Ann Purser - Threats At Three

“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He pulled up, and looked across at the village hall, at its outdated wooden structure and grubby paintwork.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.

So what did she know that was more disturbing? First, Paula Hickson, now one of her team, had been deserted by a violent husband and was making a new life in Farnden. Second, although all seemed to be going well for Paula, there was her firstborn son, Jack Jr., who was far from doing well. He was being approached by a stranger-or maybe his father?-outside the school and in other places, and she did not know whether he had told his mother. The boy was disturbed, unhappy and possibly in danger.

This last thought was the crux of the matter. She should tell Cowgill or Paula, or both, what she feared, and enlist their support. But she knew in her heart that if she alerted Cowgill, the might of the welfare state would be put on the case and young Jack would probably do something drastically awful. When Josie had been a teenager, she had gone off the rails and had run away with an older mixed-up lad. It had been a desperate time for them all, and needed very delicate handling by her and Derek. And yes, the police had been brought in, but only because the lad had committed a crime.

That was it. In what seemed to be his present frame of mind, Jack Jr. was quite likely to flout the law, if it was only to draw attention to himself. The classic cry for help.

“Coffee,” said Gran, coming in with a steaming mug. “You going to be much longer?”

“Why?”

“The sun’s shining, there’s people going up and down the village street, the garden needs weeding and you’ve got a grandson in Tresham who’d probably like to see his grannie more than once a month.”

“Oh! Right! Thanks for the lecture, Mum! I’ll certainly bear in mind your helpful suggestions.”

“Huh!” said Gran, and banged the door behind her.

Lois sighed, stood up and looked out of the window. Gran was right, as usual. She opened the window, letting in fresh air and sunlight. This afternoon she would go into Tresham and see Susie and little Harry, maybe stay until bath time. She could also call in at the office first and see if Hazel had any news about the local thefts.

But for now, she would ring Paula and ask her to call in on her way back from the hall, just to have a chat.

MRS. T-J WAS IN THE ROOM SHE CALLED THE DEN. THE BELL ON the board in the kitchen, no longer in use, was labeled “The Den,” and she perpetuated the name in an attempt to preserve something of the old atmosphere at the hall, when her father had sat at his big desk working on the affairs of his estate, collecting rents, hiring and firing workers, dealing with his bank manager.

As she now settled down in the big leather chair, more like a throne than a chair, she was reminded of hiring and firing as she checked her diary. A hopeful applicant for the gardener job was due at eleven o’clock for interview. His letter was in good English, clear and comprehensive, listing the jobs he had done. He had worked in municipal parks, as well as in smaller private gardens, and was looking for work only because he had been made redundant in the present climate of financial squeeze.