*
The Meade family were seated round the supper table when a knock at the door brought Mrs Tollervey-Jones into the kitchen. Gran looked cross at the interruption, but Derek pulled up a chair and invited her to sit down.
“I just couldn’t settle, my dear, worrying about you,” she said to Lois. “Are you sure you are all right? There is such a thing as delayed shock, you know. But I see that you are being well looked after, and I apologise for bursting in. Stupid of me, but it was such an awful thing. Anyway, I’ll be going now.”
Derek, recognising that the old lady had had something of a shock herself, standing by the ambulance as the wheelchair with its tragic occupant was loaded in, said she must stay and have a snack with them. “I don’t suppose you’ve eaten this evening?” he said.
The conversation inevitably centred on the accident, and after ten minutes or so, Lois suddenly banged the table with her hand. “It was not an accident!” she said. “Robert Pettison was murdered by that attendant, who locked him in and took away the key. He’s got to be found, and although Cowgill’s lot are all looking, I think we should think about it seriously, too.”
“Did Justin say he saw the vehicle? It was quite dark by that time.” Mrs T-J looked around the table. “I know he was a sort of protégé of his uncle, and is very cut up about it all, but perhaps there is something . . . ?”
“You mean he could have organised it?” Lois frowned. This had not occurred to her, and seeing Justin in a state of collapse after it had happened, she could not imagine that he had had anything to do with it.
“It is possible, Lois,” said Derek. “He might not have realised just how appalling the whole thing would turn out. Perhaps he thought it would frighten his uncle into agreeing to take some different course of action with the zoo.”
Lois could see that this conclusion would probably have been arrived at by the police, and decided to ring Cowgill tomorrow to see if this was so. Now she changed the subject to the small-animals racket that had been carried on by Pettison. “Thank heavens there won’t be any more of that,” she said.
“Not from the zoo, I hope,” said Mrs T-J. “Unfortunately, it goes on in many places, here and abroad. There’s big money in it, and once a network is set up, with the right connections and runners, the illegal nature of it is hard to prove. Pettison’s contacts will regroup and carry on, I expect. They are well organised, particularly with the small creatures, which are easy to hide.”
“Mm, and not all of them are cuddly little treasures,” said Lois feelingly. “That snake, for instance. And the toad and the frog. And that amazing spider with her babies. That one was quite sweet, so long as you forgot it was a spider!”
“Why was the flat targeted, do you think?” Derek said.
“Because Pettison really wanted Justin to live there, to keep his ear to the ground, especially when I was around, I suppose,” said Lois. “And the reptiles were to put off other prospective tenants.”
“And the other stories of reptiles poisoning dogs and people?”
“Nothing to do with Pettison, so Justin said. Just coincidence. There are plenty of other sources of supply. You can see them on the internet.”
Mrs T-J spoke into a moment’s silence. “Speaking of rare animals,” she said, “did any of you ever see Pettison’s private mausoleum? It is grisly, but quite remarkable.”
Lois thought that the less said about that the better, and turned the conversation back to the zoo. They speculated about what would happen to it, and Derek said he thought it would probably be closed. “After all,” he said, “Pettison’s dead, and the Brierleys and Brookeses could well have a spell cooped up in jail. Unless, of course, they get heavily fined. Even then, they’ll have no money to run it.”
“Well,” said Mrs T-J, rising to her feet, “I suppose that’s the end of it now. For us anyway, Lois dear. The villain Pettison has got his just deserts, and when the mysterious attendant is found, and I’m sure the police will soon do that, life can return to normal.”
“And so say all of us,” said Derek, seeing her to the door. “Lois is exhausted, and I hope New Brooms will be her priority from now on.”
A forlorn hope, thought Mrs Tollervey-Jones, and smiled her farewell.
Fifty-four
A week later, Dot Nimmo sat at her window, looking over the road to the Brierleys’ house. All the curtains were drawn across, and Dot had seen few comings or goings since the terrible news about the zoo owner. She supposed Betsy had imposed total mourning on the house. Only once had the front door opened, and that was to permit Ted, resplendent in his undertakers’ black, to march off briskly.