she cleaned the basin where Edward had left a grimy rim, and noticed a small medicine cabinet over the bath. Might be something in there to help Father, she thought, and opened the door. Cough syrup and a couple of bottles of eye drops. Then she saw something more interesting. A dog-eared packet with a prescription label. She recognized at once the name of sleeping pills she had once been given by a Tresham doctor. A sudden idea made her tear the packet open with hasty fingers. She prayed there would be at least two left. There were three, and she put them into her skirt pocket.