“How does he convince the inspectors?” Lois asked. She was puzzled. After all, if a dangerous dog bit someone, it was put down immediately. But these creatures of Pettison’s lived on. Did he know someone high up in the police who got him off the hook every time?
Dot tapped the side of her nose. “Conspiracy,” she said. “Payoffs. Far be it for me to criticise the police force, but there are rumours. Always have been. Some of Handy’s friends got away with murder, as they say. Not actual murder, as far as I know. But I wouldn’t be surprised. Conspiracy was rife, Mrs M, though I says it as shouldn’t.”
“Sounds as if we should pull out, then? Please tell me honestly what you think, Dot. We’re not conducting a crusade on behalf of wild animals here. I have a cleaning business, and it is my duty to look after my team. And that goes for you, too.”
Dot shook her head. “Trust me,” she said. “I come from a different world from the other girls, and Andrew, and I know how to look after myself. I promise I’ll tell you if it gets too hot.”
When Dot had gone, Lois picked up her phone and dialled Inspector Cowgill. When he had heard what she said, he answered seriously.
“I think you should let me make some enquiries and then you come in and we can see what’s to be done. I must say Dot Nimmo is probably the best spy we’ve got!”
“And I’m anxious not to lose her. I’ll see you about four o’clock this afternoon.”
Twenty-seven
Justin sped through the flat fens, heading for Spalding, where he planned to stop for a snack, and then on home. Home? For him, home was now the small flat above a village shop, a paradise compared with the flea-infested bed-sitter in Tresham.
His mother had been in tears, and had clung to his hand as he tore himself away. Promising to return soon, and at any time she needed him, he had jumped into the Fiat and waved as he drove off. He had collected two island mice from the barn, put them in a small carrying case in his car, and gone back indoors to say a last goodbye to his father, but the small hump under the bedclothes had not moved, and his eyes had been closed. Surely he could not last much longer? He was taking only liquids, and this morning not even the creamy gruel his mother had prepared had been touched.
As a sudden flurry of rain hit the windscreen, he slowed down and thought about the farm. He had tried to persuade his mother to sell it, once his father had gone. The idea of a bungalow had seemed to appeal to her, but then she had wept again, and said the Brookeses had owned the land for generations, and she dreaded being the one to hand it over to someone else. She had once more asked him to think about taking it over.
The idea did not please him. A part of him liked a life of action and excitement, walking on the edge of things. Being an actor gave him that kind of life. It was a struggle to make ends meet with the scarcity of good parts to play. The one thing he regretted more than any other, however, was his association with his uncle, Robert Pettison. The man was a monster, and a ruthless one, as well as an affectionate and generous uncle.
Apart from taking over from his father in the animal trade, Justin had got himself into gambling debts as a young layabout, and had helped himself to a small amount of untended cash in his uncle’s office. Pettison had discovered it, refused to regard it as a loan, and had held it over him like the sword of Damocles, threatening to inform the police. It had been a small offence, and he had subsequently repaid the amount in full, but it had been a theft, and Pettison let it be known that Justin’s parents would be most upset if they heard about it. Perhaps he had thought his way of dealing with it would be good for Justin’s character. In any case, here he was, still beholden to his uncle.
Parking by the river in Spalding, he walked along the path beside the flowing muddy water into the centre of town. He found a café for a snack, and sat on a stool by the window, watching the inhabitants going about their business. Lucky people! Living lives of innocent work and family life, he thought, and felt very lonely. He made a decision, one made many times before, that he would cut himself off from his uncle, at least from his illegal pursuits. Then he could build a new life, find a wife, have children, join the rest of the human race.
*
“He’s back,” Lois said, coming into the shop. “I saw him getting out of his car round the back. He looked as if he had all the cares of the world on his shoulders.”
“He’ll be glad of the goodies I left for him, then,” said Josie. “I put in a bottle of wine, too. On the house, that’ll be. Perhaps his father has died, or is going fast? He’s an only child, he said, so it’s even worse, carrying the burden of grief, and supporting his mother at the same time. We had a chat before he left, and he’s worried about who will carry on the farm.”