The Chocolate Egg Murders

by David W Robinson

  “Joe, I—”

  Unwilling to take the debate any further, Joe abruptly changed the subject. With a furtive glance around to ensure Sheila was not in earshot, he asked, “Have you said anything? You know. About us?”

  Brenda, too, checked to see if Sheila was nearby, but she was several yards away, bending to check the ground under a low tree. “No. Have you?”

  “Have I hell as like. But you nearly gave the game away twice. Once on the bus yesterday, and just now, when we were at the pavilion.”

  “I think she suspects, and really we should talk to her about it. We’ve been friends since we were children, Joe. I…” Brenda trailed off as Sheila hurried towards them, skirting thickets and bushes in a staccato dance. Under the hood of her light blue anorak, her face was white and they could see her shaking.

  “Sheila?” Brenda asked. “What is it?”

  Her voice trembled as she replied. “A woman. I think she’s… I think she’s dead. Joe…” she trailed off, appealing to him with eyes near to tears.

  Joe instantly forgot his complaints. He hurried past Brenda and led them back along the track Sheila had taken. Brenda hung back, coming behind at a slower pace. Sheila, he knew, was stronger than Brenda. Brenda did not do death and dead bodies. He mentally prepared himself for the worst. Even Sheila, normally a stalwart, was distressed, and that filled his mind with images of badly decomposed corpses. As he rushed through the undergrowth, he felt his legs beginning to tremble.

  Sheila stopped by a clump of bushes and pointed.

  Joe half crouched and looked down. A lower leg, the calf bare, foot clad in dirty, white trainers, projected from under the bushes. He knelt and touched the foot above the ankle. Still warm, but he could feel no pulse. Peering under the bush, he could see the other leg, the knee bent, and above it, a dark skirt. He stood, put on his gloves, leaned forward and parted the shrubbery to look down on the woman’s upper half. She wore a dark coat. Above it, her black hair was matted with blood.

  Recognition rang through his head. He backed off and faced his companions. “I think it’s Ginny Nicholson. Her head’s been caved in. Sheila, you and Brenda better get back to the pavilion, tell them to call the egg hunters back and get the police here.”

  “What are you going to do, Joe?”

  “I’ll stay here and make sure no one disturbs the area.” Muttered voices reached them from a short distance away. “You’d better get a move on.”

  ***

  It took the women less than two minutes to get back to the pavilion where they outlined the problem to the organisers.

  Quigley vacillated. “Oh dear, this is most unfortunate. I do hope the hunters don’t want their money back.”

  Brenda glared. “Are you for real, or did you train at the Joe Murray school of priorities? There is a dead woman out there. You need to get everyone out of the woods and get the law here.”

  “What. Oh. Yes. Of course.” Quigley turned to the security chief. “Can you get your people into the woods with megaphones, order everyone out? Don’t tell them why. Just say it’s an emergency. I’ll telephone the police.”

  The security chief hurried off to carry out the instructions.

  “Joe has stayed with the body, Mr Quigley,” Sheila explained. “He’s quite experienced at this kind of thing.”

  “He’s a police officer, is he?” asked Quigley with obvious relief. “Thank the lord of small mercies.”

  “Joe, a cop?” Brenda smiled. “Not likely. He runs a truck stop.”

  Quigley blanched. “What? Runs a—”

  “Just ignore Brenda, Mr Quigley,” Sheila reassured him. “Joe’s niece is a Detective Sergeant with Sanford CID, and my late husband was a police inspector. We’re familiar with the routines. Joe will ensure that nothing is disturbed until the police and their Scientific Support people get here.”

  ***

  Back in the woods, the first inkling Joe had that things were moving was a triple blast on the air horn, followed by muttered noises from various megaphones as the security team made their way into the various areas of the forest.

  As the security team neared his quarter, the message became clear.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please evacuate the woods. We have an emergency on our hands. Please return to the pavilion. The siren has been sounded three times. This is an emergency. Please return to the pavilion.”

  Joe looked up. Through the canopy of trees he could make out the grey of the sky. Rain fell persistently and it had begun to soak his cagoule. Odd that he hadn’t noticed it when he was busy hunting Easter eggs. He shivered and diagnosed that it was not entirely down to the chilly morning.

  Looking straight ahead, he could barely make out the open grass lawns and, in the distance, the pavilion. He hoped that Sheila and Brenda wouldn’t have too much trouble leading the police back to him. He wanted to be away from this forbidding little place quickly, back in the shelter of the pavilion with a cup of tea to warm his shaking insides.

  A rustling sound came through the bushes immediately ahead of him. His hopes rose, but were promptly dashed when a security officer, easily identified by his dark brown uniform, appeared. It was too soon for the cops to get here.

  “You need to get out quick sport,” said the young man.

  “I can’t.”

  “Look, mate, there’s some kind of emergency on. You—”

  “I’m guarding the emergency,” Joe interrupted. “I can’t leave until the police get here.”

  Beneath his straw hair, the younger man frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Joe stood to one side and gestured down with an open hand. The security man looked down and his pale features faded further.

  “Oh Christ. Is she…?”

  “Dead? Say it, son. There’s nothing wrong with the word and no need to be melodramatic. Yes, she’s dead. Her head has been stoved in. We found her, me and my two friends, and I need to stay put until the filth arrive.”

  “I, er, I’m… I’m not sure I can…” He trailed off.

  “Best thing you can do, lad, is get on with clearing the woods. I’ll stay put to keep any nosy parkers away.”

  “Yes. Er, right. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll, er, I’ll help get the people out of the woods.”

  Obviously relieved, the security man hurried off and Joe found himself shivering once more, and silently willing the police to get a move on.

  He did not have long to wait. In less than five minutes he could hear the distant wail of sirens, and in his mind’s eye, he imagined a convoy of police vehicles, their blue, emergency lights cutting through the drab daylight, hurtling along the path to the pavilion.

  More minutes passed and at last he could see movement ahead of him. The breaking of bracken underfoot, and the rustling of bushes heralded the arrival of two uniformed officers, both wrapped up in high-visibility jackets.

  “Right, sir,” said the elder policeman. “Constable Tetlow, Avon and Somerset Constabulary. I believe you found the lady.”

  “Sort of,” Joe said. “Look, now that you’re here, can I get off back to the pavilion. I need a cuppa.”

  Taking out his notebook, Tetlow asked, “You’ve disturbed nothing?”

  It was as if he had not heard a word Joe said. “That’s why I’ve been stood here like a spare part for the last ten or fifteen minutes. To make sure nothing was touched.”

  “Your name, sir?”

  “Murray. Joe Murray. Listen—”

  “And you’re obviously not a local with an accent like that.”

  “Sanford. West Yorkshire. Look—”

  “Where are your staying, Mr Murray?”

  “The Leeward. If you’d let me get a word in, I’m bloody freezing. I know the crack at murder scenes. I’ve… my niece is a CID officer. Can I leave you to look after things while I try and thaw out? I’m not going anywhere other than the pavilion.”

  Tetlow finished his notes. “All right, sir. Leave it with us but don’t wander away fro
m the area.”

  Joe fumed. “Do you learn English in this part of the world?”

  “Sir?”

  “Didn’t I just say I wasn’t going anywhere?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr Murray, but there are procedures—”

  “I’ll be in the pavilion when you want a full statement,” Joe said, taking his turn to interrupt.

  With a nod, he walked off, treading the path the police had followed, out onto the expansive lawns, hurrying across the sodden grass, making for the large wooden hut opposite.

  ***

  Sitting beneath the red glow of an ineffectual overhead heater, Joe was still shivering when the police, led by a woman in plain clothes, entered the busy pavilion half an hour later.

  The place was crowded with hunters, organisers and security staff. At the rear of the room, the trestle table where tea, coffee and cakes were served, had become the social fulcrum. No one had yet been interviewed, and no one was permitted to leave. Some hunters were already becoming vocal on the matter.

  “You’re sure it was Ginny Nicholson, are you, Joe?” Sheila asked, returning from another visit to the tea table.

  Joe clasped grateful hands around a cup. “I didn’t turn her over to take a look, if that’s what you mean.” He shuddered at the memory of her battered skull. “It certainly looked like her.”

  “The very woman who hit you with a chocolate egg, yesterday, Joe.”

  Joe scowled at Brenda’s flippant remark. “That probably makes me the prime suspect, then, huh?”

  Brenda smiled again. “Well, maybe whoever killed her had been hit by chocolate and cream himself.”

  “Or herself,” Joe added and the women stared. “Have you forgotten who she was arguing with? So what price it was that red-haired nutter? The one who crossed the road in front of our bus.”

  The announcement met with further gapes.

  “Well they weren’t getting on any too well, and she wasn’t impressed by Ginny’s screaming at her.”

  The general level of chatter rose with the arrival of the police. The woman heading the team had a brief word with the organisers, then stood front and centre by the tea table.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention please.” She waited for the hubbub to die down then went on. “I am Detective Chief Inspector Patricia Feeney, senior investigating officer in this matter. You’re all probably aware, we have the body of a woman in the woods, and it does appear as if she has been murdered. My officers will take statements from you all. I’m sorry, but it will take some time, and I’m afraid we cannot allow anyone to leave until we have spoken to you.” Behind her, the uniformed men and women began to arrange themselves at trestle tables. “My officers will call you by name. Once you’ve been spoken to, you will be free to leave.” Her eyes scanned the room. “Is Mr Murray here, please?”

  Conscious of all eyes turning on him, Joe half rose. “I’m Joe Murray.”

  Signalling another plain clothes officer to accompany her, she wove her way through the crowds, pulled up two chairs and sat with the three companions.

  “This is Detective Sergeant Holmes, Mr Murray.”

  Joe managed a thin smile. “Not Sherlock, I hope.”

  The sergeant grimaced. “I get enough of that at the station. My name is Neal Holmes.”

  “Right. Good to meet you, Neal.”

  “I take it you are Mrs Riley and Mrs Jump?” Feeney asked of the two women.

  When they had properly introduced themselves, the chief inspector went on.

  “Constable Tetlow, the officer you met in the woods, Mr Murray, told me your niece was a CID officer in Sanford, West Yorkshire.”

  “Detective Sergeant Craddock,” Joe told her.

  “I already know,” Feeney replied. “I spoke to her about ten minutes ago. That’s how I knew your two lady friends were Mrs Riley and Mrs Jump.” Feeney paused to let Joe take in the information. “Gemma, your niece, told me quite a bit about you. And you have a reputation for… how shall I put it…” The chief inspector groped for the correct word.

  “Investigating?” Joe suggested.

  “No. It’s more like… well, I hesitate to use the word interfering, but—”

  “You mean sticking my nose in.” Joe cut her off, and when Feeney nodded, he grunted. “Did Gemma tell you that I also have a nasty habit of getting to the right answers before the police? Did she tell you about that idiot boss of hers who tried to nail me as a serial killer a couple of months back? And did she tell you that I sidelined him and got to the truth first?”

  Feeney took his irritation in her stride. “All very commendable. However, this is Avon and Somerset, Mr Murray, not West Yorkshire. Like any other police force, we are more than happy to listen to any information the public may be able to supply, but I want to make it clear that no matter what your reputation, I will not tolerate interference in my investigation.”

  Joe held up his hands in a gesture of compliance. “No. Hey. That’s fine. We came here for the weekend, not to investigate a murder.” He dipped into his pockets, took out his tobacco tin and began to roll a cigarette. “The dead woman looked like Virginia Nicholson to me. Was I right?”

  “We can’t confirm her identity yet,” Feeney replied. “Not until her family have been informed and we have a positive identification from them.”

  “No, no. Course not.” Joe sipped his tea again. “Only, just so we can get all the nonsense out of the way before we go any further, Ginny threw a chocolate egg across the street yesterday and it hit me. But it didn’t lead to any confrontation. In fact, she was with us in the bar of the Leeward last night. Isn’t that right, girls?”

  Sheila and Brenda confirmed the story.

  “She threw an Easter egg at you and then you found her dead.”

  “Joe didn’t actually find her, Chief Inspector,” Sheila put in. “I did.”

  The police attention swung to her and they listened while she explained what had transpired in the woods.

  When she had finished, Feeney said, “But Mr Murray was quite close by the scene all the time, wasn’t he?”

  Joe was about to protest, but Brenda got in first. “We were together when we left the pavilion, Sheila drifted off alone, but Joe was with me from that point on. He didn’t kill her.”

  “And we’ve all three been together all morning,” Joe said in support, “so if I bumped her off, it means we were all involved.”

  “Getting back to yesterday, one wonders why she threw the egg in the first place,” Feeney said.

  With an impatient sigh, Joe explained the circumstances leading to the incident, while Sergeant Holmes took notes.

  “If you wanna look for anyone, you should dig up this redhead,” Joe concluded.

  “We’ll bear it in mind.” Feeney raised her hands and let them fall into her lap again in a gesture of finality. “Thank you for your help, Mrs Riley, Mrs Jump, Mr Murray. I don’t think we need detain you any longer. You look like you could with a hot bath, Mr Murray.” She stood up, ready to leave. “If there’s anything more we need to know, we’ll get to you at the Leeward.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Joe agreed and put away his tobacco tin. “Course, you’ll have your people go through the woods and collect the remaining eggs, won’t you?”

  Feeney exchanged an irritated glance with Holmes, before concentrating on Joe. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Y’see, I looked when we found her, but I couldn’t see any sign of Easter eggs. Now, we know that Ginny was planting two hundred eggs for this morning’s hunt, but where are they? Had she planted them all? If so, they’re still out there. Now if I were you, I’d check on how many eggs the hunters have collected,” he waved at the room, “then get people into the woods to find the rest, and add them all up.”

  The chief inspector sat down again. “And what would be the point?”

  Tucking the rolled cigarette into his shirt pocket, Joe explained, “There are two possibilities. It was an opportunist killing or it wa
s planned. If it was opportunist, then what are the chances that she had planted all two hundred eggs when the killer came across her? If she hadn’t, then it means the killer took the rest of them. Stealing a few chocolate eggs seems pretty poor reason for killing someone, if you ask me. If, on the other hand, it was a planned murder, it means the killer may have waited until she had finished planting the eggs. How did he get to that particular part of the woods without being seen and more important, how did he know Ginny would be right there? If it was planned, it means it was by someone who knew her and knew she would be there or in the vicinity. The only way you’ll get a clue is by having your people get into the woods and collect the remaining eggs.”

  Feeney’s ears coloured slightly. “Yes. Of course. It’s obvious when you look at it that way. Well, I’ll get my team onto it.”

  “Here’s another question you might ask,” Joe said, getting to his feet. “What was Quigley doing letting the hunt go ahead when she hadn’t come out of the woods?”

  “Sorry?” Holmes asked. “I’m not with you.”

  Joe sighed. “Ginny went into the woods this morning to plant two hundred Easter eggs. Right?” Joe waited for them to nod confirmation. “I don’t know how Quigley arranged it, but surely, the woman must have reported back to him to tell him the job was done. Now how did she do that if she was dead?”

  Chapter Four

  Back at the Leeward, while Joe went straight to his room to take a hot bath, Sheila and Brenda collected their Easter bonnets, found window seats in the bar, ordered coffee, and worked on their hats, occasionally looking out on the blustery, rainy weather.

  “We’ve had better, sunnier Easter weekends,” Brenda commented, pressing a sprig of fake fern to her hat and examining the effect.

  Sheila shuffled through an assortment of paper flowers. “We’ve had worse ones, too. Remember a few years ago when Easter fell on April first? We woke up to four inches of snow in Sanford.”

  “I remember.” Brenda held up a needle to the light and threaded it. “Joe was out with the snow shovels in front of the Lazy Luncheonette, and then he came round, did my drive and yours, didn’t he?” The needle threaded, she chuckled. “Despite all his griping, he’s a good-hearted soul, you know, and he always gets the worst of everything. This time, too. Turning up a body like that, volunteering to stand out there until the police arrived. Typical of him.”