DEREK WALKED BACK TOWARDS THE PUB WITH JOHN THORNBULL, and they agreed that the meeting had gone well. "Feels like we're on a roll now," John said. "If we can keep that Gavin chap under control. You know what, Derek?" he added. "I reckon we ought to give him a job, something that'll sound important but not interfere with our idea of re-creating the old soap box grand prix. What d'you think?"

"Good idea," said Derek. "But what job?"

"Dunno," said John. They turned into the pub doorway, and John added that ideas always seemed to come more easily after a pint. "Let's see what we can come up with," he said, and walked up to order the beer.

JOSIE SAW THEM GO BY AS SHE WORKED IN THE SHOP STACKING shelves. It had been a busy day, and several items needed replenishing. She had the local radio station on as she worked, and paused to listen to the news. The first item was an unpleasant one: "Police are searching for witnesses who can help them with the ident.i.ty of the body of a man found in the ca.n.a.l behind the Tresham Industrial Estate. They have released the following details: The man is in his late thirties, heavily built, with long hair and clothes in poor condition." Details of the police number and a.s.surances of confidentiality followed, and then the newsreader moved on to the latest case of vandalism at the supermarket.

"Some poor down-and-out," Josie said to her mother, who had just come in through the back door into the stockroom. "Probably drunk out of his mind on meth and missed his footing. Ended up headfirst in the ca.n.a.l. Anybody falling into that sewer wouldn't stand much of a chance."

Her mother's reaction surprised her. "What's the time?" she asked. "There'll be local telly news in a minute. Let's go up to the flat and put it on. Come with me, Josie, I don't want to miss anything."

"Mum! Don't be so ghoulish! One of them no-hopers loses it most weeks. Sad thing is, n.o.body cares and n.o.body misses 'em. Sometimes they stay in there for weeks. Nothing for you to get fussed about."

"Don't argue," Lois said sharply. "Just come. Now."

By the time they got the television on, the story was heading the bulletin. "Oh, look!" Josie said. "There's Matthew, giving the report!"

"Sssh!" Lois snapped.

"Ah," Josie continued, "isn't he lovely? Look at those eyes, Mum . . ."

Lois glared at her, and said that if she didn't shut up and listen, she personally would see that Matthew Vickers was transferred to a remote police station in the Highlands of Scotland.

NINETEEN.

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 ca.n.a.l 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 ca.n.a.l, 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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.sing 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 ca.n.a.l, 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 m.u.f.fled 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. Rea.s.sured 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."

TWENTY.

SIT DOWN, PAULA," LOIS SAID. "YOU ALL RIGHT?" Paula nodded. She wasn't all right at all, but was desperate to keep in control in front of her new boss. "Yes, thanks," she said. "I had a good morning at the hall. Mrs. Tollervey-Jones has asked me to do the flowers next time I go. Is it allowed?"

"Sure. If you can make a good job of them. Thank goodness she's never asked me!"

"I went to cla.s.ses several years ago. Before I was married."

"Ah," said Lois. "Now, that's why I asked you to drop in. I expect you saw the news? About the man in the ca.n.a.l?"

Paula nodded. "It's not him, o' course. Not my Jack." She felt her heart begin to race and couldn't catch her breath. "You've not heard nothing?"

"No, not much more than you already know," Lois said. "But if you could tell me about your Jack, I can probably do some checking."

"What d'you want to know?"

"Everything," Lois said. "Where you met, married, lived. But first, what does he look like? Tall, short, dark, fair, bald . . . ?" She was careful to put him in the present tense, to consider him alive rather than dead. Paula's "my Jack" was a giveaway that she still felt something for him, surely.

"He's a good-looking bloke, or was, before he went on the drink and began to neglect himself. Tall, big built, dark hair cut short. Or should be. It was his eyes that I first noticed. Not often you see such black eyes. Well, I know they can't be really black, but they're quite scary sometimes."

"What was his work?"

"He was a gardener, worked for the borough in the parks an' that. Loved it. But they started laying men off, last in first out, and he'd not been there long. We came from Bedford, where he'd had the same kind of job."

"Why did you move to Tresham?"

"His old mum. She was very poorly, an' he wanted to be near to help. Only child, was-is-Jack. She died soon after we'd moved here, so it was a bad decision as it turned out. He tried to get back to the Bedford job, but they'd filled his position, so we just stayed on in Tresham."

"Bad luck," said Lois. "Had he ever had any trouble at work? You know, quarrels with workmates, an' so on?"

Paula shook her head. "He was popular. Good at making friends. He really liked the job after being there a good while. Then he was made redundant, and his friends tried to get him taken back but no luck. Then he began to change. You know the rest."

"Last question, then we'll have a coffee. Has he got any marks on him, you know, birthmarks or scars or moles? Sorry, Paula, but it's important."

Paula looked at her suspiciously. "Why d'you need to know that? Who are you goin' to talk to?"

Lois sighed. "A friend in the police," she said, and Paula's face took on a stubborn look.

"Oh, no. Not the police, Mrs. M. I don't want no truck with them."

"You might have to," Lois said. "You'd rather tell me than some young cop, wouldn't you?"

Paula was silent for a few minutes, and Lois walked over to the window, deliberately looking away.

"He's got an appendix scar." Paula's voice was very quiet. "Had it out when he was a kid. Scar's still there, though."

Lois turned around. "Thanks," she said. "Come on, let's go and find Gran. She'll fill you in on the excitements of the WI tonight."

"WE STILL SING *JERUSALEM,'" SAID GRAN, MAKING AN EFFORT. She was still convinced that Lois was making a big mistake employing this woman, but was not able to be rude to her face. "Not very well, o' course. And the piano in the village hall is terrible. Sometimes only about half the notes work. Mostly we sing without."

"I like singing," Paula said.

"Yes, well, then we have the business of the meeting. That takes some time, with Mrs. T-J liking the sound of her own voice. Then we have a speaker or someone demonstrating cookery or needlework, or some such."

"What is it tonight, Mum?" Lois said.

"We got a police dog handler coming. It was Sheila Stratford's idea. Says they got good stories to tell, about dogs catching villains an' holding on to 'em with their teeth. I reckon it sounds a bit bloodthirsty, but still . . ."

Paula gulped down hot coffee and said she really must be going. She had shopping to do, and then it would be time to fetch Frankie.

Lois saw her out, and then returned to the kitchen. "Well done, Mum," she said. "That sent her packing."

Gran sniffed and said, "I don't know what you mean, Lois. But then," she added, "I seldom do."

KATE ADSTONE SHUT THE FRONT DOOR AND LOCKED IT, THEN maneuvered the pushchair down the narrow path and set out for the shop. Cecilia was fast asleep, and Kate, seeing that the shop door was wedged open, parked the pushchair outside and went in.

"Hi, Kate," Josie said cheerfully.

"Is it all right to leave Cecilia out there? You hear such terrible stories of babies being stolen."

"Bring her in if you're worried," Josie said. "I very much doubt if there's any baby s.n.a.t.c.hers in Farnden this afternoon, but most mums bring the babies in."

Kate returned to Cecilia and met Paula Hickson coming across to the shop.

"Can I give you a hand?" Paula said, and together they lifted the pushchair into safety.

"Just being silly," Kate said apologetically.

"Better safe than sorry," Paula said. "You first, Mrs. Adstone. You were here first."

Kate looked at her closely. "Haven't we met somewhere before?" she said. "Excuse me if I'm being cheeky, but I'm sure we've met."

"Probably seen me around the village," Paula said. "I'm working for New Brooms now."

Kate frowned. "No, it wasn't in the village. Did you work in Tresham at all?" She paused, then said quickly, "Ah, I've got it. Do you remember fishing a small child out of the lily pond in the park? I went to pull him out. You were talking to one of the gardeners and then you dashed to help me. Surely you remember?"

Paula smiled broadly. "Yep, I remember. It wasn't that deep, was it? But the child and its mum had a nasty fright. 'Course I remember now. Nice to see you again, Mrs. Adstone. Sorry I didn't recognize you. And this is your little girl?"

Kate nodded. "So you're living in the village? Children?"

Paula said yes, four boys, and they chatted on.

Looking round the two mums, Josie saw a strange man get out of a car and stare up at the shop. She interrupted the conversation and said could she help anybody? Had Kate seen these new children's biscuits? "No additives," she said encouragingly. Early on in her shopkeeping career, she had discovered that nothing was more off-putting to new customers than having to fight their way through gossiping villagers.

He was a bulky, formally dressed man, and he marched straight up to the counter. "Do you have a local paper?" he said.

Josie handed him the Tresham Advertiser and put the money in the till. "Are you new around here?" she said with her best welcoming smile.

"No," the man said. "Thank you," he added, and walked out of the shop, got back into his car and drove off.

"Talkative chap," said Kate, handing the biscuits to Josie. "Sounded foreign, didn't he?"

"Dutch," said Paula, and then asked if Josie had any more of those eggs from the farm up the road.

TWENTY-ONE.