Theft on Thursday (27 page)

Had she really said that? Well, it was a joke, in answer to his. The old thing was getting quite a sense of humour in his dotage. Lois collected her jacket and set off for the new meeting place. He had suggested an empty house on an estate in Tresham, due to be demolished. “All been rehoused,” he’d said. “Number thirty-seven, at the end of a cul-de-sac. Nobody ever goes there. Vandals occasionally, but never during the day. We keep watch.” She hoped he was right. She couldn’t risk Derek hearing any gossip. Not again.

A
NNABELLE AND
J
AMIE SETTLED INTO A COMPANION-
able silence until they reached the motorway, and then Jamie said, “I feel a bit guilty about Mum and Dad.”

“Why?” Annabelle had never felt guilty about her parents in her life. It was they who should feel guilty about her, pushing her around from place to place, school to school. She wondered what it would be like to have a family like Jamie’s, rooted and solid.

“Well, I couldn’t tell them much. I’d promised you. I lied about going to a concert with a friend at the Albert Hall. Mum soon sussed that one. And she guessed I was meeting you.”

“What did she say?” Annabelle was curious. She was used to doing much as she liked, unless Grandmother was around, and then she found it easy to deceive her. The old dear was so busy with her good works, and manipulating people who didn’t realize what she was up to.

“Not much. But she was nice. Practical, as ever. Said she’d make it right with Dad, but I was to let them know
where you live … and keep my mobile on all the time! They think London is full of muggers just waiting for hicks from the country with money in their pockets.” He didn’t admit to Annabelle that this thought had occurred to him too. He was still sore about Annabelle’s account of Mrs. T-J’s tirade about “that village boy.” There’d been a lot on the same theme before she had more or less sent Annabelle packing back to London.

Annabelle laughed, and turned into a service station. “Need some petrol,” she said.

“I’ll pay,” said Jamie, feeling in his pocket. “Don’t be silly!” Annabelle said. “I’ll use my card—Dad settles it for me. Makes him feel better about being a rotten dad, I expect.”

They decided on a cup of coffee, and sat in the café staring out at the rushing cars. “It’s really nice of you to come,” Annabelle said, looking at Jamie with warmth. “I don’t know why, but I do have this scared feeling. Something to do with the vicarage fire. I’m really nervous about being in the flat alone. Sarah will be back in a couple of days, so you won’t have to stay long.”

She had told Jamie a strictly edited story about her involvement with the Wycombe lot. Said she’d been to one or two of their meetings out of curiosity, and had thought them a joke. “A sad joke,” she had said, describing their fatuous rituals and chanting. They had wanted somewhere private to meet, and she had said without thinking that they could use the stables when her grandmother was away.

“Annabelle,” Jamie said now. “Were you at that party the night of the fire?”

“What party?” she said quickly.

“Well, Mum said Sharon had gone to a party with that horrible bloke who comes from Tresham.”

“Sharon Miller? Scraping the barrel, aren’t they?” Annabelle laughed again, and looked away from Jamie, wishing he would change the subject.

“You said you’d been frightened when I saw you at the cottage. Noises in the night, an’ that. I wondered if you’d heard something from the party. In the stables, maybe. Was it them that frightened you?”

Annabelle stood up, pushing her chair back with a loud scrape. “Going to the loo,” she said.

“Again?” said Jamie quietly, watching her sadly as she walked across the crowded café.

T
HE ROAD INTO THE DESERTED HOUSING ESTATE WAS
full of potholes. Lois drove slowly, doubting whether this was any better than Alibone Woods. Still, what did she expect? A reception area in the police station set aside for informers? Coffee machine and cushions? She peered around the dilapidated houses and saw Cowgill’s car parked inconspicuously up against a garage door.

“Ah, Lois, good, you found it,” he said briskly. He didn’t feel brisk. He felt soft-centred, like a peppermint cream. He had watched her lope across the road and wondered if he should finally give up meeting her. He was a man who liked being in control. But where was the harm? If Lois showed in any way that she reciprocated … Well, then it would have to stop. Meanwhile, he might as well enjoy seeing her, feeling half his age again, being insulted by her, and making use of the undoubtedly useful information she brought him.

“Right,” she said, following him through the back door of a damp, dirty kitchen.

They perched on a couple of metal chairs, and he said, “What have you got for me?” Straight to the point. Competent policeman, wasting no time.

She smiled sideways at him. “Something important, I think,” she said. She described Gran’s dodgy indigestion tablets and said Cyril had been on them, too. Could they have had anything to do with his death? She handed him
the packet. “Look,” she said, “no sell-by date, label all faded and creased. How long has that woman had them in her storeroom at the back there? They could’ve gone off, been dangerous, anything! If Cyril had taken too many, or woken in the night and forgotten he’d already had some … Could there be a connection? Gran had been really sick, and they’d all said it was a bug. But …”

“Well done,” said Cowgill, pocketing the packet. “I’ll get them looked at. We shall find out. Sounds very possible to me. I’ve never thought there was much foul play in Cyril’s death. Who’d want to kill the old bugger, irritating as he was? No, Lois, I think this may be it.”

“There’s more,” she said, looking pleased with herself. “It’s our Sharon. Sharon Miller.”

Cowgill’s eyes narrowed. “Go on,” he said quietly. Lois could feel the sudden tension in the air. So this was what he really wanted to know. “She came to see me. Looked terrible, and was nervous, jumpy. I tried out the ‘orrible eye on her, and she nearly had a fit. Not just a natural reaction. Much more than that, screaming and blubbing. Mum calmed her down, and then I let her go.” She looked closely at Cowgill, who was silent and frowning. “Well?” she said finally. “Any good?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Very useful. Very useful indeed. And now I have to warn you, Lois, to be careful. If Sharon Miller knows something she’s not telling you, you can bet it’s to do with Darren Cockshutt, and he is nasty.”

“Nasty? Is that all?” said Lois.

“No, he is nasty and dangerous, especially if he cannot trust Sharon Miller to keep her mouth shut.”

“Sharon couldn’t keep her mouth shut if it was stapled together,” said Lois baldly. “Sounds like it’s her who’s in danger, not me.”

“Anyone who knows anything about the night of the fire, and just what Max-cum-Darren was up to, is in danger.
Anyone
… and that probably includes your Jamie.”

“Jamie? Why? Because he knows Sharon? That’s a bit far-fetched, isn’t it. Anyway, he’s safely out of the way. Gone to London for a day or two with Annabelle T-J.”

“Has he indeed?” said Cowgill. “Annabelle T-J. Mmm … not a sensible idea …”

“Don’t talk in riddles,” said Lois crossly. “Why don’t you just arrest Maxie-boy, and put him away? You think he started the fire, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” Cowgill said, getting up and offering Lois a hand, which she ignored. “But I don’t know why,” he added, “and I need to know more. He’s a slippery customer, Lois. Don’t underrate him.”

M
AX
W
EDDERBURN RETURNED TO HIS UNTIDY
room, bed unmade, remains of a hasty meal in the wash basin that doubled as a sink, and thought hard. How had it all gone so wrong? God, if he was found to be mixed up in it, he’d be for the high jump this time. He shivered uncontrollably, and couldn’t straighten out his thoughts. The weak links. That’s what he had to concentrate on. Slowly he calmed down, and reminded himself he’d always come up smiling before. And would again. He’d made some decisions already, hadn’t he? Swift to act, always one move ahead, that was Max Wedderburn. He shook himself and stood up. It would soon be time for him to go. His most trusted henchman was looking after the local end, and he had reserved London for himself. Yeah, the weak links were priority. Sharon and Annabelle T-J.

It was a pity it had to end in this way, but if the society went undercover for a while they could start up again when it had all been forgotten. Maybe move away, set up somewhere else. One of his mates, just released early for good
behaviour, had let him know of an isolated place in Wales. That was something to look forward to. Meanwhile, there was a job to be done.

As he hastily tidied the room, he caught a glimpse of himself in the tarnished mirror. He stopped and had a good look. He straightened his shoulders, narrowed his eyes and allowed himself what he hoped was a small, heroic smile. Yes, that was better. All would be well.

He looked at his watch. She should be there by now, and by herself. She’d let slip that her flatmate was away, stupid bitch. It was because she
was
a stupid bitch, and let things slip, that he was now on the way to make sure she kept her mouth shut. North London, wasn’t it? Annabelle had given him the address at the party—after the necessary persuasion—and he put an A-Z map in his pocket. Should be easy enough to find. He’d have to fill up with petrol before he got to the motorway. Much too expensive once you were on it. The cut-price filling station just outside Tresham would do.

He looked out of the window at the street below. A bloke who’d been in his class was walking along the pavement. He was in clean, dark blue overalls, and had a bag of tools in his hand. He put his tools in the van, then walked around to the front and wiped the headlights clean. He climbed in and drove away. What was his name? Max could not remember. He was a nerd, anyway. Always top of the class. And where had it got him? A plumber. Nice little council flat, nice little wife, nice little baby. A traitorous voice in Max’s head said, “And a nice little business of his own, with a regular income and good mates. Plumbers in demand, security and a loving home. What’s wrong with that?”

Everything, answered Max. He had his own boring job, but his real life in the society was different and special. He saw himself as an instrument of a higher power, the dark power that could blaze with a wonderful flame. He felt no
guilt at what he and the society had done in the past, only exultation. And now? said the voice.

He forced it out of his head, looked at his watch again, and left the room, locking the door behind him. Head up, shoulders back, Max Wedderburn, man with a mission, was on the warpath.

T
HE AFTERNOON SUN SHONE THROUGH THE BIG WIN
dows in Annabelle’s flat, and Jamie relaxed, stretched out on a sofa in the sitting room. It was on the ground floor, and had long French windows leading out into a pleasant, walled garden. Annabelle had unlocked and opened them to air the room, and a blackbird sang from an old apple tree, bare of leaves now, spreading its branches wide. As Jamie gazed out lazily, waiting for Annabelle to bring in coffee, a squirrel ran from one side of the tree to the other, dropping down out of sight into next door’s garden.

The coffee was good. “Real coffee,” said Annabelle. “None of your instant for Sarah. She has style, my flatmate.”

Jamie wondered if he would like her. He got on easily with Annabelle most of the time, but on the odd occasion when they had met her friends in Tresham, he had been stupid and tongue-tied.

Now he returned to something that bothered him. “Annabelle,” he said. “You know that party, the one Sharon went to …”

“Oh, drop it, Jamie!”

“It’s just that … oh, I dunno. There’s something wrong somewhere. You must’ve heard something going on. The stables are not that far from the cottages.”

“For God’s sake! Why this inquisition? Come on,” she added, stroking his face and nuzzling his ear. “Let’s go to bed. I really want to … and so do you …” She laughed confidently.

But Jamie pulled away from her and got up. “It’s not on, Annabelle,” he said, a stubborn, Lois-like look on his face. “You’re not telling me the truth, and if you don’t trust me enough I’d best be going home now. I’d do most things for you, you know that. But not if you’re playin’ me along.”