Scandal at Six (Lois Meade Mystery) (28 page)

Fifty-
f
our

A
week later,
D
ot
N
immo sat at her window, looking over the road to the
B
rierleys’ house.
A
ll the curtains were drawn across, and
D
ot had seen few comings or goings since the terrible news about the zoo owner.
S
he supposed
B
etsy had imposed total mourning on the house.
O
nly once had the front door opened, and that was to permit
T
ed, resplendent in his undertakers’ black, to march off briskly.

Pettison was to be buried in a leafy glade behind Cameroon Hall, where a handful of people would attend a brief ceremony of committal to the grave. Justin, and his mother, Pettison’s sister on a flying visit, stood amongst the leafless trees. He bowed his head and tried to think of good things his uncle had done. He had had his moments of kindness and affection, but these had been sadly outweighed by his unashamed cruelty in handling little animals which were almost certain to die in captivity, away from their natural homes. Now the unfortunate man was decently buried and covered by loamy earth. Dust to dust, thought Justin.

*

A
fter the funeral service, which
L
ois attended against Derek’s wishes, and, as she said, representing New Brooms, a few people gathered in the zoo café to drink a warming glass of punch.

Lois found herself sitting by Betsy Brierley, who was being obviously shunned by a few stalwarts of Tresham’s blameless citizens who attended more out of curiosity than respect.

“It must have been a shock, Mrs Brierley,” she said. “He was a good friend, I believe?”

“You believe right,” said Betsy, with a sulky look. “And you needn’t bother to pussyfoot around it. I was his mistress, and we had good times together.”

“Of course,” said Lois blandly. “And isn’t that your husband with the undertaker’s men? They do a really good job, don’t they? Dignified, an’ that. I reckon it’s nice to give a good send-off.”

“You’re not saying his death was a good send-off, are you?” said Betsy in a loud voice. Everyone turned to look at her. “The poor old bugger died a horrible death, and the sooner the police find that sod who pushed him into a bees’ nest, the sooner I can sleep at nights.” She stood up, adjusted her tight skirt, and strutted away.

“Straight in it,” Lois muttered to Justin, who came to sit by her and introduce his mother.

“Don’t worry, Mrs Meade,” he said. “She had to explode sooner or later. I’ve been in touch with her, as there’s going to be a court hearing soon, and she and I will be in starring roles. I don’t think she and Ted talked much, so it’s probably done her a bit of good. Don’t take it personally!”

As Lois walked away from the zoo and up to the house to collect her car, she was passed by the hearse returning to base. She remembered reading about black horses with plumes of feathers on their heads, pulling a special carriage for the coffin. And in those days, you could hire mourners! Maybe Pettison would have liked that. Or perhaps he would have preferred to be drawn by a harnessed gorilla, pounding its way round the streets of Tresham.

Driving home, she thought again of Betsy’s outburst. She had probably loved Pettison, in her way. She might decide to give up selling herself, and concentrate on working with Justin in the zoo instead. If they got off with only a fine, of course.

As she walked into her kitchen, Gran stood by the cooker, stirring vigorously. “I expect you’ve had something to eat?” she said crossly.

Lois shook her head. “No, nothing to eat. I’m ravenous!” she added.

“Well you’d better get your coat off and go and ring Inspector Cowgill. He’s been on the phone. I told him where you’d gone, and he said to ring him back as soon as you got in.”

“And
I
say,” Derek added, “you will have your lunch properly, and after that you can ring him. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Gran.

“Mm, thanks, Mum,” said Lois.

*

“
A
nd now can we get on with our lives?”
T
ed
B
rierley stood with his back to the fire, glaring at his Betsy. Her face was ravaged by constant crying, and he was thoroughly fed up. Okay, so it was natural for her to be sorry, but not this great rush of mourning! She had embarrassed him at the funeral, sniffing and snorting! Half the time at home now, she was looking through albums of photos she had filched from the hall, weeping over photographs of Pettison, from golden-haired youth to cheerful-looking zoo owner, carrying a grinning chimpanzee on his arm.

And the other half of the time, she sat in an armchair, refusing to eat, and rejecting any attempts at conversation or comfort.

“I’ve had quite enough of this,” he continued. “You gave him a service, and he paid for it. I fixed it up, kept him happy and benefited financially. That’s all there was to it, as far as I’m concerned. A business arrangement. But no, you had to fall for him, and I suppose he fell for you, and I was forced to get rid of all your other clients. He wanted sole possession, and I had to agree. You made that quite clear. Now both our jobs are gone, and we can’t live on my undertaking money.”

“We could be out of a job anyway,” muttered Betsy. “There’ll be a case against us for trading in them animals. Aiding and abetting, I suppose.”

“Why don’t we cross that when we come to it? We’re well rid of him, and we’ve still got a future together. He wasn’t the only one who grew fond of you, silly girl! So can we start again? You can give up hiring yourself out, if you want, and I’ll ferret about for work where I can. We can be a proper couple. If you and young Brookes want to work together at the zoo, fine. I can help out there as well. As long as we are paid a reasonable sum. There should be money in the bank there, when Pettison’s financial affairs are sorted out. What do you say, Betsy?”

Betsy shook her head, sniffed and said nothing.

*

L
ois duly rang
C
owgill after she had had her lunch, and he had been brisk.

“Sorry to disturb you,” he said. “Something has come up, and I do need to talk to you. Say tomorrow, at about three? I have to come over to Fletching, so I’ll call on you, if that’s convenient?”

“Derek is going out, but I shall be here. Him and Gran are conducting a campaign to keep me away from anything to do with ferretin’, so don’t be put off if she’s grumpy when she opens the door. I’ll be in my office, so if I see you coming, I’ll make a dash to let you in!”

Cowgill put down the phone with a smile. He was glad and relieved to hear Lois sounding back to her old self. Seeing her so exhausted and shocked, he had worried. He could not bear to lose contact with her, however seldom they should meet. Now that they were almost related, with Josie’s husband being his nephew, he hoped that this alone would mean seeing her occasionally. He did not think of Derek as an obstacle in any way, he realised as he went off to find Matthew. He was content to be on the periphery of Lois’s life.

*

W
ondering what he wanted to talk about,
L
ois stayed in her office, sorting through New Brooms schedules for the coming week. She was finding it hard to concentrate, and decided to walk down to the shop with Jeems, call in to see Josie and then continue with a dog walk round the playing field.

“Don’t be too long,” said Gran, as she returned to the kitchen. “It gets dark really early, and very cold with it.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lois replied. “And I’m not a kid anymore. I appreciate your concern, but I am a grandmother myself.”

“And so you are!” said Gran. “You’d do better to concentrate on being a good grandmother instead of mixing yourself up with nasty animals and that inspector.”

“Bye, Mum,” said Lois cheerfully, and unhooking Jeems’s lead, she set out for the shop.

*

“
H
i,
M
other!” said
J
osie. “
Y
ou’re looking very healthy with your warm scarf and rabbit-fur gloves. Are they rabbit, or one of Justin’s foreign things?”

“Enough, Josie! I’m up to here with wisecracks from Derek and Gran.”

“Sorry! What can I get you?”

“Nothing. I just called in to see you. I’ll go the minute a customer arrives.”

“Don’t be daft. I’m very glad to see you. How’s everything?”

“All right. I went to Pettison’s funeral. It was quite dignified, actually. Poor old Betsy Brierley was very upset.”

“Naturally,” said Josie. “She was his longtime fancy woman, wasn’t she? It must have been a great shock to her when she heard about it.”

“Yep, I’m sure. Josie . . .”

“Yes, what?”

“Have you talked to anyone in the shop who actually saw that taxi they said brought Pettison here that night? There were quite a lot of people gathered around to see what was going on.”

“Not really. The neighbours came running out when they heard the shouting, and people who were really close could hear the bees as well. But I reckon the taxi had driven off by then.”

“Mm, well, I just wondered.”

“Why don’t you ask Joan, Gran’s friend? She must have been one of the first to come running round. Her garden backs onto the shop’s patch. She could have seen or heard something.”

“Good idea. Thanks, love. Here comes the vicar, so I’ll be on my way. Take care of yourself, and don’t allow any buzzing insects into the shop.”

She walked around into Blackberry Gardens, and knocked at Joan’s door. It was answered immediately, with a warm invitation to go in and have a cup of tea.

“Jeems will be fine. I keep a few dog biscuits for visiting pooches,” she said. “How’s your mother?”

“On top form, thanks,” Lois said. “I was hoping I could ask you one or two questions about that terrible night. You must have seen quite a lot of the goings-on?”

“Yes, I did. I saw some of it from the bottom of the garden, but I did run round quickly to see if I could help.”

“Did you by any chance see a taxi leaving the scene?”

“No, no taxi. There was only one vehicle going by at twice its usual speed!”

“What d’you mean, Joan?” Lois said urgently.

“Well, believe it or not, I saw the tail end of a hearse! A great long black thing, and it shot off in the Tresham direction. Funny, that.”

Fifty-
f
ive

I
nspector
C
owgill arrived on time next day, and
L
ois saw his car drawing up.
S
he rushed to the door, but collided with
G
ran coming at speed from the kitchen.

“You win,” said Lois, and retired to her office.

Gran straightened herself up, and then opened the door. “Good afternoon, Inspector, can I help you? My daughter’s rather busy at the moment.”

“She’s expecting me, Mrs Weedon,” said Cowgill, with his most charming smile. “I am sure she will spare me a few minutes.”

“Oh, very well. You’d better come in.”

At this point, Lois came out and said that Inspector Cowgill had made an appointment with her, and they were not to be disturbed. Gran sniffed, and said in that case, they would probably want cups of tea, unless Lois called that an interruption. Lois resisted a temptation to give her mother a sharp response, and eventually she and Cowgill were left alone.

“So how are you feeling today?” he asked, though he could see from her smile that she was her old self.

“Fine, and you?”

“Haven’t had time to ask myself!” he said. “We’ve had a lot of thinking and discussion. Going back to Pettison’s funeral, what did you think of it? Not bad, I thought, under the circumstances.”

“Yep. I thought Betsy Brierley was very dignified, until she snapped in the café.”

“Snapped? I saw her stalking off.”

“Yeah, it was something I said, about giving him a good send-off. She must have loved him, I reckon, Hunter. Very sad, really.”

“Mm, well, not many would agree with you. Betsy is considered to be hard as nails. Still, no reason why she should not mourn him. She’ll get over it, one way or another. Now,” he continued, “we’ve trawled all round the county, but found first of all that there are very few adapted taxis, and second, they were all either being repaired, or in use by reputable folk unconnected with our enquiry. In other words, we’ve drawn a blank, so far.”

“Oh dear. Well, this may mean nothing, but I went round to Gran’s friend Joan, who lives in Blackberry Gardens, and asked her if she had spotted a taxi leaving that night. She said no, and then she laughed and said that on her way round to see if she could help at the shop, she saw a hearse—yes, a hearse!—vanishing at speed. It wasn’t until now, before you came, that it dawned on me that it could have had something to do with Pettison.”

Cowgill said nothing for a few minutes. Then he opened his briefcase and withdrew a small plastic bag, securely sealed, and put it down in front of her.

“Ever seen this before?” he said.

“It’s a padlock,” said Lois flatly. “And there’s a small key in the keyhole.”

“Correct,” said Cowgill. “The padlock has been taken from the pigsty at the back of Josie’s shop.”

“And the key?”

“Brought in by Betsy Brierley. She found it in the pocket of Ted’s black undertaker’s coat. It has been checked over thoroughly, and it is definitely the one.”

“Oh my God! What did she say when she brought it in?”

“Not very much. She was very upset, but tried to explain that she had to decide between loyalty to Pettison or to Ted.”

“And Pettison won?”

Cowgill nodded.

“But why would Ted have wanted to do such a terrible thing? He’d lived alongside Pettison for long enough. They must have had a sort of tolerance of each other?”

“Not necessarily. Ted could have been like a simmering kettle all these years, and suddenly boiled over.”

“Boiled dry, more like,” said Lois, unimpressed. “But kettle or no kettle, he had put up with a lot, including being mocked by Pettison. Poor sod, he must have suffered. I suppose he could have walked out on Betsy, but maybe he loved her. Loves her, I should say. He started as her pimp, so I’m told, but they’ve lived together for years, and she’s not unattractive. So does he think he’s got away with it? What are you going to do?”

“Pull him in for interview, of course. But first, I hear Mrs Weedon approaching with a tea tray, so you and I can exchange sweet nothings for a short while longer.”

Lois sighed. “You really are an old softie,” she said. “But there is something tragic and romantic about all this, isn’t there? Too much misplaced love. I must say, and please don’t use this in evidence against me, that Pettison was an evil old devil.”

“Maybe, but there could have been other ways of putting him out of action, such as a long stretch in prison for breaking the law relating to trafficking in rare species. But now he is dead, and we don’t have to think about that. We have to take care that Betsy Brierley doesn’t do anything stupid.”

*

L
ater that day,
C
owgill sat in his office, facing a resentful Ted Brierley.

“What do you mean, was I out that night driving a hearse? Of course I bloody wasn’t! There’s no call for a hearse at that time of day. Unless it’s for the Hell Fire Club. They have nasty rituals, but our lot won’t have nothing to do with that!”

“Do you have someone to vouch for you being at home all evening, as you say?”

Ted thought quickly. He would have to risk this, and tell Betsy as soon as he got home. “Betsy, of course. She’ll know I was at home with her. I can even tell you what we had for supper.”

“Very well, tell me.” Inspector Cowgill sat back in his chair, and looked interested.

“Steak and kidney pie,” Ted said. “With chips and peas, and ice-cream with fruit cocktail for pudding. Most of it came from the supermarket, but we’re both busy people. Sir.”

“Excellent recall!” Cowgill said. “Do you pride yourself on your good memory?”

Ted visibly relaxed. “Oh yeah, me and Betsy do the crossword every day to keep our brains sharp.”

“So were you able to find some time to help out at the zoo, when Pettison went into hospital?”

“No, they didn’t need me. And, I don’t mind telling you, I am not that keen on zoo animals. There’s always that smell of doings and disinfectant mixed. So no, I kept out of the way and left it to Betsy. She and that Justin Brookes seemed to be coping all right. Is it something to do with the zoo that you got me in here for?”

“Possibly. Or it might be a charge of driving a hearse without due care and attention, and exceeding the speed limit in a built-up area.”

Ted laughed at what he thought was a joke. “I’d not call Long Farnden a very built-up area!” he said.

“I see,” said Cowgill, and made a note. “I suppose you must have attended several funerals there, over the years?”

“Oh yeah. I know the area well. Those little lanes an’ village greens, an’ that. Sometimes difficult to manoeuvre round. You get used to it, though.”

“So I expect you’d be good at driving in the dark around there?”

“Oh yeah,” Ted said proudly. “They always ask me to drive, if there’s tricky jobs to be done.”

Silence. Cowgill said nothing, and the atmosphere was heavy with tension.

“Can I go now, inspector?” Ted said.

“No, not yet, Mr Brierley. Not yet,” he repeated, opening his desk drawer. He carefully placed the small plastic bag on the desk in front of him and slid it towards Ted.

*

“
T
hey’ve kept him in,
J
ustin, and it’s all my fault! What am I going to do?” Betsy was gripping her telephone, trying to speak calmly, but failing miserably.

Her voice was hoarse, and Justin did his best to make sense of what she was saying.

“You mean the police have taken Ted in for questioning, and have not released him yet? Do you know what they are asking him?”

There was the sound of sobbing, and Justin was puzzled. “What’s been going on, Betsy?” he said.

There was no reply, and he realised Betsy had cut off the call. He frowned. This was not like her. Perhaps he should drive over and make sure she was okay. If they had taken Ted into the police station, something new must have come up.

*

B
etsy sat with the phone in her hand, staring into space. She had done it. She had agonised over what she should do since she had brushed Ted’s overcoat, ready to put it back in the wardrobe, and felt the key in the pocket.

Not that she hadn’t already suspected him of being involved in something fishy. Twice lately, Ted had gone out unexpectedly in the evening, dressed in his black undertaking clothes, and had returned later than usual.

The first time, it was the night before she discovered Pettison had been humiliated in the hospital. A man in black had been spotted running away, the receptionist had said. And the second time was the night of the killer bees.

Again, he had been wearing his black suit and overcoat, and she had noticed him taking the emergency hearse key from its hook in the kitchen. He had said next day he’d been meeting some of the lads for a special get-together in the Royal Oak pub in town. They’d agreed to wear their funeral gear to play a trick on the publican, he’d said. But she had met the wife of one of his undertaker mates in the supermarket next morning, and she had said her man had stayed at home all evening.

Betsy had tried to put all this from her mind, but now Ted was in custody, and it was her fault. She had tried to deliver the padlock key to the police station anonymously, but they had insisted on taking her name and contact details. So now he would know she had shopped him.

She drifted upstairs and found herself staring again at the black overcoat. He had been so proud of it, but in the end he had used it as a disguise for a horrible crime. She had always said he looked his responsible best when fully kitted out. She put her face to the warmth of the coat and noticed a stain on the cuff of one sleeve. She wished she was dead.

Ted Brierley. She sat down on the bed, and let her thoughts carry on remorselessly. They had never married, although after a while she took his name. He had managed her life, along with several other girls, and he was a careful and considerate protector. Provided the girls made no trouble. For her it was easy. Being on the game ran in her family, and she’d drifted into it without thinking too much about it. Then when Ted took her on, it had been convenient for both to live together, especially when Pettison had said he wanted to be her only lover.

Like an old married couple, Ted and she had got used to one another, and he was still protective towards her. What a mess! She caught sight of herself in the mirror on the wardrobe door. What a ravaged, awful face! Prostitution showed in the end, didn’t it? It might have started as a game, but ended in disaster. Best to end it. End it for good.

“It’s all my fault, and there’s only one thing I can do about it,” she shouted to the image in the looking glass.

Then the doorbell rang, and she went to open it. It was Dot Nimmo and Justin Brookes.

“Can we come in?” Dot said. “We’ve brought a bottle.”