Lois shook her head. “He may be desperate, but he’s also clever. He’s been keeping out of sight for a long time now. Probably got regular hidey-holes where he can lie low for as long as it’s safe. Then, when it isn’t, move on. And anyway, Josie,” she said, “s’far as we know, he ain’t committed a crime. Leaving his wife and kids is not a police matter. And I’m not at all sure yet that Paula wants him back. She’s making a new life for herself in Farnden.”
“What about the boy?”
“Ah, young Jack. Yes, well, he is a problem, and probably needs a father. But maybe not that father! But you’re right there. Something has to be done.”
She slipped off the stool by the shop counter and picked up her shopping. “Better get back and do some serious thinking. I don’t have to ask you-”
“-to keep it to myself,” finished Josie. “Of course I’ll not say a word. But I do think you’re taking a bit too much on yourself.”
“Don’t I always?” said Lois, and set off for home. She had decided to take Josie into her confidence for two reasons. First, she knew her daughter was a good source of village gossip from her listening post in the shop. And second, her encounter with Hickson had shaken her up, and Josie was the obvious person to confide in.
TWENTY-SIX
THE RAIN HAD CLEARED AWAY IN THE NIGHT, AND A BRIGHT sparkling countryside failed to grab Gavin’s attention as he drove much too fast along the narrow tree-lined lanes to work. He was late, having been drawn into an anxious discussion with Kate about three spots on Celia’s chubby cheek. Was it measles? No, she’d had the jab. Chicken pox? Not the right kind of spots. Ringworm, then, caught from other children at the Mums and Tots group? Finally they had agreed that Kate should take her to the surgery and check with the doctor. Couldn’t be too careful, Gavin had said.
Now he arrived in the office car park, locked his car and ran towards the front entrance.
“Gavin!” A tall, heavily built man with sandy hair carefully combed over a pinkish scalp, emerged from behind a car parked to one side and blocked his way.
Damn! Gavin said to himself. What the hell did Tim Froot want with him now? And surely he had more sense than to come here to find him?
“In a hurry!” he gasped, hesitating for a moment. “Can I catch up with you later?”
“Now,” said Froot flatly. “In my car. Get in.”
The darkened windows shielded them from onlookers, and Gavin said again that he was late for work and in a hurry.
“I need some action, Gavin,” Tim Froot said. “Time for you to come up with something positive. Do we have a development site or not? I can’t waste any more time on it. Either you produce something definite, and earn your commission, or I lose interest and take my money elsewhere. It’s not exactly the biggest deal, is it? But I like you, and I like Kate, and I’ll put this thing your way if you play your part. Do I make myself clear?”
Gavin nodded. “Very clear,” he said. “Give me a couple of weeks, and I’ll come up with what you want. Now I have to go, else I’ll have no job to go to.”
The office was quiet as he slipped into his place, hoping not to be noticed. But as he bent over his computer as if he’d been there since dawn, he felt a presence stop beside him.
“Gavin Adstone?” He looked up, and saw a broad-shouldered young man smiling at him.
“That’s me. Something amiss?”
“Douglas Meade. And no, there’s nothing wrong! Just thought I’d introduce myself. You’re newly moved in to Long Farnden, my grandmother tells me. She’s Mrs. Weedon, and my mum’s Lois Meade. Runs New Brooms cleaning service. Gran monitors everything and everybody in Farnden!”
Gavin stood up and stretched out his hand. “Glad to know you,” he said. “Actually, I’d heard about you, too.” He didn’t mention the post boy. “Yes, we’re incomers in the village, but I hope we’ll be accepted in ten years’ time!”
“Make it twenty-five,” said Douglas. “Anyway, must get on,” he added, looking at his watch. “Hope you’ll be happy there. Nice village, if handled tactfully…”
Gavin watched him walk away briskly. Friendly chap, he thought. But no fool. Have to watch your step there, Gavin boy.
TIM FROOT COASTED SLOWLY INTO FARNDEN, AND HIS SATNAV told him to turn right. “Destination on the left,” said Prudence, the name he had given the calm, patient voice. She never blamed him for taking a wrong turn, never sulked when his own route was more sensible than hers.
He pulled up, and looked across at the village hall, at its outdated wooden structure and grubby paintwork. The roof was sorely in need of repair, and the window frames were clearly rotten.
“Ripe for it,” he said aloud. If Gavin Adstone didn’t get on with it, he would have to look around for someone else. It was a tiny project compared with his usual plans, but he had taken a fancy to Kate Adstone, and wouldn’t say no to meeting her on a regular basis for a while.
“SUPPER’S EARLY TONIGHT,” GRAN SAID. “DEREK’S GOT HIS MEETING, and I’m going round to Joan’s to talk about what the WI plans to do for the soap box grand prix.”
“What, just the two of you, single-handed?”
“How can two people be single-handed, Lois? No, of course not! It’s a WI committee meeting at Joan’s house. Derek’s lot have got the village hall, so we can’t go there.”
“Sounds like we need a bigger village hall, with meeting rooms an that,” said Lois.
“I shall ignore that,” Gran said. “Sometimes, Lois, you can be very irritating. Oh, and by the way, that policeman of yours rang. I told him to try your mobile, and he said he had, but it wasn’t switched on. Now, haven’t you got some work to do, and let me get on with supper?”
Lois dialled Cowgill’s number and waited. “Ah, there you are,” she said, as he finally answered. “You wanted me?”
All the time, Cowgill said to himself, but aloud thanked her for ringing back. “It’s just that we’ve had a complaint from a woman living in Fletching. She says her garden shed was raided.”
“Ah, serious crime,” said Lois.
Cowgill proceeded smoothly, “And the reason I’m telling you this, is that it is the third complaint we’ve had where theft has occurred locally in unlocked outhouses and sheds, and on each occasion it is food stolen. Apples stored on racks, sacks of potatoes broken into, strings of onions. And where freezers were kept, two or three ready-meals missing. Never any great quantity, but a pattern is emerging.”
“I see it already,” Lois said caustically. “Hungry bear on the rampage. Large brown bears with claws and fangs dripping with massacred cat’s blood.”
There was a few seconds’ silence, and Lois began to think he had finally lost patience with her. But no, now he was laughing. Real, throaty laughter.
“You sound a bit rusty,” she said. “Not laughed much lately?”
“Not for years,” Cowgill said. “A policeman’s lot is not a happy one.”
“Anyway, seriously, you think this might be a tramp, a real desperate one, and on our patch?”
“Seems likely. Worth following up. Chris is having a look round, visiting the complainants. Just thought you might like to know, and maybe keep your eyes open even more than usual. Also,” he added, risking it, “it is an excuse to talk to the only girl who can make me laugh.”
“Forget it,” Lois said. “But before I go through the emails from my other fans, have you heard any more about the identity of the canal tramp?”
Cowgill’s voice became instantly cool. “Not so far, I’m afraid. We are still making enquiries.”
“Great,” said Lois. “And so am I. Bye.”
DEREK HAD COLLECTED LOIS’S CAR AND FIXED THE EXHAUST PIPE. She had not told him or Gran about the tramp, unwilling to provoke another burst of disapproval. But now she settled down in her office and tried to face the Hickson problem. The police knew less than she did, she guessed. And in any case, to them the whole thing was small beer. A friendless nohoper, probably a drunk, who fell into the canal. Case quietly closed. Then there were a few unconnected petty thefts of food in the Farnden area. Nothing that would keep Cowgill awake at night.