Threats at Three by Ann Purser Page B

he said, “I could get together with the reverend on that. I’ve still got a form from those old days somewhere. Kept it as a souvenir, after Blunderbuss II won the last grand prix.” He turned to Floss. “That were my old gal. Me and my dad put her together out of this and that. Went like the wind, she did.”
    “Your ‘old gal’ was not, presumably, your wife?” Gavin looked round for a laugh, but none came. People in the village didn’t make jokes about Tony’s wife in a wheelchair.
     
     
    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 identity of the body of a man found in the canal 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 assurances 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 canal. 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, nobody cares and nobody 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

    S O 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.