Lois Meade 03: Weeping on Wednesday (1987) (8 page)

“Oh, no!” Lois yelled to no one at all. “What the hell am I going to do?”

She squelched her foot back into its shoe, and opened her door. Rain lashed into the car, and she retreated into her seat. Derek would have to come and rescue her. She reached for her bag and took out her mobile. No comforting little screen lit up. Dead as mutton. Then she remembered she’d meant to charge it up last night. She threw it on to the back seat and gritted her teeth. Nothing else for it. She’d have to go and get help. And the nearest habitation was Cathanger Mill, well-known for its warm welcome and ever-open hospitality…She could try to get to the Charringtons, but was pretty sure Rosie had said they’d be away all week. Skiing, or something stupid. Lois banged her fists on the steering wheel, heaped abuse on her unresponsive car, and got out into the storm.

Everywhere, on every side, was the fearful sound of rushing water. She kept to the side by the verge, and as she approached the bridge, grabbed the handrail with relief. The flood in the road was deep, and flowing so fast that she felt as if her feet were about to be swept away any minute. She stopped to get her breath back, and turned to look down into the noisy stream. It was a torrent, and in the glimmer of light filtering through the overhanging trees, she could see it about to burst its banks further down stream. A natural dam had formed, made of twigs and detritus washed down from the fields, and in the urgency of finding a new pathway, the stream had divided into two channels.

Something solid in the world of swirling water caught her eye. It appeared from under the bridge, rolling and bobbing in the current. She watched it, trying to see what it was, but in the almost complete darkness, she could make out only a dark shape. But it was big. Moving fast. When it reached the dam, it lurched into the mass of wood and stones and stuck. Lois tried hard to focus on some part of it that might give her a clue. Then, suddenly emerging above the waterline, she saw a white, face-shaped blur.

Lois screamed. Everything swam around her, and she grabbed the rail with both hands, feeling herself falling. She was part of the watery world, her shoes full and heavy, her sodden hair conducting rivulets of water down her neck, her hands slippery and frozen. With a huge effort, she shook herself like an old, wet dog, and began to run as best she could, stumbling, sloshing and sliding, until she reached the entrance to Cathanger Mill.

Halfway up the drive, she turned her ankle in a pothole, and cried out. But the wind carried her voice up and away. She limped on, until the dark outline of the house showed amongst the trees. They must be there, she thought desperately, although no lights showed. Thick curtains, probably, to keep out the draughts. Enid had told her about the difficulties with her mother. Darkness was one of her little ways, no doubt, to repel all boarders.

Just as she approached the door, she saw it open and someone step out into the yard.

“Mr Abraham?” she said loudly, and saw his head whip round and something gun-shaped raised in her direction. “Please!” she shouted. “It’s me, Lois Meade…your Enid works for me. Can you help? Please! There’s somebody in the stream!”

After what seemed like hours to Lois, Mr Abraham went back into the house, and then reappeared with a big torch and an old, broken umbrella which he handed to Lois. “You’d better show me,” he said.

“Too late for that,” Lois said, refusing the umbrella.

“Follow me,” said Mr Abrahams. “You look as if you’ve hurt your leg. I know the way to avoid the potholes. Stay close behind.”

Lois was only too pleased. She’d never spoken to him before, not in the shop or round the village, but he sounded more nervous than angry at being disturbed. The rain was lighter now, and it was easier to see over the bridge and downstream to the dam. Mr Abraham shone his torch, but it was too weak to be much good.

“Looks like it’s gone,” said Lois flatly.

“If there was anything,” said Walter Abraham. “The shadows play funny tricks. Could’ve been an old sack or something caught in a whirlpool. This water’s running so fast it could do that. That’s what I reckon – a whirlpool. Shame it frightened you.”

But Lois was not satisfied. She had seen more than a whirlpool. “Could it’ve moved on, got taken downstream, round the side of the dam?” she said.

Mr Abraham shook his head. “Dunno,” he said. “Most of the water’s backing up. That’s why it’s flooding the road. Better get back now. I’ll get out there tomorrow and try to clear it.”

Lois felt frustrated. She was quite sure she had seen a face, and from the helpless way it was tossed about by the water, there was not much life in it. But there was nothing more she could do. “Could you keep a good lookout for anything that might have been…well, you know…?” she said, but was not encouraged by his blank expression.

The sound of a car distracted them. Lights approached the flood, and a Land Rover loomed into sight. The door opened and a tall figure got out. “Hi! Need any help?”

“Bill!” shouted Lois, and sloshed quickly towards him. She’d seen him at the conceit, talking to a pleasant-looking girl by the stage. His Rebecca, no doubt.

“Mrs M? What the…?”

She explained, and asked if he would take a look at the dam.

But Bill came to the same conclusion as Mr Abraham. It must have been a sack, or an old cardboard box in the whirlpool. Between them they pushed her car out of the water and got it going again.

“Lucky I was around,” said Bill. “Had to take someone home to Farnden. I’ll turn around and follow you,” he added, “just to make sure.”

Mr Abraham disappeared into the darkness without another word.

“L
ois? Good morning, how are you after that stimulating theatrical experience at the school?”

“Ha ha,” said Lois. She had finished breakfast, and was sitting in her office staring into space. Last night, when she had appeared, soaked to the skin and dripping pools of icy water on the kitchen floor, they had greeted her with silence.

Finally Derek had spoken. “I’m not goin’ to say nothing,” he said, “but if you come home looking like that again, I am imposing a curfew. Not allowed out after six thirty on your own. That’s all.” He had turned off the alarm clock, and warned Gran to let her sleep in.

Before she’d gone to bed, she had looked in on Jamie. He’d been complaining about a sore throat again, but had insisted on waiting up for her until Derek sent him to bed. He had looked peaceful enough, and she’d bent to kiss his warm cheek. She’d let him down again.

“Lois? Are you there?”

“Yes, Inspector Cowgill,” she sighed. “I’m here. What d’you want to talk about?”

It would be much better if she’d never heard from Cowgill again, but nagging away at her was that tossing body in the torrent, the white face above the flood. If he needed her, she certainly needed him right now.

“We have to find a new place to meet,” he said firmly. “The woods are impossible after all the rain. Any ideas?”

Lois was tired, dispirited. “The police station?” she said.

There was a pause. “Not feeling too well?” said Cowgill.

“I’m all right,” Lois replied, and applied herself to finding a suitable place for a tryst with a policeman.

“Well,” said Cowgill, after waiting a few seconds, “I was wondering if you still take the old lady’s dog for a walk? You do? Right, well, that would be the perfect cover. At the bottom of the recreation ground, there’s a gate and a footpath. It leads through the old allotments down a track to a barn. It’s not used at all now, but the track’s good. Nobody goes down there. Belongs to the parish council, but they don’t use it any more. They asked us to keep an eye on it, in case of vandals, and we locked it up. I’ve got a key.”

“Who else has got one?” said Lois. She didn’t much like the sound of it.

“Nobody,” said Cowgill. “At least, yes, Constable Simpson has one. The parish council are quite happy about that. Only too pleased to offload the responsibility. They can go to him if they want to get into it, and I’ve told him not to give anyone the key unless I OK it first.”

“Well, I dunno, I suppose it’d be all right.” Lois hadn’t the energy to argue this morning, and she did want to see him urgently.

“Right, then. Twelve o’clock suit you?”

“Sooner,” said Lois. “When I get back, the old lady likes to chat, so make it ten, and I’ll be there.”

§

Cowgill was waiting for her. She peered into the dusty window of the barn, and he immediately opened the door. She slipped inside, dragging the dog, whose every instinct told him not to enter an unknown, dark interior. Cowgill locked the door behind her.

“For goodness sake!” Lois felt irritation rising. This cloak and dagger stuff could not possibly be necessary. Sometimes she thought Cowgill enjoyed it, playing the great detective.

“Security,” he said now, “in your interest, Lois. Trust me.”

“Just as well I do,” she replied tartly. “Shut up in a mouldy old barn with a strange man, with only this flea-bitten old dog for protection.”

Cowgill smiled his chilly smile, and said mildly, “Hardly a strange man, Lois.”

“Well, anyway, get on with it,” she said. “What’s new with the Abrahams?”

“It’s the brother. We need to find him. Something’s come up…One of his creditors over the other side of Tresham has taken his own life. Wife says he was very depressed about money, and desperately needed what Abraham owed him. Seems our Edward turned up last week and threatened him to keep quiet, or else. She has no idea where he came from, or where he’s holed up. But it’s very serious now, Lois, and we need to find him.”

“Oh, my God,” said Lois. “Poor Enid. I suppose you’ll be searching the mill?”

“We did that last week,” said Cowgill. “We found nothing, except Enid, her father, and a reclusive old mother who shouted at us to clear out. Nothing in the barns or anywhere else.”

Time to tell him about last night, thought Lois, and gave him as lucid account as she could manage whilst the dog tried desperately to escape.

“Are you sure it was a body?” said Cowgill. He was all attention, willing her to remember. “Not a hundred per cent,” said Lois, shaking her head. “It was so dark, and there were shadows and noises everywhere. But I could swear that I saw a face. So yes, I suppose I am sure. And it certainly wasn’t there when old Abraham and I went back, and Bill couldn’t see it either. Mind you, the rate the water was flowing, it could easily have been swept on downstream.”

Cowgill asked her a few more questions, and then Lois said she was leaving. “Got to get this dog back,” she said. “Old Polly will worry. Let me know if you find anything.”

Cowgill nodded and put out his hand to touch her shoulder. “Thanks, Lois,” he said. “Take care. I shan’t be happy until we’ve got that Abraham. Nastier customer than I thought.”

Huh, thought Lois, as she trudged back up the playing field, the dog pulling at the lead and straining her arm, much he cares about my safety. And then she knew she was being unfair. He had a job to do, and because she had always refused payment, saying she was no snout, she was perfectly free to get out of her involvement any time she liked.

“So on we go,” she said to the dog. “You’ll get your biscuit, and I’ll get a rocket from your mistress.”

§

There was a message waiting for Lois when she returned home. Enid Abraham had left her glasses at Farnden Manor, where she had been cleaning this morning. Should they drop them in to Lois in the village? It would be no trouble, and they didn’t like to think of Enid having problems without them. She was such a good soul, such a reliable help. They had found them in an upstairs bedroom, on the windowsill, and were quite sure they were Enid’s.

Farnden Manor was a ancient house, and historic for two reasons. One was its age. It had been built halfway up a hill outside Long Farnden, overlooking the village, in a peaceful, bosky position, and had stood there for four hundred years, until twentieth-century demands had caused a motorway to be built uncomfortably close. The other was that its owner, a man of extraordinary imagination and engineering skill, had some years ago arranged for the house to be moved, in its entirety, uphill, with a better view of the village. This had been an epic feat, and for a while had achieved international status in the media. All this was now largely forgotten, and Long Farnden had spread itself to meet the manor, with its new community hall, the playing fields and discreet housing delopment.

Lois said if the client was coming in to the village anyway, that would be very kind, and put down the phone. She quickly settled in to a morning round of telephone calls and adjustment of schedules. Sheila Stratford was off sick – only a nasty cough, she said – and Lois was juggling with Sheila’s jobs, giving Hazel extra hours and doing some herself.

Light snow was falling outside the window, reminding Lois that it would be Christmas in a couple of weeks. She’d left much of the shopping to Gran this year, but planned this afternoon to go into Tresham to buy Derek a present, and clinch the decision on what to get for Josie. She had given them a list of unsuitable clothes, and Douglas’s consisted entirely of obscene rap discs. “Don’t see any harm in them meself,” said Derek, when Lois exploded. “The lad’s goin’ to listen to his friends’ if he don’t have his own, so we might as well give him what he wants. At least it’s not a piano!” he added darkly. He had not taken Jamie’s request at all well. No son of his was goin’ to have piano lessons…bloody Fairy Snowflakes and Off We Go To Bloody Market…He couldn’t stand it!

Derek seldom swore, and Lois could see it was going to be a battle. Still, this was only round one, and Derek was such a softie at heart that he almost always gave way in the end. “Best thing,” said Lois, when he had calmed down, “is to see how much they want for the piano, and then think again. Enid’s offer to teach him for nothing is quite a bonus, Derek,” she added, but he said nothing and slammed out of the kitchen.

When Enid called in at lunchtime for her glasses, Lois asked her about the piano. “Did you have a chance to mention it? I forgot when I talked to them.”

Enid nodded. “They said if you could arrange to move it, you could have it for nothing.” She smiled proudly. “It’s a good piano, Mrs Meade,” she said, “better than mine.”