Dot looked alarmed. New Brooms was her life now, and she dreaded something bad happening inside the Nimmo gang that would cause her to lose her job.

"Don't look like that!" Lois said. "It's nothing alarming. No, I really wanted to pick your brains. In strict confidence between me and you, and I really mean that, Dot, we are still not happy with Jack Jr.'s story about what happened to him. It might be that he's made up all that stuff about being at a friend's house."

"So he could've been taken, after all?" Dot's eyes had brightened with the chance of a good mystery to work on. In the past, she had loved the idea of being Mrs. M's a.s.sistant in the ferretin'.

"Look, Dot, your family knows every dodgy character in Tresham, every member of other gangs, and you could find out if any of 'em specialise in abduction."

"Could well be," Dot answered, "but if they were after money, they'd pick somebody else. They may be villains, but they're not stupid. Why s.n.a.t.c.h the son of a woman on benefits, with a husband gone missing and living hand to mouth in a council rented house?"

"On the nail, as usual," said Lois. "That's it, Dot. So why?"

"Settling a score, that'd be the most likely reason. You'd be surprised, Mrs. M, how long these grudges last. Some of 'em from generation unto generation."

"Very biblical, Dot," Lois said, and laughed. "But that's where you come in. Can you do a bit of ferretin' for me and find out if there are any really wicked grudges still around in your family's acquaintances. I won't say friends."

"Don't worry about offending me," said Dot. "My eyes were opened when I married my dear departed. Nothing shocks me now. Leave it to me. Say a couple of days, and then I'll report back?"

"Great," Lois said. "Off you go, then. And thanks for offering some more hours. It'll be good to keep the new clients going. Times is hard, as everyone knows, and even New Brooms will need all the work we can get."

As Dot went down the path, she saw a tall figure approaching. She recognized him at once, and hurried past, hiding her face.

"Morning, Mrs. Nimmo!" said Cowgill cheerily. "Family all well?" He carried on, chuckling to himself, and as he approached the front door, it opened. "What do you want?" said Lois.

"Don't pretend you're not delighted to see me, Lois Meade," Cowgill said. "And don't worry, it's business, so can I please come in?"

"There's nothing more I can tell you at the moment," Lois said, half closing the door.

"At the moment?" said Cowgill, sticking his foot in the opening. "Then perhaps you could elaborate on that? I shan't keep you long. I can smell good smells coming from Gran's kitchen, and I must get back to my lonely sandwich in the office. And seriously, Lois, I do have one or two things to ask you. Thanks, love," he added, as she opened the door wide and he stepped inside.

FIFTY-TWO.

I WANT YOU OUT OF HERE BY THE TIME I GET BACK THIS EVENING," Ross's sister said, hands on hips and a threatening expression on her face.

It was ten o'clock in the morning, and her brother was reading a newspaper spread over his unwashed breakfast dishes still on the table. He was unshaven and had wrapped himself in an old dressing gown which had belonged to her late husband. This grubby garment had been the last straw. It reminded her that she had rejoiced at getting rid of one useless man about the house and now here was another, apparently staying indefinitely. Well, he could think again.

"And if you're not gone when I come back from the shop, I'm dropping a helpful hint to the Tresham constabulary."

He looked up at her sharply, hastily covering up the blonde on page three. "What d'you mean? I'm not wanted for nothing."

"I can think of something," she said caustically. "Always stayed on the right side of the law, have you? Don't make me laugh. No, you think about it. And I don't want no forwarding address. Just be gone when I get home." She turned and went out of the door and he heard her footsteps disappearing along the path outside.

Never mind about brotherly love, he thought, what happened to sisterly loyalty? He sighed. She always meant what she said, so he supposed he'd better be on his way. He got up, stacked the dishes in the sink, and went upstairs to get dressed. He was thinking hard about where he should go. Not to a country retreat yet. He smiled at the idea of himself as a country b.u.mpkin. He still had a job to do for the boss and one of his own, and he had a plan worked out. Anyway, finding a bed for a week or so with one of the shadier contacts he'd made since being out of work shouldn't be too difficult.

DOT NIMMO LET HERSELF INTO HER REDBRICK TERRACED HOUSE in Sebastopol Street in Tresham. It was a long street, built cheaply to house workers in the days of industrial expansion in the town. New Brooms office was at one end of the street, and Dot's house at the other. She almost never called in to see Hazel in the office, not wanting her old friends and a.s.sociates to connect her too closely with Mrs. M. Lois Meade was now well-known to the gangs in town as Cowgill's favourite gra.s.s, and Dot was anxious that her family should not clam up on her.

She sat down with a cup of tea and a sausage roll from the shop on the corner, and began to consider who best to approach. Her sister Evelyn had cut herself off completely from the family, but there were several of the next generation who could be useful, Evelyn's son for one. He had also been included in the persona non grata cutoff by Evelyn, who had been disgusted when he was caught supplying to known dealers. Getting caught was the crime! Dot loathed him, with his flash clothes and smarmy ways, but she was quite capable of pretending family affection if it looked like being productive. She picked up her telephone.

"h.e.l.lo? It's Auntie Dot. No, I do not want a taxi, Victor! Are you at home this evening? I just need to pick your brains. Ha-ha! Of course you got brains. All the Nimmos got brains." Of a sort, she added to herself, and then said she'd call in around seven o'clock. "That'll still give you plenty of time to get to the pub," she said. "See y' later."

Now, what to do next. Dot had to be at her new lady at two thirty, and it was only just after half past one. Who else in the Nimmo circle could she have a chat to? There was one old friend, but she hadn't been in touch with her for years. She had had a family, all still around Tresham, so it might be worth giving her a bell. What was her name? She'd been at school with Dot, in the same cla.s.s. Martha? Martha Ross! That was it. And she married a Smith. Oh G.o.d, finding her in the telephone directory would take a while, and even then she might not get the right one. More thought needed on that one.

She looked out of her window. Her garden was full of sunlight, and a large grey pigeon was sitting in the birdbath. It looks like a stupid duck, thought Dot, and she began to laugh. She felt ridiculously happy to be ferretin' with Mrs. M again. And knowing the world of the Nimmos, it was more than possible she would uncover a great deal of dirt before they were finished.

VICTOR NIMMO WAS WAITING AT THE DOOR AS DOT DREW UP outside his tall, wrought iron gates. He lived in some style on the edge of town, and his house and large garden were fortified against all intruders. He had enemies, he knew. You couldn't get as rich as he was without making enemies. Now he operated the gates remotely so Dot could drive in.

"Bloomin' 'ell," she said. "You expecting a terrorist attack, or something? Anyway, how are you, Victor? And how's the wife?"

He ushered her into a long room lavishly furnished and decorated in shades of cream and gold. "Pammie's gone to her mother's for a few days," he said.

Dot knew for a fact that she had been gone a few months, probably never to return, but said nothing.

"Now, Auntie," Victor said. "What can I do for you? In a spot of trouble, are you?"

"Of course not," Dot said sharply. "No, it's information I need. I know you still keep the old rackets going, and might know something useful."

"What's it worth?" he said, pretending to be joking.

"Could be your ent.i.tlement to all this," she said, waving her hand around. "But we Nimmos must stick together. It's important, Victor, and you know the form. You scratch my back an' I'll scratch yours. Now, what I want to know is to do with missing persons."

In a skillful way, she then described the kind of person she was looking for without alerting him to the actual case of Jack Jr. "The missing person's probably been taken as part of an old grudge," she ended up, "and G.o.d knows there's still plenty of grudges in town. My old man may not have made your kind of money, but at least he settled everything before he died. Anyway, what d'you reckon?"

Victor was silent for minute, taking it all in. He might well have had brains, but they needed time. "Can I have a think, Dot, and let you know?"

"It's urgent," she said. "Give me a bell tomorrow. Don't let me down, will you, Victor. But you got more sense than to do that, I know. Now, you'd better let me out of this prison and get yourself down the pub. And, by the way, I don't want this spread around. You know how to do it. I'll hear from you tomorrow."

FIFTY-THREE.

IT HAD BEEN A BAD FEW DAYS IN THE ADSTONE HOUSEHOLD. After Kate had told Gavin about her meeting with Tim Froot, he had been stunned and silent. This had not lasted, and ever since then he had burst out into fits of anger, first at her, for taking matters into her own hands, and then at Froot for having the nerve to attempt to blackmail Kate into an intimacy that made him feel sick every time he thought about it.

"And you took Cecilia with you!" he repeated, day after day.

This evening, when he said it once more, Kate began to think this was his most important concern. "He was quite nice to her," she said finally. "She thought he was great."

At this, Gavin covered his eyes and moaned. "Kate, what have you done? Don't you know that Froot never gives up? He has so many poor sods at his beck and call that he always gets his own way, especially when he has his victim over a barrel."

"He doesn't have us over a barrel," she replied. "I told him straight. We would pay back what you owe in installments, and he was to leave us alone. Of course, I didn't know about the bargain you'd made. I'm not sure I can forgive that. If anybody in the village got to know your part in it, we'd be drummed out."

"But I haven't done what he wanted!" Gavin shouted at her. "You know I haven't. And I'm not going to! Christ knows what'll happen, especially since you stuck your oar in, but I've finished with Froot. I just wish you'd let me handle it all myself."

Kate was near to tears, and then she remembered something Froot said. He would make our marriage a disaster! And now it was happening. She began to see what Gavin meant about Froot being all powerful. But he hadn't won yet. She went over to where Gavin sat and crouched down beside him, taking his hands in hers.

"Gavin, we've got to stop!"

"Stop what?"

"Shouting and quarrelling and starting to hate each other. It's just what Froot threatened. He said if you didn't play your part in the bargain and wreck the soap box day, he'd make sure our marriage was destroyed. And here we are, on the way!"

After that, they sat silently hand in hand until it was time to check on Cecilia and then go to bed.

"I love you, Kate," Gavin said, as he moved up close to her warm body.

"I love you, too," she said, and added, "and as I told Tim Froot, we'll see him in jail if he doesn't leave us alone."

Gavin sat up. "Why did you say that?" he said. "How could we possibly-?"

"I was going to tell you. I was chatting to Paula Hickson, and discovered we both worked for Froot at the same time. She was in the canteen, and I don't remember seeing her. But she remembered me, and we compared notes. She had some horrific stories to tell. Girls who'd been virtually raped by Froot and then paid to keep quiet. Men who had been threatened with the sack if they didn't do really dodgy jobs for him. Oafs like that heavy he sent out to threaten me, I suppose. Yeah, Froot is into drugs and G.o.d knows what else. Paula didn't say if he'd had a go at her, but she certainly loathed him. I reckon if we needed her, we could get her to be a witness."

"Oh, my G.o.d, Kate, you have really got us in deep. But you're right. If we stop trying, we'll be in his clutches forever. Let's get some sleep now, and talk some more tomorrow."

NEXT DAY, PAULA HICKSON WAS DUE TO BE AT THE HALL AS usual, and she had told Lois she thought it would be safe now to get back to the job, as Mrs. Smith at the farm had said she could give Jack Jr. some work that would keep him busy all day. She would give him lunch, she said, and keep an eye on him. The work was all in the garden and the chicken run, all within sight of the farmhouse.

"In any case, Mrs. Hickson," Edwina Smith had said, "he's explained it all now, and we should be showing that we believe him when he says he won't be so thoughtless in future."

"But I don't believe him," Paula said to Lois. "Still, I can't lock him up in a back room and give him bread and water forever. So I'll be okay for the hall, if you want me there."

Lois accepted the suggestion at once. It was not that she had come to believe Jack Jr.'s story any more than his mother did, but the pressure of work made her agree, though with some misgivings.

Now, with the twins at school, Frankie at nursery and Jack Jr. at Smith's Farm, Paula knocked at the hall kitchen door and walked in. Mrs. Tollervey-Jones greeted her kindly, and said she was pleased to have her back.

"Before you start work, Mrs. Hickson," she said, "I have a treat for you. I want to give you a private preview of the future soap box champion, Jam & Jerusalem!" She led the way out to a stable over the yard, and with a dramatic gesture pulled a tarpaulin off the gleaming scarlet soap box. "There!" she said. "Isn't she fine?"

It was all Paula could do to stop Mrs. T-J giving her a demonstration of the vehicle's speed, and they returned to the house. "Right, off you go, then. Your colleague has been very good, but not quite up to your standard." She turned to leave the kitchen, and then stopped. "By the way, do you remember my new gardener who left me in the lurch?"

Paula's heart stopped. She took a deep breath, feeling faint. But after a second or two she rallied, and said as casually as she could manage, "Yes, of course. What about him?"

"I could swear I saw him in Tresham yesterday. I was coming out of my solicitors in the market square, and he pa.s.sed close by me. I think he had a funny sort of beard, and a strange woolly hat-much too warm for this time of the year-but when I caught his eye I could see it was him. Certain of it. Isn't it odd? He seemed so happy here, and really knew his stuff, and yesterday he looked old and ill. Ah, well, I'll give him a week or two and if he doesn't return, I shall have to advertise again. Must do some work now. I shall be in the den when coffee's ready."

Paula stood quite still, unable to say anything. Mrs. T-J appeared not to notice, and disappeared. At last, Paula moved to the window and looked out. So he was still around, maybe living in Tresham? The beard and the woolly hat sounded like an amateurish attempt at disguise, and this would be just like Jack. He was not a natural deceiver, never had been. And he was ill.

More and more lately, she had thought back to their happy days before he lost his job and everything went wrong. If only they could get together in some kind of normal circ.u.mstances, without all this mystery of what happened to Jack Jr. Then maybe they could have a go at sorting things out calmly. She had begun to think they'd have a reasonable chance. The thought of being a proper family again brought tears to her eyes, and she reminded herself that she had a job to do and had better get on with it before Mrs. T-J's euphoric mood changed.

AFTER PAULA HAD FINISHED HER MORNING'S WORK AND GONE home, Mrs. T-J went to have another look at Jam & Jerusalem . What a beauty! she said to herself, and stroked the shiny red bonnet. Maybe she would take her out for a little run, just to make sure the wheels were performing smoothly. She went back into the house and fetched her hard riding hat. She would need to tow it behind the car to the top of the sloping drive, and then coast back, practising her steering and crouching down in her seat as Doug Meade had told her to, in order to lessen the wind resistance, or something like that.

She had parked her Land Rover halfway down the slope on the gra.s.s verge and unhooked the soap box when there was a hooting from behind. She looked round and saw to her irritation a dirty white van veering from side to side up the drive. What on earth did it want? She wasn't expecting a delivery, and in any case would never buy from such a scruffy-looking outfit.

"Go away!" she shouted, as it drew up closer. "You've got the wrong road! This is a private drive. Go away at once. And keep off the gra.s.s!"

But the van had stopped now, and a man got out, walking towards her. He was grim-looking and scowled unpleasantly at her.

"Keep yer hair on, missus," he said. "How can I go back? Not room to turn round, for a start. And anyway, I've got some business to do with you. So you'd better tow that thing back to the house, and I'll follow."

Mrs. T-J bristled. "Don't you order me about! If you don't go at once, I shall call the police. And yes, I do have a mobile with me, and I am a close friend of the commissioner."

"I don't care if you're a close friend of the Almighty. I ain't doing nothing wrong, so if you won't let me up to the house, we can have a little talk here. It's not a criminal offence to talk, is it?"

"Very well, but be quick about it. My time is precious."

"I doubt it," he muttered, and then added more loudly, "I just wanted to know if you've seen a friend of mine. Used to work here in y' garden. He always kept in touch, but for a couple of weeks I ain't heard nothing."

Mrs. T-J's eyes narrowed. "What's his name?" she asked.

"Hickson. Jack Hickson."

Mrs. T-J shook her head. "n.o.body working for me of that name," she said, silently asking G.o.d to forgive her lie. Hickson was, of course, her cleaning woman's name, but the gardener had given her another, which for the moment she could not remember. But she knew it wasn't Hickson.

"You sure? I heard he was definitely working here. Used to be a workmate o' mine, but we got made redundant and lost touch."

"I thought you said you heard from him regularly?"

"Don't try and trick me, missus!" he said, and moved towards her, fists clenched.

"Ah, now you'll have to move," Mrs. T-J said calmly. "I see a police car coming up the drive. You'd not want to obstruct their enquiries, I presume?"

He hesitated, sure that she was lying. But as he turned, he saw the familiar striped vehicle, and jumped into his van, revved up the engine and shot off towards the house.

"Any problems here, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones?" the sergeant said, stopping his car and getting out to greet her.

She shook her head. "No, no. Nothing I cannot handle. Just an itinerant salesman. I directed him to the tradesmen's entrance at the back of the hall. He'll find his way back to the main road along the gra.s.sy lane. How can I help you?" she added, smiling as she saw him take in the glories of Jam & Jerusalem.

FIFTY-FOUR.

THE VAN ROCKETED DOWN THE NARROW, POTHOLED LANE until it reached the junction with the main road to Tresham. Ross turned left, having no idea where he would go next. That had been a near thing. That woman must have spies everywhere. He'd certainly not go near her again. And what was that b.l.o.o.d.y stupid soap box doing? She must be mental, playing with kids' toys. Ah, well, the rich could indulge themselves. Not like us ordinary sods, living from hand to mouth. A small voice in his head reminded him that if he had not tormented Jack Hickson until there was a punch-up, he would still be on the payroll of Parks and Gardens in Tresham.

Where to go now? His sister had turned him out, but he had no intention of leaving the area. He would find Jack Hickson if it was the last thing he did, and finally settle the score. The Hickson kid had outwitted him, he had to admit, but he'd think of something else, once he'd located his target. He took the next turning to Tresham, intending to investigate the now run-down factory site by the ca.n.a.l. There would be one or two contacts making use of the empty building down there, in touch with the underworld network of useful information. He accelerated, hooted and shook his fist at an elderly woman travelling at twenty miles an hour in the middle of the road, leaving him no room to pa.s.s, and felt better.

IN HER HOUSE IN SEBASTOPOL STREET, DOT NIMMO HEARD THE church clock strike two o'clock and stretched out her hand to the telephone. She had heard nothing from Victor since her visit to him on Monday, and now considered he had had enough time to do what she had asked. She knew these things took time, making contacts with care and tact. Victor was not of the brightest, but he knew the form. He would tread carefully, she was sure of that. But a less than gentle reminder would do no harm. As she lifted the telephone, there was a sharp knock at the door. d.a.m.n! She replaced the receiver and went through her narrow hallway to the front of the house. As usual, she did not open the door at once, but went into the sitting room and peered out from behind the curtain. Victor!

She slid out the chain, unbolted and unlocked, and opened the door.

"Good G.o.d, Dot," he said, "are you expecting the Mafia?" He had not forgotten her jibe when she came to see him.