SO HERE’S A PRETTY KETTLE OF FISH,” COWGILL SAID TO LOIS. They were sitting in his car in a deserted cul-de-sac on the far side of Tresham. “We have the body of a drowned man, with all the signs of being a homeless drunkard who fell into the canal in the dark. He’d not been there long, but long enough. We’ve had no calls, not from witnesses or anxious relatives or friends reporting a missing man. The shelter people say they get a lot of such unfortunates who come in once or twice and are never seen again. In short, Lois my dear, we could wrap this up pretty quickly.”
“Except for me?” Lois frowned.
“That’s right. You say you might know who he is, but are not going to tell me. That right?”
“Not yet,” Lois said. “Sorry to spoil your day. But too bad. Of course, one more drowned tramp is neither here nor there to you. I might know who he is, but I need to find out a lot more details before I tell you. And before you say it, I know I am breaking some law or other. But tough. There are other people involved in this, including children.”
Cowgill sighed. “So how long do you want?”
“A few days. Don’t really know yet. Listen, Hunter-”
His heart missed a beat. Stupid old fool, he charged himself. What’s in a name? Everything to him. In all the time he’d known her he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had used his Christian name.
“I’m listening, Lois dear,” he said, with a fatuous grin.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Lois said. “I was going to say that surely by now you trust me? Haven’t I always come up with the goods when it was the right time? So, give me a few days, and I’ll be in touch.”
“All I can say is that I won’t press you to tell me. Naturally, my team will be carrying on their investigations in the usual way. If we discover something you might need to know, I’ll ring you, as always.”
“Huh!” Lois was only too well aware that Cowgill, who, after all, was a top cop, told her exactly as much as he thought fit, whilst he expected her to tell him everything. Well, in this case it would be different. If the body was that of Jack Hickson Sr., then she was determined to help Paula and her children as much as possible. That might not amount to much, but at least, with luck, she could give her a warning and perhaps a little time.
“I must go,” she said now, opening the car door. “No, I don’t want a lift. I got the bus here and I’ll get it back into town. My car’s in the multistorey. See you.”
Cowgill sat in his car for a long while after she had gone. He wondered what he would do if he retired and had little hope of seeing Lois again for any longer than a brief chat on the street on Tresham market day. Then he remembered Matthew, his nephew. If his romance with Josie blossomed into marriage, then he’d have every reason to be in touch as often as he liked!
Greatly cheered, he started the engine and drove back to his office. Never mind about old tramps in the canal, he thought. I’ll put my mind to fostering certain nuptials, and if it works I’ll retire with good grace.
PAULA HICKSON WAS BACK AT FARNDEN HALL, ON THE LAST stretch of mopping the large expanse of tiled floor at the entrance. She glanced nervously from time to time through the long windows and down the drive. She had seen the news, of course, and had been so shocked that it wasn’t until at least an hour later that common sense had returned, and she considered the likelihood of the drowned man being her missing husband. Tresham was a big town, almost a city, she told herself. There must be dozens of such poor souls tramping the streets. She had seen them herself, but mostly the cleaned-up ones who shivered on corners offering the Big Issue for sale. Although she had no money to spare and the newspaper was now more than a pound, she always slipped them fifty pence. There, but for the grace of God and Social Services, go I, she thought.
“Ready for coffee, Mrs. Hickson?” Mrs. Tollervey-Jones did not believe in familiarity with servants, and for two pins would leave out the “Mrs.” But her grandchildren had told her that this would be unforgivable.
Paula put her mop temporarily into the bucket and headed for the empty kitchen. There were never matey chats with this client! In any case, she had been told by Lois that her cleaners were allowed a ten minute break but were not to be seduced into a gossip. Unless, of course, the talk concerned a matter that Lois had in passing suggested might be of interest to her…
It was quiet in the kitchen, and the old dog snoozed in her basket. Paula wondered if she should open the door into the yard. With the Aga ticking over all winter and summer, it was too hot now, with the sun streaming in through the windows. She finished her coffee quickly, and went down the corridor, through the swinging green baize door and returned to finish the last one or two tiles.
“All well?” said Mrs. Tollervey-Jones, standing at the top of the curving staircase. “I thought you looked a bit peaky last time. Must be difficult for you, coping without a husband and with those boys of yours.” Paula was surprised. The old woman had seemed remote, uninterested in her, but here she was, knowing all about Paula and with a sharp eye, missing nothing.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Paula said. “I do have a husband, by the way. He’s just not with us at the moment.”
“Upside down in the canal, possibly,” said Mrs. Tollervey-Jones bluntly, and swept down the stairs and into the drawing room, from whence came sounds of a piano being played with what Paula reckoned was a pretty nifty pair of hands.
Why did she say that? Surely she wouldn’t be so cruel deliberately? Paula wondered whether she could ask Mrs. M to transfer her to another client, but immediately rejected the thought. Difficult as it might prove to be, the hall was a magic place to work. Then, for the first time it occurred to Paula that if the dead body was Jack, then she need never look anxiously down the drive again. She stood stock-still, leaning on the mop, overcome with the desire to weep.
“Why don’t you pack up, now, Mrs. Hickson. Get along home.” Mrs. Tollervey-Jones had not meant her tactless remark to be taken to heart, and hearing muffled sounds, had returned and tried to make amends. She was careful not to look at Paula, but asked her if next time she came, would she like to have a try at flower arranging? “Heaps of them in the kitchen garden, just for picking,” she said. “Whenever I do them, they end up looking like a bunch of carrots.”
Paula finished everything she had been told to do, and asked if there was anything else. Reassured that her work had been excellently done, she went out to her car and chugged off down the drive. Her mobile rang and she stopped to answer it.
“Paula? Mrs. M here. Could you spare me a few minutes before you go home? Good. See you then.”