The Chocolate Egg Murders

by David W Robinson

  He was so intent on getting back to the Leeward for a final drink or two, that he hardly noticed the two untidily dressed men leaning on the wall at the far end of the Winter Gardens’ bar. As he drew near they detached themselves, strode purposefully out onto the pavement, rushed him, grabbed him, and while he shouted a protest, dragged him around the corner.

  His heart beating wildly, he could hear Sheila and Brenda calling out for help, and the sound of Brenda’s high heels clicking hurriedly on the pavements reached him.

  “Get your sodding hands off me,” he yelled.

  An unshaven face, the breath reeking of stale beer and tobacco, came close to his. “You don’t like it down here, push off back to Sanford, where you belong.”

  “Will you let me go, you moron?”

  “Soon as you decide to mind your own business, Yorkie.”

  “Get off me, dipstick.”

  “Looks like he ain’t learning the lessons.”

  The sound of more feet echoed in Joe’s head as he prepared for a hiding.

  Two smartly dressed doormen appeared ahead of Sheila and Brenda. The unshaven face took one look at them and said to his pal, “Scram.” Glaring at Joe again, he growled, “You ain’t heard the last of this… Yorkie.”

  Releasing Joe, he ran off with his pal. The two security men gave chase while Joe’s companions looked after him.

  “Are you all right, Joe?” Sheila asked

  He nodded, but his entire body trembled. “What the hell did I do so wrong to bring half this town out against me?”

  “Just calm down,” Brenda said, and dug into her bag for her mobile. “I’ll bell George and Owen, see if they’re nearby. They can walk with us the rest of the way.”

  “I don’t need babysitting,” Joe protested.

  “Well you could’ve fooled me,” Brenda retorted, and opening her phone, dialled. She pressed the instrument to her ear. “George? It’s Brenda. Where are you? Joe’s just been attacked and we…” She trailed off and listened. Joe could hear the tinny sound of music coming through her phone. “I don’t care if you’ve trapped off with Miss World, we need some help here… what use is Les Tanner?” She listened again and eventually snapped, “I won’t forget this, George Robson.” With that, she shut the phone and dropped it back in her bag. “They’re in a club, somewhere, and on a promise with a couple of local tarts.”

  “Leave them to it, Brenda,” Joe urged. He was beginning to feel calmer. “They haven’t come all this way to look after me.” He glanced along the road to the Leeward. “Look, we’ve only a coupla hundred yards and we’re there. If we stick together, they won’t dare come for us.”

  The doormen came walking back from the rear of the Winter Gardens, taking between themselves. When they reached the three companions, they shrugged.

  “Sorry, sir,” said the taller of the pair. “They got away. Are you all right?”

  Joe nodded. “Feathers a bit ruffled, that’s all.”

  “May we have your name, sir?” the second asked. “So we can report it to the police.”

  “No need. I’ll be seeing Chief Inspector Feeney in the morning, anyway.”

  “We still have to report it. If we could have your name.”

  “It’s Joe Murray,” Sheila said. While the second doorman began to write it down, she went on, “We’re his friends, and we witnessed the attack. Sheila Riley and Brenda Jump. We’re all staying at the Leeward Hotel.”

  “Thank you, madam. Now, you’re sure you’re all right, sir?”

  “Yes, yes,” Joe said testily. “I’m fine. Is that it now? Can we get on back to our hotel?”

  Without waiting for them to say more, Joe walked off. After another moment talking to the doormen, they hurried after him.

  “You really are rude, Joe,” Sheila berated him. “Those doormen were only trying to help.”

  “And the longer I stay out here, the more nervous I’m going to get. I told them I’d be seeing Feeney tomorrow. I’ll report the matter then.”

  “You could have been more civil,” Brenda observed.

  “Right now, I need a drink. I needed one before, but I need it more now. Can we get on?” He strode on and they scurried to keep up. “You know who’s behind this, don’t you? Gil and Diane bloody Shipton, that’s who.”

  “We don’t know that for sure.” Sheila was out of breath trying to keep up with him.

  “So you think it’s all a coincidence, do you?” Joe’s pace did not slacken as he spoke. “I cross swords with them twice, they threatened me twice, and then I’m physically attacked, and yet it’s nothing to do with them.”

  “All I’m saying is you have no proof.”

  Approaching the Leeward entrance, Joe stopped and faced Sheila. “You know this business of you talking nonsense? Is it natural, or did you take lessons?”

  Her anger began to rise, matching his. “How dare you—”

  “Stop it, the both of you,” Brenda intervened. “Good God, it’s bad enough Joe being attacked like that, without getting at each other’s throats. Joe, Sheila is right, you have no evidence, let alone proof, and Sheila, Joe is right, too. We may not know it, but the odds are that the Shiptons arranged it. Now let’s get inside.” She nodded at the hotel. “At least we know we’re safe in there.” She pushed past them and led the way into the Leeward.

  In the bar, Freddie and Hazel were pictures of concern. Hazel supplied Joe with brandy while Freddie asked him what had happened.

  Joe told the tale and concluded, “I’m beginning to think Weston-super-Mare doesn’t like me.”

  “Which now means that most of England doesn’t like him,” Brenda quipped.

  Joe scowled at her. “This is the third time I’ve been threatened since I got here.”

  Brenda chuckled. “Four if you count the chocolate egg Ginny threw at him.”

  Joe rounded on her. “This isn’t funny, Brenda.”

  “Oh, lighten up, you miserable old bugger. You’re not hurt. You said as much yourself.”

  “I agree with Joe,” Freddie said. “It ain’t funny. But you will get mixed up with the Shiptons. I told you earlier, matey, keep your distance they’re bad news.”

  Joe eyed him suspiciously. “You sound as if you know them.”

  Freddie shrugged easily. “How much do you know about your customers in that café of yours, Joe?”

  “The regulars? Plenty.”

  “This is a hotel. We’re the same. There are those people we won’t take bookings from, and the Shiptons are in that class.”

  “Ah.” Joe nodded slowly, as if understanding were seeping through his brain. “I can’t understand it. I come to Weston-super-Mare, some barmpot redhead crosses the road without looking where she’s going. An hour or two later, that same redhead is in an argument with Ginny Nicholson, I get hit by a chocolate egg, and the whole world goes crazy. Let me ask you something, Freddie. How much did you know about me before we turned up?”

  “I knew you ran a café called the Lazy Luncheonette up north, because that was the return address for the booking. That’s about it, really.”

  “Yes, well, it’s more than anyone else in this town ever knew, until I started speaking to Chief Inspector Feeney. So how did the Shiptons get to know…?” He trailed off as the obvious answer struck him. “Of course. Someone at the cop shop has been talking out of turn.”

  Everyone turned surprised stares on him.

  “Where do you get that from, Joe?” Sheila’s face was determined and angry.

  “I know you don’t like to hear the police criticised, Sheila.” He smiled indulgently at Freddie and Hazel. “Sheila’s late husband was a police inspector, and like most coppers, he was beyond reproach. But even so, there are rotten apples in the force. Always have been. Freddie, you know something about the Shiptons. Would they be able to afford to bribe a police officer to get information about me?”

  “I don’t know ’em that well, mate. They’re not from round here. They’re Londoners.”
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  “I’ll bet on it, though. They’ve bought someone in the police. How else would they know that I’m a private investigator in my spare time? Why else would they be so worried about me?” He downed his brandy. “I’ll take it up with Feeney first thing in the morning.”

  It was left to Brenda to round off the debate. “If you’re right, you’re lucky you got away with only being threatened. They bumped Ginny off. Make sure you’re not next.”

  ***

  Having phoned Chief Inspector Feeney early, Joe was first to start and finish breakfast the following morning. He had asked Freddie and Hazel if they could serve him early, but even so he finished his bacon and eggs to a chorus of protests from his companions.

  “We’re going to Bath for the day,” Sheila reminded him as he prepared to leave for the police station.

  “Yes. And?”

  Keith leaned over from a table behind them. “So we’re leaving at a quarter past nine whether you’re on the bus or not.”

  Joe glared. “Who pays your bloody wages? You’ll do as you’re told and while I’m not there, Sheila and Brenda will give you the instructions.” Satisfied that he had put the driver in his place, he said to Sheila, “I’m meeting Feeney at eight forty-five. That’s in…” he checked his watch. “Twenty minutes. I’ll be as quick as I can with her. I’ll bell you the minute I come out of the police station, and arrange for Keith to pick me up somewhere.”

  Sheila sipped her tea. “If the members complain, I’m not making excuses for you.”

  “Thanks, Sheila. That’s the kind of support I love.”

  Joe hurried from the Leeward, out into the bright, sunny morning, and hurried along the promenade and through the town centre, arriving at the police station five minutes before his planned meeting with Chief Inspector Feeney.

  As he did so, he mentally arranged the information he had to give her in chronological order, beginning with the overheard conversation in The Prince, and ending with the attack at the Winter Gardens, and his conclusions on the matter.

  He had lain awake into the early hours trying to make sense of it, but had been unable to. It was as if the Shiptons suspected him of knowing something, but he knew nothing.

  He said as much to Feeney when they finally settled in her office.

  “I took the picture, as you know, and all right so maybe I shouldn’t have been listening in on their conversation in the pub, but it’s not like I learned anything from it that is key to the issue. Ginny Nicholson wasn’t even mentioned.”

  The chief inspector looked tired, as if she had been on the tiles the night before. As Joe told her of the events in The Prince, she struggled to suppress a yawn, and eventually she apologised for it.

  “It might make more sense than you think, Joe,” she said after apologising for her fatigue. “Has it occurred to you that Virginia Nicholson may have been the other woman and that Diane murdered her?”

  “No, it hadn’t,” Joe admitted, “but as I think about it, there’s not a lot of sense in it. Diane wasn’t bothered about Gil and what he gets up to. It was the particular woman she was complaining of, and her threat was against Gil, not the woman. She would screw him up, not her.” Clear logic occurred to him. “And, if it was Ginny, why was there an argument at all? She was already dead when I overheard them.”

  Feeney nodded and yawned again. “You’re right, of course. Forgive me, Joe. My brain isn’t feeling well this morning. It’s obvious then that whatever is going on hinges on the identity of this other woman, but we don’t have a clue who she is. All right. You said you had more to tell me.”

  Joe went into an account of the previous evening’s events outside the Winter Gardens. When he had finished, he said, “It seems clear to me that the Shiptons set this up. There aren’t that many people in Weston who know anything about me. In fact, make that none at all, with the exception of you and your people. I think you have a leak in your ranks.”

  She shook her head. “Not impossible, but in this case, it would have to be Sergeant Holmes, and I can vouch for him. He’s the only other officer who knows about you. I’ve worked with him for years. He has my complete faith.” She was about to go on when the telephone rang. “Excuse me.” She picked up the receiver. “Chief Inspector Feeney.”

  There was a long pause while she listened to the caller. Eventually, she said, “Who is this?”

  Again there was a pause.

  “Really, if you’re not prepared to identify yourself, I don’t see how…”

  Feeney trailed off and listened again. “I see. Well, thank you. I’ll take it into consideration.” She replaced the receiver and smiled apologetically at Joe. “Sorry about that. People ring in all the time with information and they expect us to take it without some form of corroboration such as a name and address.”

  “I thought that was the idea of Crimestoppers.”

  “Precisely. Now, let’s get back to your theory, Joe. It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that our people speak out of turn. I don’t say it’s deliberate, but it happens. In this case, however, the only person who knows anything about you is Sergeant Holmes and, as I said, I can vouch for him.”

  “What about that bobby in the park yesterday? Constable Tetlow?”

  “He knows only your name and address, and he even logged that as the Leeward Hotel, not Sanford, West Yorkshire. He doesn’t know you’ve been, er, poking your nose in. But there’s something else, Joe. Something I haven’t told you, yet.”

  “Oh yes?”

  Feeney was silent for a long moment. It was as if she was debating whether she should tell him anything.

  Eventually, she came to a decision. “I already knew about the attack on you at the Winter Gardens. The security team phoned it in last night. We had Shipton and the Badgers in for questioning. In fact that’s why I’m so tired. We were questioning them until two this morning. Gil Shipton admits the earlier confrontation in the Winter Gardens, when your camera was broken, and he admits he faced up to you in The Prince, but all of them deny any involvement in the attack on you. They insist they have not set anyone on you.”

  Joe laughed. “You questioned them half the night after someone attacked me? Isn’t that a bit O-T-T?”

  “That wasn’t the reason we had them in, Joe. We just threw that in as a means of adding to the pressure.”

  “Pressure?”

  Feeney nodded. “Diane Shipton. We were at her flat last night where we found her dead.”

  Chapter Nine

  Joe felt the colour drain from his face. “Dead?”

  Feeney reached for the telephone. “I’ll get you a cup of tea.” There was a brief pause before she gave muttered instructions over the phone, then replaced the receiver. Clasping her hands in front of her, resting on her forearms, she went on, “We had a report from her neighbours at about half past nine last night. The TV was suddenly playing very loudly. They hammered on the door, couldn’t get an answer. They became concerned and called us out. Our lads got there about fifteen minutes later and found her dead. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head.” The chief inspector opened and spread her hands. “I’m not saying she, or more likely her family, didn’t order that pair to warn you off. They may well have been involved, but Diane wasn’t around to see whether the instruction had been carried out. She was dead a good half hour before you were threatened. And, of course, the others denied any attack on you.”

  “Never mind my attackers. Why the TV? Drowning out the noise of her being murdered?”

  Feeney nodded. “That’s the way we see it.”

  “Oh, well, it’s obvious, then, isn’t it? Gil has had enough, so he decided to get rid of her altogether. She was probably giving him lip after he decided to warn me off, he decided he’d had enough and brained her.”

  There was a knock at the door and Constable Tetlow entered with two beakers of tea. When he had gone again, and Joe was settled with a beaker, Feeney finally answered.

  “You may be right, but we hav
e no direct evidence of Gil’s involvement. Quite the opposite, in fact.” Feeney sipped her tea. “Gil, Terry Badger and Elaine have alibis for the time of the killing. They were in the bar of the Castle Hotel, and the landlord has confirmed it.”

  Joe felt deflated. He swallowed a mouthful of tea. “So, what you’re saying is you may have been barking up the wrong tree all along?”

  “We’re not ruling out anything, Joe. It’s possible that Gil and Terry have brought pressure to bear on the landlord of the Castle Hotel to verify their alibis. I wouldn’t put it past them. Sergeant Holmes will be out there again, this morning, to question him, while we have the Badgers and Gil in for questioning. And we’ll be pushing Gil on the information you’ve given us.” She wagged a disapproving finger at him. “You really shouldn’t have put yourself at risk like that, you know.”

  Joe shrugged. “I got away with it.” He laughed sharply. “By the skin of my teeth, but…” His smile was slowly replaced with a puzzled frown. “I’ve done quite a bit of work with the police up and down the country, you know, but this one takes the biscuit. I’ve never come across anything so complicated. The motives are all to hell and no notion. Tell me, what do you think Diane has hidden that’s so important to her husband?”

  “I think the same as you. I think it’s a detailed account of their activities over the last ten years. Think about it, Joe. If you’re working hand in glove with other people, you have to keep track of the money you’re making. As a former journalist, Diane would keep meticulous records. They may be encrypted, they may be en clair, as it were, but as you said, they’ll almost certainly be password protected.” Feeney chewed at her lip. “It would help if we knew who Gil’s other woman was.”

  “I can see the sense in that. You might get some idea of why Diane was so set against it. Would the Met know?”

  “We’ve asked for any information they may have.” Feeney beamed upon him. “We’re not ungrateful, Joe, but I think you’ve done your bit. Above and beyond the call of duty. Right now we are looking for person or persons unknown in both cases… although…” She trailed off, a thoughtful look coming across her features. Picking up the telephone she dialled and waited a moment before saying, “It’s Chief Inspector Feeney, in Weston. Can you give me a comparison between the weapon used on Virginia Nicholson and the one used on Diane Shipton?” There was a brief pause. “I know that. I’m not asking for a full post mortem analysis. A simple comparison will do.”