Ann Purser - Threats At Three

“He had no identification on him, but you know who he was, don’t you, Lois. Come on, light of my life, save me some valuable police time.”

“Hunter Cowgill,” said Lois, “don’t push me too far. Think back. Jack Hickson Sr. had a major bust up at Parks and Gardens, and injured a man who’d quarrelled with him. So, if you remember that Jack Hickson Sr. was standing next to the man who died, and a knife had been drawn a couple of seconds before Rebellion crashed into them, doesn’t that make you wonder?”

“What are you saying, Lois? Do you mean young Jack’s father killed him?”

“No, not that way round, stupid! The man flashing the knife was after Jack Sr., aiming to settle a score. It was when he fell backwards and hit his head on the bollard that he bought it. Got it? I don’t know his name, but I’ll probably find out. Just tell Chris to go easy on young Jack. What happens next will probably affect the rest of his life. Let me know how it goes. Please.”

Cowgill heard her end the call and remained staring at the receiver. Then he called for his assistant, Chris, saying that on no account was she to go to the hospital without talking to him first. Then he asked her to get him John Thornbull on the phone straightaway.

THE SHOP HAD BEEN MUCH BUSIER THAN WAS USUAL ON A MONDAY morning, but now there was a lull, and Josie sat down on her stool behind the counter and looked through the morning paper. She wondered if the Dutch company story was in the business section. It was, with many distressing details. The door opened and she looked up. It was Matthew Vickers, in uniform and with a broad grin on his face. “Love you,” he said, by way of a greeting. “Will you marry me? If not, I shall be forced to take you down to the station, and warn you that anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

Josie stared at him. “Have you been drinking?” she said. “And in uniform, too? I shall be forced to report you to your superior. And, since you asked me so romantically, the answer is…” She hesitated dramatically, and then said in a very small voice, “Yes, please.”

LOIS AND JAMIE WANDERED ROUND THE MARKETPLACE IN Tresham, looking idly at a number of stalls set out under a big banner advertising a charity event. Twenty charities were represented, selling a variety of handmade and commercially produced goods. Each had its display and piles of leaflets explaining who they were and why they needed money.

“There she is!” Lois said suddenly.

“Who?”

“Dot,” said Lois. “I knew she’d be here. Come on, let’s go over and speak to her.”

Jamie frowned. So this is why his mother had mysteriously suggested they might go into town to do some shopping this afternoon. It was not exactly what he would have chosen to do in his brief time at home, but she had been insistent. Now he remembered who Dot was. She was a Nimmo, and he’d been at school with one of the latest generation. That one had been an engaging character, certainly, and no fool. But he did as little work as possible, and could not wait to leave school and join his father’s gang of small-time crooks.

Mum was after information, and Dot would be the source.

They approached the Alzheimer’s Society stall, and Dot beamed. “This is your Jamie, then?” she said, stretching out her hand. Jamie shook it firmly and smiled back. These Nimmos were irresistible.

“Pleased to meet you,” continued Dot. “I’m sorry to ask you the minute we’ve met, but would you be an angel and get me a bottle of lager from the pub over there? I’m dying of thirst. Here, here’s the money.”

So, she wants a private word with Mum, he thought, as he crossed the busy square to the King’s Arms.

“Tell me quick,” said Lois.

“His name is Ross, well, sometimes Ross, and his sister lives down by the canal. He’s no good, never has been. Mixed up with drugs and more than likely responsible for the death of that addict girl what was in the paper recently. In trouble for lurking outside school gates. Here, I’ve written down the rest. Addresses and so on. Go on, put it in yer bag. Jamie’s coming back.”

“Thanks, Dot,” Lois said, and then turned around to Jamie. “This is a good cause, son,” she said. “It won’t be long before me and your dad will need its help.”

All three laughed politely, and then Dot was nobbled by a friend from Sebastopol Street.

“Come on, Mum,” Jamie said. “Let’s get a coffee and a huge, creamy chocolate éclair. Do they still have them over in the Royal Café?

“Why else would I bring you to market?” Lois said, with a sideways glance at him.

“Huh,” he said, and took her arm. “There’s no answer to that, Mrs. M,” he added fondly.

CHRIS SAT IN A WARD SIDE ROOM TALKING GENTLY TO JACK JR. HE had been allowed out of bed, and told everyone who passed how completely better he was. “Nothing wrong with me now,” he shouted to the doctor who was doing his rounds.

“Hush, Jack,” Chris said. “You still need to be careful. Nothing worse than a relapse.”

“I thought that was something old women get?” he said, with an innocent expression. Chris was about to correct him, and then realised that he knew anyway. A tricky one, this.

“Before we talk about Saturday,” she said, “I think you might like to know the likely cause of the death of the man Ross.”

“Never heard of him,” Jack said.

“The one you crashed into. I expect you know he sadly died, but maybe you don’t know what killed him?”

Jack’s heart began to pound. Here it came, and he crossed his fingers behind his back and hoped he could get his story right. “No. What did?”

“There was a scuffle and as your soap box went into the crowd, they parted and he fell backwards, hit his head on a stone bollard and died instantly. According to witnesses standing close by, they had tried to stop him before he fell, but it all happened too quickly for anyone to grab him.”

With an unerring instinct for self-preservtion, Jack Jr. said nothing.

Chris looked closely at him, but his expression was bland. “It seems there had been a fault on the steering,” she continued, “so you couldn’t have done anything to stop it.” And may God forgive you, Inspector Cowgill, she added to herself.

Jack Sr. appeared at the door, and young Jack went towards him. “Hi, Dad,” he said.

“Seems they’re letting us out tomorrow,” his father said. “We can go home together.”

COWGILL WATCHED THE SHOPPERS FROM HIS OFFICE WINDOW, turning over in his mind the last few days’ events. He had been assured by Chris that she had used his exact words when visiting Jack Jr. in hospital, but he had not heard from Lois.

Now Chris stood behind him, wondering whether to break the silence or to wait until he spoke. She was beginning to sense when she should keep quiet and when to offer suggestions. But she was taken by surprise by what happened next. He suddenly turned from the window and shot across the room, flung open the door and disappeared down the corridor. She heard his footsteps clattering down the stone steps and prayed that he would not slip. After all, he was getting on.

By the time he reached the ground floor, he was gasping for breath. All eyes followed him in astonishment as he sped across the reception area and vanished through the heavy double doors of the police station.