Tragedy at Two (4 page)

 

 

NOTHING VERY USEFUL EMERGED FROM THIS FIRST SESSION, AND Cowgill drove back to Tresham trying to sort out what had been said. The most useful contribution had been Josie’s suggestion of what might have been the weapon. He could not at this stage believe the encounter had been deliberately planned. As far as he could see, Rob had not had enemies. A mild sort of chap, with perhaps not enough drive or ambition for Josie, who was growing very like her mother. He smiled to himself. Heaven help anyone who crossed the path of the pair of them! Then he thought of his nephew, Matthew Vickers, keen young policeman and probably more than interested in Josie Meade. How soon before he heard from him?

Lois, too, was thinking hard as she drove into Tresham to call in at the office in Sebastopol Street. For her, Josie’s suggestion had set off a useful line of thought. First, sort out the kind of people who might own or have access to the kind of weapon likely to have been used. Right. A golf club. Easily available, but carrying one in a casual encounter? Nervous widows kept one under the bed, but she’d never heard of hoodies carrying golf clubs, or evil gangs in Tresham arming themselves with natty putters.

So had Rob been weaving his way home in the middle of the road when a defeated golfer had failed to get past him, stopped his car and beaten him up with a handy club? Or had some young oaf, fresh from a team victory in a baseball game and on his way home, yelled insults at Rob who had tried to engage him in a befuddled argument? The alcohol level in his blood had been high. But a
baseball
game? Where? When?

Lois sighed. What else might have been used. A heavy stick with a gnarled knob at the end of it? Such as might have been cut from a scrubby roadside wood? One well polished from frequent use, and quickly wiped clean of the blood and hair sticking to it. Washed in a stream . . . running through the wood . . . known by a group of travelling undesirables who had been camping nearby? Oh, blimey, she muttered sadly to herself. This scenario was, of course, much the most convincing. Well, she was sure the police would be coming to that conclusion swiftly, and as she turned into Sebastopol Street, she made up her mind to take another direction. She pulled up outside New Brooms office, and went in to see what Hazel had for her to deal with.

 

 

MATTHEW VICKERS HAD COME INTO THE POLICE STATION LATER than usual. After a couple of days off duty, he had taken an instruction to visit an old man who claimed a gang of kids had persistently banged on his doors, both back and front, and had disappeared before he’d managed to get to his feet. Then, the last straw, his home help had stepped in a pile of excrement shoved through the letter box. Matthew had soothed the old man, taken details and promised to put a stop to the harassment.

“And when I’ve put a stop to that, the little sods will have moved on to some other vulnerable oldie,” he said aloud to himself. He was in a gloomy mood returning into the office, and was deeply ashamed of feeling uplifted for a second on learning of the murder of Josie Meade’s partner, Rob.

“Is the governor in?” he asked, and was told he had just arrived back from Long Farnden.

“Right, thanks,” said Matthew. As he left the room, his colleagues looked at each other. “Guess where he’s off to,” said one. There was no answer, but general laughter.

AS GRAN KNEW ONLY TOO WELL, THE WORST PERIOD FOR the bereaved is after the funeral and when all the attendant tasks have been dealt with. Suddenly there is a vacuum which nothing can fill, however many friends you have and however many clubs and activities you decide to join. You still have to come home to an empty house, with nobody to talk to. She had been in this position herself for some years until Lois had suggested she move in with them. Gran had burned her boats, sold her bungalow and followed the family to Long Farnden. It could have been disastrous, but they had all worked at it, and on the whole it had been a good solution.

Perhap Josie would come back to live at home permanently. She and Rob had made a nice little nest over the shop, but it could be lonely for her now. And she might feel safer in the house with the rest of them. It might be alarming if she heard burglars trying to break into the shop.

“Josie, dear,” she said, as her granddaughter got up from the table after lunch, “have you thought of staying with us, at least for a while? And where are you going now, duckie?”

Gran had noticed Josie had an umbrella in her hand. It was pouring with rain outside, the sky heavy and threatening.

“To the shop, of course,” Josie said firmly. “And thanks for worrying about me, Gran. But the shop is my life now, and I’m used to being independent. I don’t think I’d fit in back at home for any length of time now. Goodness knows what a muddle that Floss is making of the takings!”

“She’s a very nice girl, and a good cleaner. It’s nice that she and Ben have got that little house by the church. And now he’s got a job in Tresham, thank goodness. I know she wanted to stay in the village.”

“Being a good cleaner doesn’t make her a good shopkeeper, does it? It was nice of Mum to lend her to me, but I’m off now. Getting back into harness will be the best thing.”

“Well, if you’re sure.” Gran marvelled at how much Josie sounded like Lois. They were so alike, and yet seemed to get on well together. Perhaps the girl was right. A house with three bossy women in it would be an uncomfortable home for Derek!

 

 

CONTRARY TO HER EXPECTATIONS, JOSIE FOUND THE SHOP immaculately tidy, the till full of small change, and the safe securely locked. Floss had an attractive overall to keep her clean while cutting ham and cheese and handing out ice creams and sweets to sticky-fingered children.

She looked startled to see Josie back so soon, and rushed to get a stool for her to sit on. But Josie waved it away and said she was not ill. She even managed a smile for worried-looking Floss.

“I’m here to help,” Josie said. “You’re obviously doing brilliantly, and I’d be glad if you could stay for a week or two. There’s bound to be a lot of kerfuffle with the police and I’ll be called away now and then. I’ll make some coffee for us.” She vanished upstairs, and Floss was almost in tears herself when she heard muffled sobs. It was probably the first time Josie had come back home since Rob’s murder.

It was all round the village, of course. Everybody knew it was murder, and everybody had a firm idea of who had done it. Most had decided on a no-good gypsy, but a minority favoured the gang of youths who congregated in the evenings at the swings and slides in the play area of the recreation ground. They weren’t allowed there, but that made little difference. So far, they had drunk their drinks and smoked their smokes without bothering anyone else, and they had been tut-tutted over but left alone. All teenagers go through a bad patch, the village agreed, and this was relatively mild. But there was always one, the gang leader, who wanted excitement.

“And for excitement, read violence,” said the vicar, Keith Buccleugh—or Buckluck, as he was known in the village—to his wife, Marjorie. “What do you think, dear? Should I offer to talk to them, man-to-m an? They might open up to me, and give us some clues as to what really happened.”

He really believes it, thought Marjorie, looking at him fondly. But she knew he would end up as mincemeat if he approached the hooded ones and she said mildly that perhaps they should leave it to the police now. She was sure they would come to him if they needed his help.

“I suppose Mrs. Meade will be recruited again,” he said glumly. “She has quite a reputation now. Ah, here comes Josie. I asked her to pop in when she felt like it. Shall we have a coffee ready, Marj?”

For thirty married years she had hated that diminutive, but had never wanted to hurt his feelings by saying so. Sometimes she looked back on those years and realised she had spent far too much time protecting him from hurt feelings. A vicar needed to be tough, and Keith had never been. An overprotected and much loved child, he could never see unkindness coming. He really believed that everyone was basically good. What about original sin? He had shaken his head and not replied.

 

 

JOSIE HAD LEFT THE SHOP WITH THE INTENTION OF SPENDING, AT the most, ten minutes in the vicarage. At this stage she could do without the vicar’s sugary condolences, but she wanted to do the right thing and so, arming herself with the excuse that she had to get into Tresham to see Hazel at Mum’s office, she rang the doorbell.

“Come in, come in,” said Marjorie, “Father Keith is just on the telephone. He’ll be with us in a couple of minutes.” This was how he liked to be known, and it had taken some doing for the village to adjust.

“Morning, vicar,” Josie said, as he joined them. She was led into the sitting room, and as she sat down she mentioned her Tresham appointment. “But it is nice to sit and listen for a bit,” she said politely. “I’ve done nothing but answer questions for days.”

That should put a stop to old nosy, she reckoned, and sat back and smiled.

“Of course, Josie. It is my job to give you words of consolation, but this morning you can forget I’m a vicar. Think of me as just another customer of the shop, and we can chat.”

“Oh, and that reminds me,” Josie said, fumbling in her pocket, “I brought you a present.” She handed over a bar of the unsweetened dark chocolate he loved, and after that the ten minutes grew into half an hour, and Josie finally got up to go, thinking that he was not such a brainless twit as she had thought. He gave her a peck on the cheek and said he was always ready for a chat and a bar of chocolate, day or night, whenever she felt like it.

“Sweet girl,” he said to his wife, after she had gone. “We must do all we can to help. There are more ways than one of gathering information.”

 

 

IN NEW BROOMS’S OFFICE, HAZEL WAS TALKING TO A CLIENT, so Josie went into the room at the back that doubled as storage and kitchen. She stood looking out of the window that overlooked the neat paved yard at the back and across to the new leisure centre going up on the old warehouse site. When Hazel came in to say the client had gone, Josie realised she had been staring out and registering nothing.

“The swimming pool will soon be finished, they say, so we can go and have a dip after work,” Hazel said. She looked closely at Josie and took her hand. “Come on, sit down and I’ll bore you with the latest exploits of my precious daughter, who is, as you know, a genius. You don’t even have to listen. And I shan’t ask you a single question.”

“Acting on orders from Mum?” Josie said.

“How did you guess?” Hazel replied.

LOIS HAD BEEN TO SEE A CLIENT ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF TRESHAM, and as she took a shortcut down Sebastopol Street she saw Josie’s car parked outside the New Brooms office. She had not intended to stop, but now pulled up. Neither Josie nor Hazel saw her coming, and were guiltily startled when Lois seemed to materialise from nowhere.

“Speak of the devil,” Josie said wearily.

“Hi, girls. Just thought I’d check to make sure all’s well. You okay, Josie?”

On an impulse, Josie turned and gave her mother a hug. “As well as can be expected, I suppose,” she said. “Did you want to talk to Hazel? I’m off home now.”

“Were you going to ask me something, Josie?” Hazel said. She was aware that her friend had arrived, said nothing very much, and was now leaving.

“Can’t remember,” Josie replied. “See you back at the buildings, Mum.” She walked towards her car and Hazel said, “Looks a bit lost, doesn’t she.”

“I’d do anything to help her,” Lois said. “But I can’t bring him back.”

“We can find the sod who killed him.”

“I mean to. But whoever beat him up might not have intended to kill him.”

“So what’s the difference?” Hazel said fie rcely.

“In law there’s a difference. But Rob’s dead either way. That’s all we need to remember. All of us.”