Tragedy at Two (14 page)

But no. There was a tap at Lois’s door and Gran said Mrs. Brown was wanting to see her urgently. “She’s in a terrible state, Lois,” she added persuasively.

“Hello, how are you?” Lois said, hoping to cool off the poor woman, who had obviously run all the way from Blackberry Gardens. She was out of breath, and her face was scarlet.

“I’m so worried, Mrs. Meade,” she said, finally finding her voice. “It’s our Mark. You know, our only son. He’s in big trouble this time.”

Lois stood up and went to the door. “Mum! Coffee wanted. Thanks.” She returned to her desk and sat down. “Now, how’s about starting at the beginning. Mark was at the fire, wasn’t he. Me and Derek saw him. Is it to do with that?”

Nancy Brown nodded mutely and burst into tears.

Oh, Lord, Lois said to herself. This is going to take all morning at this rate. Gran came in with coffee and when Nancy was calm again, Lois took a different tack.

“I saw his picture in the paper. He hangs out with that lot at the back of the village hall, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Nancy’s voice was stronger now. “He got hauled into the police station after your Rob was killed. This is nothing to do with that, o’ course. But then he was seen in Tresham—right opposite the cop shop!—exchanging pills with his mates. Inspector Cowgill saw them from his window, and that was that. Back in the police station and a call to us to be there. His father was furious, and started on him the minute we got there.”

“So he was questioned?”

“Yes. Hadn’t got a leg to stand on. It’ll be a court case this time.”

“Not nice, but not a great surprise to you, is it? Not needing urgent help from me?”

“That’s not all. While we were all in there, Cowgill came in and began asking questions about the fire at the gypsy camp. Seems they’d had a report that Mark had been seen hanging around there. . . .” She looked accusingly at Lois.

“Well, it wasn’t me or Derek!” Lois said sharply. “But the whole village was there, enjoying the show. Anyone could have reported him. One of his so-called mates, for a start. He’d be well shot of that lot.”

“Sorry.” Nancy wiped a hand across her face wearily. “Mark was so stupid. He said he’d been with a bunch of his friends, spying on the gypsies. Collecting evidence, he said, so’s they could be evicted. He said someone in the village had asked for the gang’s help, but he wouldn’t say who. Said they were the first ones to spot the fire under one of the trailers. Used his mobile phone to dial 999, he said, and flew into a paddy with Cowgill, saying he got blamed for everything and they’d just done a good turn.”

“What did Cowgill say to that?”

“Nothing much. Just told us all to wait, and stalked off out of the door. And that’s it, really. Mark knows the form about the drugs. He’s been through all that before we moved here. But the fact that he was at the camp before the fire started is really bad. His father won’t speak to him, Mrs. Meade, and I’m desperate.”

“What do you want me to do?” Lois said, still not sure why the woman had come to her.

“We’ve heard you help with things like this. Finding out things. We hoped you could find out who started the fire. You know all the people in this village, and your cleaners get around. The gypsies talk to you. I’ve heard that from several people. If the police knew who started the fire, it would let Mark off the hook, and we could face the rest.”

“But Mark knows, doesn’t he? All gangs have leaders. Surely you could persuade him to tell you who’s giving the orders? Wouldn’t he tell his father, if not the police?”

“You’re joking,” Nancy answered miserably. “They’re not speaking. None of us are speaking. The house is like a morgue. I wish we’d got a dog. At least I could talk to a dog. And Mark loves dogs. Maybe if Joe had let him have a dog. . . .”

Her voice tailed off, and she seemed to retreat into herself, staring down at her hands.

“Drink your coffee while it’s hot,” Lois said. “I’ll think about it, and if there’s anything I can do I’ll give you a ring.” Then as an afterthought she added, “Would Mark talk to me?”

Nancy brightened. “I’ll try,” she said, and stood up. “Thanks a lot for listening. I’ll let you know what he says.”

SAM STRATFORD HAD CALLED IN AT THE FARM WHERE HE worked before he retired, asking if they needed any help this morning. As a casual worker, he was invaluable to them. And it kept his mind off graveyards, he thought, as he headed for home. Now, who was it used to say that? His granddad, that’s who. Morbid old sod, he’d been. He had been an elder or something like that in the village chapel, and disapproved of everything jolly and of everybody who thought being jolly was intended by God.

The kitchen was neat and tidy, and empty. Sheila must have been back and gone out again. Although the extra money from her cleaning was even more welcome now, he still wished she’d give it up. There was quite enough for her to do round the house and in the garden. She could be a bit more like Edwina, who helped Alf on the farm a lot, and had her chickens. Sold eggs regularly to the WI market. Poor Edwina. She’d been upset about the fox getting into her hen-house. Must have been the tinks. Though why they should get at the Smiths was a mystery. Alf Smith was their only friend, the silly fool.

The telephone rang, and Sam heard his son’s voice. “Dad? Just thought I’d warn you. We’ve had the police here. Just gone. They say they’re talking to everyone who might help them. Asked what time they’d be likely to fin d you at home. Be prepared, as the Boy Scouts used to say.”

 

 

THE POLICE KNOCKED ON SAM’S DOOR TEN MINUTES LATER. HE sat them down in the sitting room and offered them a drink, which they refused.

“Just a few questions, Mr. Stratford, about the fire at the gypsy site,” the older of the two said.

“Fire away,” said Sam, and the policeman raised his eyebrows.

“Oops—sorry!”

“Right. First of all, when did you first know about the fire?”

Sam answered all their questions with disarming honesty. He had no need to lie. It was the questions they didn’t ask that would have given him a moment’s pause. But they seemed to accept what he said, made a few notes, and thanked him for his help. They spent exactly a quarter of an hour with Sam, and then left.

AT THE ESTUARY OF THE RIVER LOUR, WHERE A NETWORK OF deep channels ran down to the sea, a small village led a precarious existence on patches of dry land. Every so often a flood tide would invade the village and wash away anything that was in its path. When it retreated, it left inches of mud and rubbish, which the villagers once more cleaned up, vowing they would sell up and move. But who would buy? They were miles from anywhere, with the only facility being the village pub.

It was here, opposite the pub and on a scrubby piece of ground that seemed to belong to nobody, that Athalia and her band of gypsies came to rest. The village was so accustomed to seeing them on their way to and fro Appleby that they hardly noticed them. Their horses were tethered, the dogs on lengths of rope tied to trailer wheels, and the children bothered nobody. The channels were their playground, and they came home like mudlarks, chirping and filthy.

It was a cloudless, sunny day, and Athalia and George perched on rickety kitchen chairs on the grass outside the trailer. They sat in silence for a while, and then George said, “What about them other two, then?”

“No good thinking about them,” Athalia said. “We’re well rid of them. They’re like them pariahs—living on the fringe, scrapin’ a living from thieving and begging and never shy about using their fists. Well rid of them,” she repeated.

“Isn’t that what
we
do?”saidGeorge.“Ain’tyoujustdescribed us lot—thieving, begging and handy with a sharp stick?”

Athalia turned on him. “Rubbish!” she said. “Poaching is not thieving. More like borrowing from nature. And nobody here has been begging. Door-to-door selling, yes. But we always got somethin’ to sell in return for money. Lace, pegs, them lovely flowers made of shaved wood. Do you remember your Dad making those? Took such pains, and they looked alive when he’d finished. Chrysanths was his favourite. And even if today the lace comes from machines an’ the pegs are plastic, we’re still not beggin’ are we?”

George smiled. “Just kiddin’, Athalia,” he said. “But I’d still like to know what those two are up to. D’you think they stayed behind, or took another route? Were they going to Appleby, anyway? That ole horse of theirs wouldn’t hardly get them as far as that.”

“They had a truck. Terrible old thing. I never knew nothing about them. Just said they could pitch down along of us. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Most likely,” said George. “You first.”

“D’you reckon one—or both—of them did for that Rob bloke?”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”

They stared out across the estuary, where a V-shaped skein of geese crossed the clear sky. “But why?” Athalia said.

“Good question,” George said. “If I knew that I’d go straight to the cops. We owe those two nothin’ at all.”

EDWINA SMITH TOOK HER EGG BASKET AND LOOKED OUT OF THE kitchen window. Beautiful day, and here she was, stuck with old Alf, when she could be out walking with Sam, talking about happy days when she was top of the class and Sam’s best girl.

“I’m just going out to check the hens,” she said over her shoulder to Alf, who sat at the table with the local paper spread out before him.

“Says here one of those kids from round the back of the village hall is in hospital. Drug overdose. Apparently she’s some relation of Mrs. T-J from the Hall. That’s one up the hooter for the old girl. Just because she’s a Justice of the Peace, she thinks she can preach to everybody who don’t tread the same blameless path as she does. Huh!”

Edwina turned back and looked at the paper. “Poor kid. What else does it say?”

“Seems she was staying with her great aunt up at the hall. Don’t suppose that’s much fun for a young kid. Probably went into the village looking for more cheerful company and found that grubby lot. Still, Mrs. T-J will buy her out of trouble. No doubt of that. Money talks.”

Edwina walked through the vegetable garden, noted that the lettuces were going to seed, and went out through a small gate into the field. The new hens were across the far side, and she walked slowly, feeling the warm wind on her face and thinking about the poor girl in hospital. She’d wanted a daughter, but at least she and Alf had not had the problems that children bring. Alf could have done with a son to help on the farm, but now they didn’t talk about it.

As she neared the chickens, she was startled to see a figure approaching. But surely they had all gone? This was definitely one of them, slouching along with a waddling bull terrier at his heels. Should she turn around and run back to Alf? Oh, for God’s sake, she told herself. Pull yourself together, woman.

“Mornin’ missus,” the man said.

“This is private land,” Edwina said, holding her egg basket in front of her like a shield.